"Master of life, look upon this young warrior with favourable eye; remove from him all evil influences; protect him, Wacondah!"
At the termination of this part of the ceremony, the procession returned to the atepelt, and arranged itself in a circle in front of the Zopilote's calli, at the entrance of which lay a young mare on her back, with her four feet tied together. A new zarapé was stretched under the belly of the animal, on which relations and friends deposited, one after the other, the gifts intended for the child—spurs, arms, and clothing. The Tigercat, out of friendship for the Zopilote, had consented to act as godfather to the infant. He placed it in the midst of the various gifts which filled the zarapé.
Then the Zopilote seized his scalping knife, opened at one slash the flanks of the mare, tore out the heart, and gave it, bleeding as it was, to the Tigercat, who made a cross with it on the forehead of the child, addressing him thus:
"Young warrior of the tribe of Apache-Bisons, be brave and cunning. I name thee Mixcoatzin—Cloud-Serpent."
The father took the child, and the chief, raising the bleeding heart above his head, shouted thrice:
"Long live the Cloud-Serpent!"
The cry was enthusiastically repeated by the bystanders. The amantzin then commended the child to the Spirit of Evil, praying him to make the young warrior brave, eloquent, and cunning; terminating his prayer in these words, which found an ardent response in the hearts of all those fierce beings:
"Above all, may he never be a slave!"
Thus terminated the ceremony: every religious rite had been performed. The poor mare, the victim of this stupid superstition, was cut into pieces; a great fire was kindled; friends and relations took their seats at a feast, which was intended to last until nothing was left of the mare.
The Zopilote was about to seat himself, and feast with the others; but, at a sign from the Tigercat, he followed the great chief to his calli, where they once more took their seats by the fire. The amantzin was also with them.