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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



PROTECTIVE ARMOR AGAINST THE THORNS OF" THE BUSH 



At Los Mochis, in the State of Sinaloa 1 where there is a large and prosperous American 

 settlement, the bush-riders make use of a saddle equipped with flaps of soft leather. These are 

 thrown over the knees to protect the horseman from the curved thorns when he is out upon 

 a round-up. 



manzanita and cactus, rimmed about by 

 blue-tipped, silver-laden hills. 



The old-timers call this "the horned- 

 toad belt." 



One thinks the desert unpopulated. 

 One rides for miles without seeing more 

 than a 'dobe hut or a wandering Indian 

 behind a burro, or perhaps a twinkling 

 light at night. 



Yet during the fiesta of St. Francis 

 Xavier 40,000 Indians swarm into Magda- 

 lena. At night they roll in their blankets 

 and sleep in heaps in the dust of the 

 street. By day they pray to the Saint and 

 eat their everlasting cakes. 



It was from the vicinity of Magdalena 

 that the golden treasure came which so 

 aroused Spanish cupidity at the court of 

 Montezuma. Long before Cortez came, 

 these mines had paid a regular tribute to 

 the Aztec rulers. 



It was from them that much of the 

 gold was taken with which the treasure- 

 ships were laden at Acapulco for the 



voyage to Spain. Too much of the gold, 

 in fact, for the Spanish crown demanded 

 so large a proportion of the spoils that 

 the disgusted Jesuits finally reported the 

 mines as "lost." They were not worked 

 again until the advent of Americans, in 

 1817. 



From some of these mines silver was 

 taken out literally in plates. One nugget 

 was found which weighed 525 pounds, 

 and the priestly chronicler reports that 

 "it was swung on a litter of tree branches, 

 between two mules.'' 



EATING IS A CONTINUOUS OCCUPATION FOR 

 TRAVELING MEXICANS 



Our friends had seemed to feel that in 

 visiting Mexico we were taking our lives 

 in our hands with our fingers well but- 

 tered ; yet the ride southward from No- 

 gales was as unemotional as that from 

 Washington to Baltimore. 



Now and then, as the train stopped at 

 a village hidden in the night, we peeped 



