cactus. Here we ate _tortillas_ and fried-eggs with chili. Immediately
on setting out from here we rode over hills, the rock of which was
deeply stained with rust and streaked with veins of quartz, up to a
crest of limestone covered with a crust of stalagmite.

[Illustration: THE START FROM OAXACA]

[Illustration: THE CELEBRATION AT MITLA]

The road up to this summit was not good, but that down the other side
was _bad_. The irregular, great blocks of limestone, covered with the
smooth, dry, slippery coating, caused constant stumbling to our poor
animals. From this valley we rose onto a yet grander range. Here we had
our first Mixe experience. At the very summit, where the road became
for a little time level, before plunging down into the profound valley
beyond, we met two Indians, plainly Mixes. Both were bareheaded, and
both wore the usual dirty garments--a cotton shirt over a pair of cotton
trousers, the legs of which were rolled up to the knees or higher. The
younger of the men bore a double load, as he had relieved his companion.
The old man's face was scratched and torn, his hands were smeared with
blood and blood stained his shirt. We cried an "_adios_" and the old man
kissed my hand, while the younger, pointing to his friend said "_Sangre,
Señor, sangre_" (Blood, sir, blood.) Vigorously they told the story of
the old man's misfortune, but in incomprehensible Spanish. While they
spoke three others like them, each bent under his burden came up onto
the ridge. These kissed my hand and then, excitedly pointing to the old
man, all talking at once, tried to tell his story. Having expressed our
sympathy, we left the five looking after us, the old man, with his torn
and bleeding face, being well in the foreground.