es mi hermano_" ("Yes, sir, it is my
brother"), and they ran down the road. As for us, we hurried onward,
without stopping at the _hacienda_, in order not to be delayed or held
as witnesses.

There is no love between the Zapotecs and Mixes. We never learned
the actual story, but imagined it somewhat as follows. The old Mixe,
carrying his burden, had probably encountered the young Zapotec and
had words with him. Probably there had been blows, and the old man was
having the worst of it when his companions came along and turned the
tide of battle.

The road, after passing the _hacienda_, ascended almost constantly for
many miles. We passed clumps of yuccas. As we mounted we faced a strong
and cutting wind, and were glad when any turn in the road gave us a
moment's relief. The final ascent was sharp and difficult, up a hill of
red or purple slate, which splintered into bits that were both slippery
and sharp to the feet of our poor animals. Just as the sun was
setting and dusk fell, we reached the miserable pueblo of Santa Maria
Albarradas. It was situated on a terrace or shelf, and its little houses
were made of red or purple adobe bricks, and thatched with grass. Little
garden patches and groups of cultivated trees surrounded the houses. The
church was little larger than the dwellings, and was constructed of the
same clay, thatched with the same grass. Near it was the town-house. We
summoned the _presidente_, and while we waited for him, the men, women,
and children of the town thronged around us and watched our every
movement, commenting the while on our actions and words. When the
_presidente_ came, we made known our wants and soon had supper for
ourselves, food for our animals, a shelter for the night, and a _mozo_
as guide for the morrow. The town-house was put at our disposition; it
was sadly in need of repairs, and consisted of two rooms, one larger
than the other. In the larger room there was a long and heavy table, a
bench or two, and some wooden chairs. We slept upon the ground, and
long before we rolled ourselves up in our blankets the wind was blowing
squarely from the north. The sky was half covered with a heavy black
cloud; as the night advanced, it became colder and colder, the wind
cutting like a knife, and while we shivered in our blankets, it seemed
as if we had been born to freeze there in the tropics.

CHAPTER III

THE LAND OF THE MIXES

(1896)

Santa Maria was the last Zapotec town; we w