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THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



AN UP-TO-DATE LAUNDRY IN CULIACAN 



Hard work takes the place of soap in Mexi- 

 can laundry operations. The women take the 

 soiled linen to the river bank and beat it upon 

 the rocks until it is clean. The process is rather 

 hard on the texture of the finer garments, but 

 an extraordinary glistening whiteness is ob- 

 tained. 



Burros swung around the corner, en- 

 grossed in thought, as burros always are. 

 Each dragged a pair of small logs lashed 

 to the pack-saddle. 



The keepers of the little eating stands 

 at the station began to get ready for the 

 day's one train. Each had a tin which 

 had once contained five gallons of gaso- 

 line and out of which a tiny stove had 

 been constructed. Two or three young 

 Americans, grave, dusty, high-booted, re- 

 volvered, marched down the street — 

 young engineers, two years out of college. 



Three-inch Bain wagons jolted past in 

 incredible noise and dust. They were 

 drawn by oddly harnessed teams, four 

 mules abreast on the pole and from six to 

 ten as lead and swing teams. 



The white-hot sun burned deliciously 

 upon our backs. It devoured the filth in 



the streets, so that the only perceptible 

 odor was of the fragrant oranges at the 

 pretty woman's stand, or the occasional 

 acrid reek of a cigarette. 



A peon came out of a store with a bar 

 of dirty white metal on his shoulder. lie 

 dumped it on a rough mat in the bottom 

 of a wagon and wandered up the street. 

 At intervals he reappeared with other 

 bars, as we sat in the sun and talked of 

 San Francisco and Washington and Paris. 

 Then he went to a restaurant for his 

 noon meal of beans and cakes. 



The bars were of silver. They would 

 have been quite as safe if they had been 

 gold, for there are conventions in crime. 

 One does not steal bullion in the street 

 nowadays. 



Bandits there are, of course. 



"Were," corrected the dry-river pros- 

 pector. "Were." 



HOW A FORMER STEVEDORE: PUT AN END 

 TO BANDITRY 



General Flores had put an end to ban- 

 ditry, it seemed. An extraordinary man. 

 Ten years ago a stevedore at Mazatlan, 

 unable to read and write. A power among 

 his fellows because of his qualities of 

 leadership and also because he w T as abso- 

 lutely fair. 



He had fought his way up, by sheer 

 military ability, coupled with ruthlessness, 

 until now he is the military governor of 

 the three States of Sonora, Sinaloa, and 

 Nayarit. The State authorities in Sonora 

 do not get on with him, and so he con- 

 fines his operations to the other States. 



One heard of him everywhere. Always 

 people said of Flores, "He is fair; abso- 

 lutely fair." 



He had stopped banditism in a way of 

 his own. -In the United States we chase 

 bandits when they break into a bank or 

 hold up a train. It makes excellent melo- 

 drama and often we catch the bandits. 



Flores sent out culdadors, which term 

 might be translated as "care-takers," w T ho 

 are really one-man field courts-martial. 

 They pop into a village in the early 

 morning, accompanied by soldiers, who 

 shoot at people who try to leave town 

 through bypaths. 



They set up court in the plaza and send 

 out their agents. "Get Juan," they say, 

 "Juan Esmeet." 



The evidence has already been collected 



