de, where these poor outcasts had squatted and built their humble
homes of terron, or sod, which they cut from the alkali-laden soil of
the vega. They held their dance orgies in the estufa, the meeting house
of the tribe. This was a long, low structure built of adobe, probably a
hundred feet long and nine feet wide, inside measure. The building was
so low that I could easily lay the palm of my uplifted hand against the
ceiling of the roof, which was made of beams of cottonwood, covered
with sticks off which the bark had been carefully peeled, the whole had
then been covered with clay a foot in depth. The floor of this long,
low tunnel-like room was made of mud which had been skilfully tampered
with an admixture of short cut straw and had been beaten into the
proper degree of hardness. Dampened at intervals, this floor was quite
serviceable to dance on. There were no windows or ventilators in this
hall and only one door at the end. This was made out of a slab of hewn
wood and was just high and wide enough to admit a good sized dog. The
hall was brilliantly lighted by a dozen mutton tallow dips, which were
distributed about the room in candelabra of tin, hanging on the
mud-plastered and whitewashed walls. The orchestra consisted of one
piece only, an ancient war drum, or tombe, and was located at the
farther end of the room. It was beaten by an Indian, who was, if
possible, more ancient than the drum. As we approached we heard the
muffled sound of the drum within. "Caramba, amigo!" said my friend;
"they are at it already, and judging from the sound, they are very gay
to-night. Madre santissima! I remember that this is a great night for
these Indians, as it is the anniversary of the Noche Triste, which they
celebrate in commemoration of the Aztec's victory over the Spaniards
when the Indians almost wiped their enemies off the face of the earth.
Senor, to tell the truth, rather would I turn my horse's head homeward.
Pray, let us return!" "And why, amigo," I asked. "Because this has
always been a day of ill luck for our family," said Don Reyes. "It
began with the misfortune of the famed Knight Don Pedro Alvarado, the
bravest of men and the right hand of Don Fernando Cortez. In the bloody
retreat of the Spaniards from Mexico, in their fight with the Aztecs,
during the Noche Triste, Don Pedro Alvarado, from whom we were
descended, lost his mare through a deadly arrow. "Muy bien, amigo Don
Reyes," said I; "if you fear these peopl