ADVENTURING DOWN THE WEST COAST OF MEXICO 



503 



town knife from the bag in which these 

 sartorial creations had been kept un- 

 spotted from the waves. So they led us 

 into town. 



A DISMAL SEARCH FOR A HOTEL. 



"Hotel," we said. 



The Indians nodded. The sand was 

 soft and deep. Our feet found the rails 

 of a long-abandoned tram-line and found 

 them hard. 



A dog rushed us from an ancient, pil- 

 lared portico. We blinked the darkness 

 out of our eyes as we entered a white- 

 washed room in which a lonely boy of 

 eighteen sat in the radiance of a tallow 

 candle surrounded by an insect aureole. 



We thought, poor fools, that we were 

 in the hotel, but it was the custom-house. 

 Even at such a port as San Bias one goes 

 through the customs. The lonely boy 

 helped us through the formalities and we 

 stumbled again into the dark street. A 

 policeman's whistle shrilled the hour and 

 an iron bell clattered. 



Perhaps if Caterina had known that 

 two Americans were outside her doors 

 she might have opened them, for Caterina 

 has the name of being friendly to Amer- 

 icans ; but she did not, and we said no 

 word. We did not even know that the 

 dark house was a hotel when the Indians 

 stopped in front of it. . No light was vis- 

 ible. No light was ever visible. 



The Indians tapped lightly until from 

 the inside a feminine voice told us to go 

 away. 



"Two senores desire a night's lodging/' 

 said the Indians, gently. 



"Just country people," said the fem- 

 inine voice, disparagingly. "Let them 

 sleep in the street." 



The keeper of the half -darkened saloon 

 opposite rose from the chair on which he 

 had been strumming a soft guitar and 

 came to our aid. He knocked furtively 

 at the door. He called for Caterina by 

 name, and then for Dolores and Elena. 

 The cold voice within stated that its 

 owner earnestly desired that we be on 

 our way. 



"There is another hotel," said the 

 keeper of the saloon, "but it is in bad 

 condition." 



The gods forbid that I should cry fie 

 upon a lady's hotel-keeping, but it is a 

 fact that the saloon-keeper was right. 



WHEN ONE READS ABOUT THE "rEBOZa" 



Native girls and women are rarely seen 

 without the shawl-like head-covering known as 

 the rcboza, though its color changes in the 

 various States. 



After all, Maria was of a good sort. 

 She made no difficulties about admitting 

 us, but threw her door wide open. Later 

 we discovered her to be fat, kindly, and 

 superior to any imported eccentricities 

 about sanitation. 



A FAREWELL TO THE UTTDEST INDIAN 



The capo and the second brother smiled 

 so that their perfect teeth, shone in the 

 darkness, as thev lifted their hats in fare- 

 well. 



The littlest Indian, his small face hid- 

 den in his serape, his little knife thrust in 

 the folds of his little sash, his feet that 

 had been bare all day smarting under the 

 straps of the new sandals for city wear, 

 smiled at us in the cheeriest fashion as 

 he, too, lifted his steeple-crowned som- 

 brero and strode out, like the villain of a 

 midget melodrama, to the sights of the 

 sleeping town. 



