the east of and parallel to this, and in this the Huichols live.
What is called Sierra del Nayarit is in the beginning a rather level
and often narrow cordon, and the track south leads near the edge of
the Barranca de Jesus Maria for ten or twelve miles. Along this ridge
hardly any other kind of tree is to be seen than _Pinus Lumholtzii_. A
variety of pine which resembles this very much, but is much larger,
and which I think may also be a new species, was observed after
leaving Pueblo Nuevo.

The cordon gradually widens, and open, grass-covered places appear
among the pines, which now are of the usual kinds, and throughout
the Sierra del Nayarit are high, but never large. A few Coras passed
us leading mules loaded with panoche, to be exchanged in Santa Maria
Ocotan for mescal.

The most conspicuous things in the Cora's travelling outfit are
his rifle and one or two home-made pouches which he slings over his
shoulder. There is an air of manliness and independence about these
Indians, and this first impression is confirmed by the entire history
of the tribe.

We passed a few ranches on the road, and at last reached the little
llano on which Santa Teresa is situated. It is always disagreeable to
approach a strange Indian pueblo, where you have to make your camp,
knowing how little the people like to see you, and here I was among
a tribe who had never heard of me, and who looked upon me with much
suspicion as I made my entry.

There were many people in town preparing for the Easter festival,
practising their parts in certain entertainments in vogue at that
season. At last I met a man willing to show me where I could find
water. He led me outside of the village to some deep and narrow clefts
in the red earth, from which a rivulet was issuing. I selected my
camping-place near by, at the foot of some low pine-covered hills,
and then returned to the pueblo.

"Amigo!" shouted a man as he came running toward me from his house. It
was the alcalde, a tall, slender Indian with a slight beard and
a very sympathetic voice. I told him that we were entirely out of
corn, to which he replied that we could not get any in the pueblo,
only on the ranches in the neighbourhood. I asked him if he wanted
us to die from starvation, and then another man offered me half a
fanega. I inquired of the judge whether he did not want to see my
papers. "We do not understand papers," he replied. Still it was agreed
that the Indians should meet me next morning, and that my chief man,
the Tepehuane, should read my letters from the Government, because
the preceptor of the village was away in the city of Tepic, and no
one else was able to read.

Santa Teresa is called in Cora Quemalusi, after the principal one
of the five mythical men who in ancient times lived in the Sierra
del Nayarit. Reports say an idol now hidden was once found here. A
few miles east of Santa Teresa is a deep volcanic lake, the only
remnant of the large flood, the Coras say. It is called "Mother," or
"Brother," the last name containing a reference to their great god,
the Morning Star, Chulavete. There are no fish in it, but turtles and
ducks. The water is believed to cure the sick and strengthen the well,
and there is no ceremony, in the Cora religion for which this water
is not required. It is not necessary to use it pure; it is generally
mixed with ordinary spring water, and in this way sprinkled over the
people with a red orchid, or a deer-tail stretched over a stick.

Early next morning a good-looking young Indian on horseback rode up
to the tent to pay me a visit. He spoke Spanish very well. I treated
him with consideration and proffered him some biscuits I happened to
have. In the course of the conversation he offered to sell me a fowl,
if I would send a man to his ranch for it, which of course I was glad
to do.

As he was taking leave, I expressed my admiration for the handsome
native-made halter on his horse. "Do you like it?" he asked, and he
immediately removed it from the horse and presented it to me. I wanted
to pay for it, but he said, "We are friends now," and rode off. The
fowl he sent was the biggest he had in his yard, an old rooster,
very strong and tough, Could there be food less palatable than a
lean old rooster of Indian breeding? The broth is worse than that
made from a billy-goat.

I went to the meeting, and all listened silently while my letters
from the Government were read. Anything coming from Mexico impresses
these people deeply. Yet with the suspicion innate in their nature,
the Indians could not hear the documents read over often enough. We
had meeting after meeting, as the arrival in the pueblo of every man
of any importance was a signal that my papers would have to be read
over again.

The alcalde introduced me to the teacher's wife, a Mexican, who
apparently took her lot very contentedly among "these people whom
no one ever knows," as she expressed it. She liked the climate, and
the security of life and property. Her husband had been working here
for four years. The children, of course, have first to learn Spanish,
and there is no school from June till September. The youngsters seemed
bright and well-behaved, but the Coras told me that they had not yet
learned to read.

Most of the Cora Indians are slightly bearded, especially on the
chin. In this respect, however, there was no uniformity, some being
absolutely beardless, while others looked rather Mexican. They all
insisted, nevertheless, that there is among them no intermixture
with Mexicans, or, for that matter, with the Tepehuanes, and the Cora
women have very strong objections to unions with "neighbours." On the
other hand, it should be remembered that during the latter half of the
last century the tribe was subjected to a great deal of disturbance,
incidental to the revolution of Manuel Lozada, a civilised Aztec
from the neighbourhood of Tepic, who, about the time of the French
intervention, established an independent State comprising the present
territory of Tepic and the Cora country. He had great military talent,
and it was said that whenever he liked he could gather thousands of
soldiers without cost. He was able to maintain his government for a
number of years, thanks chiefly to the Coras, who were his principal
supporters. At one time they had to leave their country, and to live
for five years in an inaccessible part of the Sierra Madre above
San Buena.

Among themselves, the Coras use their own language, but all the
men and most of the women speak and understand Spanish to some
extent. Though the people now dress like the "neighbours," they
are still thoroughly Indian, and proud of it. There are about 2,500
pure-bred among them. They call themselves Nayariti or Nayari, and in
speech, religion, and customs they are akin to the Huichol Indians,
who, however, do not care very much for their relatives, whom they
call Hashi (crocodiles). Yet some intercourse is maintained between
the two tribes, the Coras bringing to the Huichols red face-paint,
wax, and the tail-feathers of the bluejay, while the services of
the Huichol curing shamans are highly appreciated by the Coras. An
interesting home industry is the weaving of bags or pouches of cotton
and wool, in many beautiful designs.

The Coras are not good runners; they have neither speed nor endurance,
and they run heavily. It is astonishing how small the bones of their
limbs are, especially among the females, though this, by the way, is
the case with all the Indians I have visited. A Cora woman made for
me a shirt as an ethnological specimen, which I thought she must have
made too small at the wrist-bands, as they measured about 4 3/4 inches
(barely twelve centimetres); but she showed me how well they fitted
her. Still they always have well-developed hips and better figures
than the Mexican women. The teeth of the Coras are not always perfect;
I have seen several individuals whose front teeth were missing.

Strange to say, in spite of the high elevation, there is fever and
ague here; the alcalde told me that he had an attack every second day.

As Easter was at hand, there was quite a concourse of people, nearly
300 Indians assembling. Oxen were killed, and general eating and
feasting went on. I attended the communal feast, and dishes of food
were brought to me. In accordance with the Indian custom not to eat
much on the spot, I had my men carry some of the food to the camp,
as a welcome addition to our monotonous diet and scanty stores; and
we found that, aside from the usual Indian dishes, they comprised
bananas, salted fish, honey, and squashes.

The authorities newly elected for the ensuing year gave a similar
entertainment to their predecessors in office. At the home of the
"Centurion," the principal official of the Easter festival, a rustic
table and benches had been erected outside of the house. I was invited
to sit down among the men of quality, and it was phenomenal to be
present at an Indian banquet served on a table, the only occasion of
the kind in my experience. As the table was small, the diners were
served in turns, one set after another. Each guest had a man to wait on
him, but there was neither table-cloth nor knife, fork nor spoon. It
was, if you like, a _dejeuner a la fourchette_, except that you were
supposed to handle the solid food with pieces of tortilla, that were
broken off, folded over, and used as a fork, or rather, spoon, and
were eaten with the meat. After the meat had all been fished out,
you drank the soup from your bowl or plate. If you could not manage
with the tortilla, you were excused for using your fingers. When
a bowl or plate was set before an Indian guest, the latter took it
up and immediately handed it to his wife, standing behind him, who
emptied it into the jars she had brought for that purpose. There was
meat with its broth; meat ground on the metate, boiled, and mixed with
chile; and atole to drink with it, all fresh and excellent. As I was
hungry, I pitched in, although at first I was the only one who ate,
which was rather embarrassing. But by and by the others, too, began
to eat, perhaps out of politeness. They were pleased, however, that
I enjoyed their food, and I did enjoy it, after the poorly assorted
diet we had been obliged to maintain. Although the variety of dishes
of primitive man is exceedingly limited, such of them as they have are
well prepared. The dinner was the best I ever had among Indians. The
party was pleasant and animated, and the banquet-hall extended to
the pines and mountains around and the azure sky above.

During the night there was dancing on the tarima, a broad plank resting
on stumps. Dancing on the plank is said to be customary throughout
the Tierra Caliente of the northwest. One man and one woman dance
simultaneously, facing though not touching each other. The dancing
consists in a rhythmical jumping up and down on the same spot, and is
known to all the so-called Christian Indians wherever the violin is
played, although nowhere but among the Coras have I seen it executed
on the plank. It is called _la danza_, and is distinct from the
aboriginal sacred dances, although it may have been a native dance
somewhere in Mexico. _La danza_ is merely a ventilation of merriment,
indulged in when the Indians are in high spirits after church feasts,
and may sometimes be executed even in church.

Gradually the people submitted to being photographed, even the
women. One evening when I changed plates under two wagon-covers in an
old empty house, a curious crowd gathered outside and knocked at the
door, wanting to know what was going on and to see the secret rites
I was performing.

After a few days of deliberation the Indians consented to show me
their dancing-place, or, as they expressed it, their tunamoti (the
musical bow).





Chapter XXVIII

A Glimpse of the Pacific from the High Sierra--A Visionary
Idyl--The Coras Do Not Know Fear--An Un-Indian Indian--Pueblo of
Jesus Maria--A Nice Old Cora Shaman--A Padre Denounces Me as a
Protestant Missionary--Trouble Ensuing from His Mistake--Scorpions.


After a fortnight's stay I said good-bye to Santa Teresa. The alcalde,
who had become quite friendly, accompanied me over the llano on
which his pueblo lies, extending, interspersed with pine forests,
for about three miles west. He begged me not to forget the Coras
when I came to the Governor of the Territory of Tepic, and to ask
the Mexican Government to let them keep their old customs, which
he had heard they were going to prohibit. This fear, I think, was
unfounded. He also wanted me to use my influence toward preventing
the whites from settling in the vicinity, since they were eager to
get at the big forests.

I had found a friend in a Cora called Nuberto, a kind-hearted and
frank fellow, sixty years old, who became our guide. The trail leads
along the western side of the Sierra Madre, sometimes only a few yards
from where the mountains suddenly give way to the deep and low-lying
valleys and foot-hills. As we approached the end of the day's journey,
a perfectly open view presented itself of the Tierra Caliente below,
as far as the Pacific Ocean, which by mules is a week's journey
distant. The wide expanse before us unfolded a panorama of hills that
sank lower and lower toward the west, where the salt lagoons of the
coast could be clearly discerned as silver streaks in the reddish-grey
mist of the evening. Acaponeta was right in line with the setting
sun. Here, 8,000 feet above the level of the sea, everything was calm
and mild; not a breath of air was stirring. A _prunus_ was in flower,
and oak-trees were growing on the brink of the ridge toward the sea. In
every other direction were to be seen the immense silent pine forests
that shelter the Coras, but no trace of human life. Everything seemed
undisturbed, peaceful, quieting, nerve-resting.

Would it not be delightful to settle down here! Life would be so
easy! The Indians would help me to make a hut. I would marry one of
those beautiful Cora girls, who would be sure to have a cow or two to
supply me the civilised drink of milk. None of the strife and turmoil
of the outer world could penetrate into my retreat. One day would
pass as peacefully as its predecessor; never would she disturb the
tranquillity of my life, for she is like the lagoon, without ever a
ripple on its surface. Once in a while the spirit of the feasts might
inspire her to utter an angry word, but she would not mean much by
it, and would soon resume her usual placid role, moving along in the
even tenor of her daily life. What a splendid chance for studying the
people, for knowing them thoroughly, and for familiarising myself with
all their ancient beliefs and thoughts! Perhaps I might solve some
of the mysteries that shroud the workings of the human mind. But--I
should have to buy my fame at the price of living on tortillas and
pinole and beans!



"We may live without poetry, music, and art;
We may live without conscience and live without heart;
We may live without friends, we may live without books,
But civilised man cannot live without cooks."



Concluding that the eminent authority cited was right, I came back
to realities and continued my journey.

By and by I arrived at a fertile little slope partly covered with corn
stubble. At the farther end of it was a large Cora ranch called La
Cienega, and in front of it grew two or three magnificent oak-trees
with light-green stems and equally light-coloured leaves. The people
here were well disposed and sold me some necessary supplies, so I
stopped with them for a day.

While descending to the famous pueblo Mesa del Nayarit, one gets a
magnificent view of the high mountains which form the western border
of the Huichol country and stretch themselves out on the opposite
side of the canon of Jesus Maria like a towering wall of a hazy
blue colour. The pueblo lies on a plain less than a mile in extent
in either direction, on the slope of the sierra, with an open view
only toward the east. There is an idol of the setting sun standing on
the mesa above the village, "looking toward Mexico," as the Indians
express it. This mesa is the one called Tonati by the chroniclers,
while by the Coras it is called Nayariti, and the whole sierra derived
its name from it. The same name is given to a cave in that locality,
where the Coras, as well as the Huichols, deposit ceremonial objects
and other offerings. The setting-sun god is worshipped equally by the
two tribes. The Indians jealously guard this cave, which is never
shown to outsiders. This is practically the terminus of the Sierra
del Nayarit. The sierra from now on is lower and gradually falls down
to Rio de Alica, or Rio Grande de Santiago, where Sierra Madre del
Norte ends.

The people here, though friendly, were less sympathetic and much
more reserved than those of Santa Teresa, and I could find no one
who would divulge tribal secrets. They had received a message from
their sister pueblo telling them they had nothing to fear from me,
but the Coras are not easily scared, anyhow. A stranger may enter
a house without any further ceremony than the customary salutation,
"Axu!" One day when I approached a dwelling, a nice-looking little
girl, scarcely three years of age, came running out with a big knife
in her little fist, her mother following after her to catch her. The
small children curiously approach you, rather than run away. My two
dogs intruded into a house and met in the doorway a little girl,
about four years old, who was just coming out. The family dog was
inside and began at once to bark at the new-comers, ready to fight,
but the little one continued her walk without in the least changing
the quiet expression of her face.

Although the Coras here maintain their traditions and customs more
completely than in other places, I did not see any of the adults
wearing the national dress, buckskin trousers and a very short tunic
reaching only below the breast and made of home-woven woollen material
dyed with native indigo-blue. Only one of the boys was seen with this
costume, and his father was said to have it also. Yet the Coras do
not want to be confounded with the "neighbours." When the principal
men submitted to be photographed, I wanted a picture to show their
physique, and therefore asked them to take off their shirts, which
they refused to do. But when I remarked, "You will then look like
neighbours," the shirts came off like a flash.

The gobernador here was an original and peculiar character. First he
wanted me to camp in La Comunidad, to which I objected; but he was
bent upon having me as closely under his supervision as possible,
and I had to agree to establish my camp only half the distance that
I had intended from the village. As soon as my tent had been put up,
he came, accompanied by one of his friends. He had a passion for
talking, which he indulged in for two hours, interrupting himself
about every twenty seconds to spit. His companion wrapped himself in
his blanket and began to nod, and whenever the gobernador stopped
for expectoration, the other one would utter an assenting "hay"
("yes"). The Cora language is guttural, but quite musical, and when
I heard it at a distance it reminded me in its cadence of one of the
dialects of central Norway. However, the gobernador's monologue soon
became very tiresome, and finally I made my bed and lay down. After
a while they retired, but every evening as long as I stayed in the
place, his Honour came to bore me with his talk. I generally took
him out to my men, who entertained him as long as they were able
to keep awake. He wanted to hear about other countries, about the
bears we had met, and the great war, because he thought there must
always be war somewhere. When everybody was asleep after midnight,
he would retire. He was a widower, and he was the most un-Indian
Indian I ever met.

About five miles east of Mesa del Nayarit the descent toward the
pueblo of Jesus Maria begins. The valley appears broad and hilly,
and the vegetation assumes the aspect of the Hot Country. Specially
noticeable were the usual thickets of thorny, dry, and scraggy trees,
seen even on the edge of the mesa. They are called _guisachi_,
and in the vernacular of the common man the word has been utilised
to designate a sharper. A man who "hooks on," as, for instance, a
tricky lawyer, is called a _guisachero_. It is the counterpart of the
"lawyer palm" among the shrubs of tropical Australia.

Jesus Maria looks at a distance quite a town, on a little plain above
the river-bank. A fine, grand-looking old church, in Moorish style, a
large churchyard surrounding it, and the usual big buildings connected
with the churches of Spanish times, make all extraordinary impression
among the pithaya-covered hills. The rest of the houses look humble
enough. I went a little beyond the pueblo to the junction of arroyo
Fraile with the river of Jesus Maria. As a violent wind, caused by the
cooling off of the hot air of the barranca, blows every afternoon,
I did not put up my tent, but had my men build an open shed. The
wind lasts until midnight, and the mornings are delightfully calm
and cool. The Coras consider this wind beneficial to the growth of
the corn, and sacrifice a tamal of ashes, two feet long, to keep it
in the valley.

The Cora of the canon, and probably of the entire Tierra Caliente,
is of a milder disposition than his brother of the sierra, but he
looks after his own advantage as closely as the rest of them.

The houses of the village are built of stone with thatched roofs,
and, having no means of ventilation, become dreadfully overheated. I
frequently noticed people lying on the floor in these hovels, suffering
from colds. In the summer there is also prevalent in the valley a
disease of the eyes which makes them red and swollen. Although the
country is malarial, the Indians attain to remarkable longevity,
and their women are wonderfully well preserved. All Indian women
age very late in life, a trait many of their white sisters might be
pardonably envious of.

There are twenty Mexicans living here, counting the children; they
are poor, and have no house or lands of their own, but live in the
Convento and rent lands from the Indians. The Coras, of course,
are all nominally Christians, and the padre from San Juan Peyotan
attends to their religious needs. I was told that as recently as forty
years ago they had to be driven to church with scourges. Some families
still put their dead away in caves difficult of access, closing up the
entrance, without interring the bodies, and they still dance mitote,
although more or less secretly.

The Indians catch crayfish, and other small fish, with a kind of
hand-net of cotton thread, which they hold wide open with their elbows
while crawling in the water between the stones. Where the river is
deep they will even dive with the net held in this way.

The day after my arrival I was requested to come to. La Comunidad,
that the people might hear my letters read. This over, I explained
that I wanted them to sell me some corn and beans, a blue tunic of
native make, and other objects of interest to me, that I also wanted
them to furnish me two reliable men to go to the city of Tepic for
mail and money; that I wished to photograph them and to be shown
their burial-caves, and to have a real, good old shaman visit me,
and some men to interpret. The messengers were duly appointed, but it
took them two days to prepare the tortillas they had to take along as
provisions. My desire to see the burial-caves was looked upon with
ill-favour. The old shaman, however, was promptly sent for. He soon
arrived at the council-house, and without having seen me he told the
Indian authorities that "it was all right to tell this man about their
ancient beliefs, that the Government might know everything." When he
came to see me he took my hand to kiss, as if I were a padre, and I
had a most interesting interview with the truthful, dear old man, who
told me much about the Cora myths, traditions, and history. I gathered
from what he said that he could not be far from a hundred years old,
and he had not a grey hair in his head. His faculties were intact,
except his hearing, and while I was interviewing him he was making
a fish-net.

I had him with me one day and a part of the next, but by that time
he was a good deal fatigued mentally, and I had to let him go.

There was an Indian here, Canuto, who could read and write, and,
as he took a great interest in church affairs, he acted as a kind of
padre. I was told that he ascended the pulpit and delivered sermons
in Cora, and that he aspired even to bless water, but this the padre
had forbidden him. He was very suspicious and intolerant and quite
an ardent Catholic, the first Indian I had met who had entirely
relinquished his native belief. He actually did not like mitote
dancing, and the other Indians did not take kindly to him. All the
time I was here he worked against me, because the priest of San Juan
Peyotan, as I learned, had denounced me before the people.

Two traders from that town, who had been visiting Santa Teresa while
I was there, had reported to the padre the presence of a mysterious
gringo (American), who had a fine outfit of boxes and pack-mules,
and who gave the Coras "precious jewellery" to buy their souls,
and visited their dances. The padre, without having ever seen me,
concluded that I was a travelling Protestant missionary, and one
day after mass he warned the people against the bad Protestant who
was on his way to corrupt their hearts and to disturb this valley in
which there had always been peace. "Do not accept anything from him,
not even his money; do not allow him to enter the church, and do not
give him anything, not even a glass of water," he said. This padre,
so I was told by reliable authority, made the judges at San Juan and
at San Lucas punish men and women for offences that did not come under
their jurisdiction. The men were put into prison, while the women had
fastened to their ankles a heavy round board, which they had to drag
wherever they went for a week or two. It caused them great difficulty
in walking, and they could not kneel down at the metate with it.

His speeches about me made a deep impression upon the illiterate
Mexicans in that remote part of the world, who in consequence of it
looked upon me with suspicion and shunned me. Not knowing anything
better, they invented all kinds of wild charges against me: I was
surveying the lands for Porfirio Diaz, who wanted to sell the Cora
country to the Americans; I appealed only to the Indians because
they were more confiding and could be more easily led astray, my
alleged aim being to make Freemasons out of them. A Freemason is
the one thing of which these people have a superstitious dread and
horror. Even my letters of recommendation were doubted and considered
spurious. However, one old man, whose wife I had cured, told me that
Protestants are also Christians, and in his opinion I was even better
than a Protestant. Fortunately, the Indians were less impressionable,
and as their brethren in the sierra had not reported to them anything
bad about me, they could see no harm in a man who did not cheat anyone
and took an interest in their ancient customs and beliefs, while the
padres had always made short work of their sacred ceremonial things,
breaking and burning them.

When at last my messengers returned, after an absence of twelve days, I
was surprised to note that they were accompanied by two gendarmes. The
Commandant-General of the Territory of Tepic had not only been kind
enough to cash my check for about $200, but had deemed it wise to
send me the money under the protection of an escort, a precaution
which I duly appreciated. As the return of the men was the only thing
I had been waiting for, I now prepared to move up the river to the
near-by pueblo of San Francisco, where the population is freer from
Mexican influence.

When my hut was broken up, I found among my effects ten scorpions. The
canon is noted for its multitude of scorpions, and I was told that a
piece of land above San Juan Peyotan had to be abandoned on account
of these creatures. The scorpion's sting is the most common complaint
hereabout, and children frequently die from it, though not all kinds
of scorpions are dangerous. The consensus of opinion is that the
small whitish-yellow variety is the one most to be dreaded. The Cura
of Santa Magdalena, State of Jalisco, assured me that he had known
the sting of such scorpions to cause the death of full-grown people
within two hours.

The scorpions of Mexico seem to have an unaccountable preference for
certain localities, where they may be found in great numbers. In
the city of Durango the hotels advertise, as an attraction, that
there are no scorpions ill them. For a number of years, according
to the municipal records, something like 60,000 scorpions have been
annually killed, the city paying one centavo for each. Some persons
earn a dollar a night by this means. Yet some forty victims, mostly
children, die every year there from scorpion-stings.

The cura quoted above thinks that there is a zone of scorpions
extending from the mining-place of Bramador, near Talpa, Territory
of Tepic, as far north as the city of Durango, though he could not
outline its lateral extent. At Santa Magdalena the scorpions are not
very dangerous.





Chapter XXIX

A Cordial Reception at San Francisco--Mexicans in the Employ
of Indians --The Morning Star, the Great God of the Coras--The
Beginning of the World--How the Rain-clouds were First Secured--The
Rabbit and the Deer--Aphorisms of a Cora Shaman--An Eventful
Night--Hunting for Skulls--My Progress Impeded by Padre's
Ban--Final Start for the Huichol Country--A Threatened Desertion.


At the pueblo of San Francisco, prettily situated at the bend of
a river, I was made very welcome. The Casa Real, another name for
the building generally designated as La Comunidad, had been swept
and looked clean and cool, and I accepted the invitation to lodge
there. It was furnished with the unheard-of luxury of a bedstead,
or rather the framework of one, made of a network of strong strips
of hide. As the room was dark, I moved this contrivance out on the
veranda, where I also stored my baggage, while my aparejos and saddles
were put into the prison next door. Two Indians were appointed to
sleep near by to guard me. When I objected to this I was informed
that two fellows from Jesus Maria had been talking of killing me as
the easiest way of carrying out the padre's orders. I felt quite at
home among these friendly, well-meaning people, and paid off my men,
who returned to their homes. I thought that whenever I decided to
start out again, I could get men here to help me to reach the country
of the Huichols. A shaman who knew more than all others was deputed
to give me the information I wanted about the ancient beliefs and
traditions of the Coras.

The people also agreed to let me see their mitote, which at this
time of the year is given every Wednesday for five consecutive weeks
in order to bring about the rainy season. The fourth of this year's
series was to be on May 22d. As to burial-caves, they at first denied
that there were any skulls in the neighbourhood, but finally consented
to show me some. Later on, how-ever, an important shaman objected to
this, strongly advising the people not to do so, because the dead
helped to make the rain they were praying for, at least they could
be induced not to interfere with the clouds.

A few Coras here were married to "neighbours," and some Cora women
had taken "neighbours" for husbands. For the first time, and also
the last, in all my travels, I had here the gratification of seeing
impecunious Mexicans from other parts of the country at work in the
fields for the Coras, who paid them the customary Mexican wages of
twenty-five centavos a day. The real owners of the land for once
maintained their proper position.

I saw hikuli cultivated near some of the houses in San Francisco. They
were in blossom, producing beautiful large, white flowers. The plant
is used at the mitotes, but not generally.

On both sides of the steep arroyo near San Francisco were a great
number of ancient walls of loose stones, one above the other, a kind
of fortification. In other localities, sometimes in places where one
would least expect them, I found a number of circular figures formed
by upright stones firmly embedded in the ground, in the same way as
those described earlier in this narrative.

The pueblo, _mirabile dictu_, had a Huichol teacher, whom the
authorities considered, and justly so, to be better than the ordinary
Mexican teacher. He was one of nine boys whom the Bishop of Zacatecas,
in 1879, while on a missionary tour in the Huichol country, had picked
out to educate for the priesthood. After an adventurous career, which
drove him out of his own country, he managed now to maintain himself
here. Although his word could not be implicitly trusted, he helped
me to get on with the Coras, and I am under some obligation to him.

A prominent feature in the elaborate ceremonies of the tribe, connected
with the coming of age of boys and girls, is the drinking of home-made
mescal. The lifting of the cochiste, as described among the Aztecs,
is also practised, at least among the Coras of the sierra, and is
always performed at full moon.

The people begin to marry when they are fifteen years old, and
they may live to be a hundred. The arrangement of marriages by the
parents of the boy without consulting him is a custom still largely
followed. On five occasions, every eighth day, they go to ask for
the bride they have selected. If she consents to marry the man, then
all is right. One man of my acquaintance did not know his "affinity"
when his parents informed him that they had a bride for him. Three
weeks later they were married, and, as in the fairy-tale, lived
happily ever afterward. His parents and grandparents fasted before
the wedding. In San Francisco I saw men and women who were married,
or engaged to be married, bathing together in the river.

Fasting is also a notable feature in the religion of the Coras, and is
considered essential for producing rain and good crops. Abstinence from
drinking water for two days during droughts is sometimes observed. The
principal men on such occasions may undertake to do the fasting for
the rest of the people. They then shut themselves up in La Comunidad,
sit down, smoke, and keep their eyes on the ground.



The Coras of the canon are not always in summer in accord with Father
Sun, because he is fierce, producing sickness and killing men and
animals. Chulavete, the Morning Star, who is the protecting genius of
the Coras, has constantly to watch the Sun lest he should harm the
people. In ancient times, when the Sun first appeared, the Morning
Star, who is cool and disliked heat, shot him in the middle of the
breast, just as he had journeyed nearly half across the sky. The
Sun fell down on earth, but an old man brought him to life again,
so that he could tramp back and make a fresh start.

The Morning Star is the principal great god of the Coras. In the
small hours of the morning they frequently go to some spring and wash
themselves by his light. He is their brother, a young Indian with bow
and arrow, who intercedes with the other gods to help the people in
their troubles. At their dances they first call him to be present,
and tell their wants to him, that he may report them to the Sun and
the Moon and the rest of the gods.

A pathetic story of the modern adventures of this their great hero-god
graphically sets forth the Indian's conception of the condition in
which he finds himself after the arrival of the white man. Chulavete
was poor, and the rich people did not like him. But afterward they took
to him, because they found that he was a nice man, and they asked him
to come and eat with them. He went to their houses dressed like the
"neighbours." But once when they invited him he came like an Indian
boy, almost naked. He stopped outside of the house, and the host came
out with a torch of pinewood to see who it was. He did not recognise
Chulavete, and called out to him: "Get away, you Indian pig! What are
you doing here?" And with his torch he burned stripes down the arms and
legs of the shrinking Chulavete. Next day Chulavete received another
invitation to eat with the "neighbours." This time he made himself
into a big bearded fellow, with the complexion of a man half white,
and he put on the clothes in which they knew him. He came on a good
horse, had a nice blanket over his shoulder, wore a sombrero and a
good sabre. They met him at the door and led him into the house.

"Here I am at your service, to see what I can do for you," he said
to them.

"Oh, no!" they said. "We invited you because we like you, not because
we want anything of you. Sit down and eat."

He sat down to the table, which was loaded with all the good things
rich people eat. He put a roll of bread on his plate, and then began
to make stripes with it on his arms and legs.

"Why do you do that?" they asked him. "We invited you to eat what
we eat."

Chulavete replied: "You do not wish that my heart may eat, but my
dress. Look here! Last night it was I who was outside of your door. The
man who came to see me burned me with his pine torch, and said to me,
'You Indian pig, what do you want here?' "

"Was that you?" they asked.

"Yes, gentlemen, it was I who came then. As you did not give me
anything yesterday, I see that you do not want to give the food to me,
but to my clothes. Therefore, I had better give it to them." He took
the chocolate and the coffee and poured it over himself as if it were
water, and he broke the bread into pieces and rubbed it all over his
dress. The sweetened rice, and boiled hen with rice, sweet atole,
minced meat with chile, rice pudding, and beef soup, all this he
poured over himself. The rich people were frightened and said that
they had not recognised him.

"You burned me yesterday because I was an Indian," he said. "God put
me in the world as an Indian. But you do not care for the Indians,
because they are naked and ugly." He took the rest of the food,
and smeared it over his saddle and his horse, and went away.

The Coras say they originated in the east, and were big people with
broad and handsome faces and long hair. They then spoke another
language, and there were no "neighbours." According to another
tradition, the men came from the east and the women from the west.

In the beginning the earth was fiat and full of water, and therefore
the corn rotted. The ancient people had to think and work and fast
much to get the world in shape. The birds came together to see what
they could do to bring about order in the world, so that it would be
possible to plant corn. First they asked the red-headed vulture, the
principal of all the birds, to set things right, but he said he could
not. They sent for all the birds in the world, one after another,
to induce them to perform the deed, but none would undertake it. At
last came the bat, very old and much wrinkled. His hair and his beard
were white with age, and there was plenty of dirt on his face, as he
never bathes. He was supporting himself with a stick, because he was
so old he could hardly walk. He also said that he was not equal to
the task, but at last he agreed to try what he could do. That same
night he darted violently through the air, cutting outlets for the
waters; but he made the valleys so deep that it was impossible to
walk about, and the principal men reproached him for this. "Then I
will put everything back as it was before," he said.

"No, no!" they all said. "What we want is to make the slopes of a
lower incline, and to leave some level land, and do not make all the
country mountains."

This the bat did, and the principal men thanked him for it. Thus the
world has remained up to this day.