believing themselves fortunate to have their wants provided for by
their patrones. They were treated kindly by their masters and looked
upon as poor relations and intimate but humble friends.

The entertainment was to be of the velorio (wake) type, which begins
as a prayer meeting and ends in a dance. My friends exerted
themselves to the utmost to make this event the social climax of the
season. They sent a committee to the pueblo of Isleta for several
goatskins full of native wine, and incidentally they borrowed San
Augustin, the pueblo's famous image saint, who they intended should
preside over the velorio. As this prayer meeting was to be in my
honor and for the sake of invoking the protection of the saints on my
journey, they thought it best to procure San Augustin, who being the
patron saint of the heathen Isleta Indians, would not mind giving a
heretic Protestant gringo a good send-off, as he was accustomed to
deal with heresy. They also procured a dozen fat mutton sheep, which
were to be barbecued and served with chile pelado to the invited
guests, surely a tempting menu and hot! The ladies baked bollos,
tamales and frijoles. Melons and cantaloupes were brought in by the
cartload. I was waited upon by a committee and received a formal
invitation; for everything was done in grand Spanish style. When I
arrived at the festive hall the ceremonies began. The ladies knelt
before San Augustin, praying and chanting alternately. I took my
customary station at the door, as master of the artillery. At the
singing of a certain stanza and after the words, "Angeles, y Seraphim
es! Santo! Santo! Santo!" I received my cue from one of the deacons
who gave the order: "Fuego, maestro!" and I discharged my double
barreled shotgun and a brace of six shooters in lightning-like
succession. Surely this was pious devotion, properly emphasized, and
it kept San Augustin from falling asleep. I used up a pound of