All the stuff used for clothing is woven in the town, and not only the women's camisas, but the men's camisas and trousers, are decorated with elaborate designs—birds, animals, and geometrical figures—worked in various colors. Even in purchasing examples of these clothes, we were compelled to make a vigorous display of our civil and religious orders. After some bickering, we arranged for carriers to San Carlos, which is the cabecera of the district. Starting by moonlight, at two o'clock in the morning, we struck out over the enormous mountain mass to which we have already referred. Roads in the Zapotec country do not go directly up the hillside, as in the land of the Mixes, but zigzag by gentle diagonals up the slopes. The road was largely composed of jagged rock; two hours and fifteen minutes were necessary for the ascent; the descent was bad enough, but a distinct improvement. At one place, however, we wandered from the main-travelled road, and found ourselves in an abandoned portion of the road, full of great holes which were filled with drifted fallen leaves, so that their presence was not betrayed until our horses fell into them. The latter part of this descent was slippery, being over hard stone, which was worn almost to a glassy smoothness by the passage of many hoofs. A little before reaching Manteca, as we looked down from the height, we saw an immense train of pack-mules coming. In the good old days, before there were railroads, such trains as this were frequent. From Manteca the road penetrated into contracting valleys, until finally it might, with propriety, be called a cañon road. At half past eight we reached San Carlos, a mean town with no meson or other regular stopping-place. We left the horses under the shady trees with the old farrier. While we rested and waited for breakfast, I called upon the jefe politico, who had received several communications from me, and had become interested in my work. Our luggage was all at his office, and he promptly made arrangements for its further transportation. At breakfast, we received the cheerful news that Mr. Lang's horse had the lockjaw and showed signs of dying. On inspection, this proved to be quite true; the poor animal was in great pain, and could eat nothing, though making every effort to do so. Our first thought was a shot in the head to put it out of misery, but the old farrier wished to try a remedio. He did his best, and it looked as if the animal might recover; it was plain, however, that he could not be used again that afternoon. Accordingly, an extra horse was rented for Mr. Lang's use. The remainder of the party was started on the road at 1:50, while I waited to give the remedio a chance to operate and the beast an opportunity to rest. At three I started, leading the sick horse. We had a fine ride in the cool of the evening, over a mountain road past the little ranch El Quemado, beyond which we found an immense ascent. When we reached the summit, it was fast darkening, and I pressed on as rapidly as the led horse would permit. Finally, I reached Escondido at seven. Several large parties of packers, with their trains of mules, had already settled for the night; camp-fires were burning. Here and there drinking had been going on, and there was noise of loud laughter, singing and dancing. Our party was already eating supper when I arrived, and my own meal had been ordered. Shelter was supplied us adjoining the house, where we spread our blankets and spent a comfortable night. We were late in starting, and were not upon the road until seven in the morning. We found the high-road most uninteresting. For long distances we descended, passing a ranch and emerging finally into a deep, hot gorge. By the time we reached Pichones we were tired, hot and thirsty. There, however, we could get no water, for man or beast, for love or money; suffering with thirst, the road seemed long to the river near Totolapa, where we refreshed ourselves with water, but a heavier road than ever had to be traversed. Much of the way we followed the stream-bed, fording repeatedly; the remainder was through deep sand and over rolling pebbles. Passing Juanico, on a high bank overlooking the river, at noonday, we were delighted to strike upon a rock road, high on the river bank. Keeping to this trail, passing from plantations of bananas lying at the river level below us and catching many pretty views of valley and of mountain, we at last reached Totolapa, completely worn out with the journey and the heat. Here we rested until the heat of the day should be past.
OUR PARTY LEAVING TEHUANTEPEC
ZAPOTEC WOMEN AND GIRLS, TLACOLULA
We had expected at this town to secure a muleteer, as the one we hired from San Carlos had agreed to come only to this town. Here, too, we had expected to rent a new horse for Mr. Lang. Our muleteer, however, was much taken with the party, and declared that he should hire himself to continue with us to Tlacolula. We quickly arranged with him, and at four o'clock prepared to leave. The sick horse was then at its worst; it had lain down, and for a time we believed it was really dead; it was out of the question for it to go further; so, calling one of the villagers, I told him that he might have the horse, and if there was any possibility of curing, it, he should do what might be necessary.
From four to seven it was a tiresome climb, largely through stream-beds to Carvajal. It is a large rancho, but we stopped at the first house we came to, a miserable place, where, however, we got coffee, bread, beans and eggs, and some mats for beds, which we laid out upon the ground, under the open sky. Taking early coffee and tortillas, we were again mounted at four and on our way. It was the last ascent. The moon was shining brightly, and we could see that the road followed the edge of a fine gorge. When we once reached the summit, there was no further descent to make. We were on the high, flat, table-land of Oaxaca, and from here to the capital city of the state, the road is level, and passes through a rich agricultural district. Passing San Dionisio at seven, we pressed on as rapidly as possible to Tlacolula, where we arrived before noon, ready for the good meals and comfortable quarters which we well knew awaited us there.
Tlacolula is a large town, in the midst of a dusty valley. Its houses are large, rectangular constructions, well built of poles, with fine thatched roofs. They stand in yards, which are enclosed by fences of organ-pipe cactus. The people dress well, and at almost every house they own an ox-cart and a yoke of animals. While photographing there that afternoon, we suggested that we wanted a group of girls and women in native dress. "Very well; I will take you to the house, where you can get one." Arrived there, the policeman at once led out five women and four children, whom he placed in line. After the picture was taken, we expressed our satisfaction and surprise that so good a group had been so readily secured at a single house. "Oh, sir," he replied, "we struck a lucky time; there is a funeral going on there."
