Christians, taught to observe the customs of the Roman Catholic
Church and to conform to its ritual, these people, who were the scum
and overflow from villages of Pueblo Indians, were yet Aztec heathens
in the consciousness of their souls and inclination of their hearts.

Shortly after sunset we were on our way to the sand dunes of the Rio
Grande, where these poor outcasts had squatted and built their humble
homes of terron, or sod, which they cut from the alkali-laden soil of
the vega. They held their dance orgies in the estufa, the meeting
house of the tribe. This was a long, low structure built of adobe,
probably a hundred feet long and nine feet wide, inside measure. The
building was so low that I could easily lay the palm of my uplifted
hand against the ceiling of the roof, which was made of beams of
cottonwood, covered with sticks off which the bark had been carefully
peeled, the whole had then been covered with clay a foot in depth.
The floor of this long, low tunnel-like room was made of mud which
had been skilfully tampered with an admixture of short cut straw and
had been beaten into the proper degree of hardness. Dampened at
intervals, this floor was quite serviceable to dance on. There were
no windows or ventilators in this hall and only one door at the end.
This was made out of a slab of hewn wood and was just high and wide
enough to admit a good sized dog. The hall was brilliantly lighted by
a dozen mutton tallow dips, which were distributed about the room in
candelabra of tin, hanging on the mud-plastered and whitewashed
walls. The orchestra consisted of one piece only, an ancient war
drum, or tombe, and was located at the farther end of the room. It
was beaten by an Indian, who was, if possible, more ancient than the
drum. As we approached we heard the muffled sound of the drum within.
"Caramba, amigo!" said my friend; "they are at it already, and
judging from the sound, they are very gay to-night. Madre santissima!