1 68 THE WOODLANDS ORCHIDS 



of tufa masked by that straggling cactus. They passed 

 through — and the idols stood before them ! The Cura fell 

 on his knees. 



It was a small plateau, as white and as naked as the rest. 

 In the midst stood three cairns, each bearing large stone 

 figures, painted red and blue and yellow. Before each cairn 

 was an altar, built of unhewn stones topped by a slab. 



The scene was impressive. Pablo recalled his prayers in 

 looking on it. The white and glittering dust lay even as a 

 floor around those heaps of stone. All was still, but the 

 painted statues seemed to tremble and flicker in that awful 

 heat. Tiny whirls of sand arose, and danced, and scattered, 

 though never a breath of wind moved the burning air. The 

 shadow of a vulture sailing passed slowly from side to side. 



The Cura ended his prayer, leapt up and rushed — his old 

 black gown streaming like wings. He grasped the foremost 

 idol and pushed and pulled with all his might — he might as 

 well have tried to overthrow the rock itself Another and 

 another he attempted ; all in vain. He paused at length, 

 mopping his drenched face, disheartened but still resolved. 

 Then he took stones and battered the features. 



Pablo was scarcely disappointed. So soon as they entered 

 that barren tract, he knew that the Flor de San Lorenzo 

 could not live there. Approaching he scrutinised the altars. 

 Heaps of ashes and charred wood lay upon them, beneath 

 leaves and fruits and flowers, unburnt but shrivelled and 

 crackling in the sunshine. Carefully Pablo turned these 

 over. On the largest slab were found bones and dry pools 

 of blood. 



I have not room to follow the story in detail. Next day 

 they started for Orizaba, the priest carrying a passionate 

 recital of these discoveries to the Bishop. What came of it 

 I do not know. Pablo returned forthwith, in pressing haste, 

 accompanied by two soldiers. With these he called on the 



