BEGGING A CENTAVO
In the town is a very old and large church with two towers and a great clock. Many women were kneeling along the dusty floor, saying their vespers, when we entered.
An artistic fountain (whose waters are said to be “Holy”) carved with lions’ heads, plays in the center of the plaza. From the plaza one can look over the lower town and far to the southwest, over and into La Tierra Caliente (the hot country) in which we now are. But Ario was cool, and at night I slept in flannel pajamas under two blankets.
We were early astir! and enjoyed an excellent breakfast of coffee, eggs, chicken, rice, tortillas—in fact, I may remark that all meals I have thus far eaten off the beaten track of travel in Mexico, are quite as good as any I would get in the mountains of West Virginia. We had the two pack animals loaded, paid our bill, about forty cents each, (one dollar Mexican), mounted into our saddles and filed out of the patio into the street by seven-twenty o’clock. There we found El Jefe Politico superbly mounted, astride an elegant saddle with red trappings and tassels. He was accompanied by six cavalrymen on handsome black chargers, in white and blue uniforms, and a company of foot soldiers in white uniforms. With them was the prisoner, a tall dark man, his left hand in a sling and his right hand tied behind to the small of his back. All were lined up awaiting us, to be our escort till late in the day. So we left Ario with dignity and pomp. Whether the prisoner would reach the day’s end was an open question.
THE JEFE POLITICO AND SOLDIERS
XI
Inguran Mines—Five Thousand Six Hundred Feet Below Ario
Inguran Mines,