We had thought ourselves unfortunate at Ixcuintepec and Coatlan; the worst lay before us.  We found San Miguel deserted.  Our three mozos who had been paid, and ordered to go simply to that village, and there to leave our things, had left before we arrived.  The man who had come with us, we had dismissed before we realized conditions.  The coffee had been gathered for the season; the chief man of the place was in the mountains; there was no town government; neither prayers, threats, nor bribes produced food for ourselves and our horses; two or three men around the place would not be hired as mozos.  We finally were forced to leave our busts, plaster, photographic outfit and plates on a bench under an open shed, and go on alone to Santiago Guevea.  It was a bitter disappointment, because our previous experience at San Miguel had been so pleasant and interesting.

When we left Coatlan that morning, it had been through clouds and drizzling rain.  When we passed through San Miguel, conditions were but little better.  From there, we went through a gorge road, everywhere passing little plantations of coffee, bananas, and tobacco.  Finally, we began our last mountain or forest climb.  The wind with the rain became colder and more penetrating.  At the summit, we found a typical norther raging, and at points our animals and ourselves were almost blown from the crest.  In good weather the road is long, but through this it was dreadful.  Few towns compare in beauty of location, and appearance from a distance, with Santiago Guevea.  It was nearly five when we drew up in front of the crowded town-house.  It will be remembered that this town is Zapotec, Coatlan being the last Mixe town.  The school-teacher interested himself in our welfare, securing for us a real sleeping-room with cots, putting our horses into the corridor of the schoolhouse, and arranging for our meals.  Chocolate and bread were at once furnished, and at eight o’clock a good supper was sent to our room.  In the plaza outside, the wind was blowing a hurricane and the cold cut like a knife; but the house in which we slept was tight and warm.  In the morning, we found the wild weather still continuing.  It had been out of the question to send mozos to San Miguel the night before, and it seemed wicked to start them out in such a storm of wind, fog, rain and cold.  Still, our time was precious, and we ordered men sent to the place where our stuff had been left, to fetch it; meanwhile, we decided to wait until they should appear.  Our animals had had nothing to eat the previous day, except a little corn we had brought with us from Coatlan.  We therefore ordered zacate brought for them.  The night before, I had inquired regarding the acquaintances we had made at San Miguel in our previous trip.  I learned that the man had died less than a month before, but that the widow, the four boys and the little girl, having finished their work at the coffee finca at San Miguel, were in town.  Accordingly