It might not be uninteresting to describe the events of a single afternoon in a Triqui town.  On one occasion, having eaten dinner, we had scarcely begun our work when we heard a great uproar and din upon the road toward Santo Domingo.  Looking in that direction, we saw a crowd of men and boys struggling toward us.  As they came nearer, we saw that six or eight of the party were carrying some awkward and inconvenient burden.  It was a man, sprawling face downward; two or more held his arms, an equal number his legs; about his waist a belt, knotted behind, was tied, and then through the knot was thrust a strong pole, which was being carried by two men, one on either side.  Struggling against those who carried him, raising his face and snarling and gnashing at the crowd, the prisoner presented a fearful spectacle.  It seemed that, being drunk, he had quarreled with his friend, whom he had nearly murdered with his machete.  About the middle of the afternoon we heard a loud crying in the other direction, toward the church and jail, and, on looking, saw coming toward us a man, whose head was broken open and from it was streaming blood, his head and face were covered, and his white shirt, to the waist and even below, was soaked with the red fluid.  He was wringing his hands and crying in a piteous manner.  When he came to where we stood, he told his tale of woe.  He was the majordomo in charge of the church property.  He had expected that the priest would make his visit to the pueblo on that day, and had so announced it to the people; the pious parishioners looked forward, with interest, to the coming of the padre.  When the day passed, however, and the priest failed to appear, one of the more religious felt so outraged that he had broken open the head of the majordomo with a club, on account of his disappointment.  We told the poor fellow to go home and let his wife clean him up and change his clothing, promising that, if he died, his assailant should be punished.  That evening there was a little moonlight at Chicuhuastla, the only time during our stay.  As we sat eating supper, we heard an outcry in the direction of the church and jail.  Asking Don Guillermo what might be the cause, he replied that there was probably some trouble at the jail.  We insisted on going to see what might be happening.  Don Guillermo, the plaster-worker, Mariano, Manuel and I, seizing whatever weapons were convenient at hand, started for the jail.  We found an excited crowd gathered around the doorway.  On a log before the door there sat a creature crazy-drunk.  I have never seen a case more horrible.  He screamed, yelled, gnashed his teeth, struck and snapped at everyone around.  The whole village stood in terror.  I addressed the policemen, who seemed quite helpless.  “Why not thrust him into the jail?  Quick!  Seize him!  In with him!” Encouraged by our words, they seized him, the door was quickly opened, and he was cast into the little room, which already