country is that he is very greedy, requiring oxen for food, not being satisfied with sheep, goats, or anything else.  Therefore but few Tarahumares can afford to entertain him in their country.  If an ox is not killed for him, he will eat the Indian.  He always holds his head down, because he is listening to all the ceremonies that are being held in the Tarahumare land, and he is always full of thoughts of how he may cure his sons, the Tarahumares.  He never dies.  When a person is very ill, and there is no such hikuli in the country, the shaman in his thoughts flies to the hikuli country, where “the great authority” stands looking at his children, the people, and offers him the soul of an ox that has been sacrificed.  Hikuli accepts the offering, and sends back his blessings by his servants, who are always well dressed and wear straw hats, “like regular Americans,” as my shaman friend Rubio expressed it.  Only the shamans, however, can see them come, to cure the hearts of the people and to clean their souls.

All these various species are considered good, as coming from Tata Dios, and well-disposed toward the people.  But there are some kinds of hikuli believed to come from the Devil.  One of these, with long white spines, is called ocoyome.  It is very rarely used, and only for evil purposes.  If anyone should happen to touch it with the foot, it would cause the offending leg to break.  Once when I pushed one of these globular spiny cacti out of my way with a cane, my Indian attendant immediately warned me, “Leave it alone, or it will make you fall down precipices.”

At one of the feasts which I witnessed I wished to taste hikuli, as it was new to me.  A lively discussion arose between the shamans, and I was finally told that I might sit with them, as it was known that I had some of the sacred plants in my possession.  The condition was made, however, that I should take off my sombrero.  It happened to be a cold and windy December night, but I obeyed and put my handkerchief over my head, to which no objection was raised.  The man who carried the gourd, first danced in front of the shaman, then around the fire, and finally brought it to me.  The liquid tasted somewhat bitter, but not exactly disagreeable; and while I drank, the man looked at me with astonishment, as if he had expected that hikuli would refuse to be taken by me.

I drank only a small cupful, but felt the effect in a few minutes.  First it made me wide awake, and acted as an excitant to the nerves, similar to coffee, but much more powerful.  This sensation lasted for about ten minutes, when it was followed by a depression and a chill such as I have never experienced before.  To get warm I almost threw myself into the fire, but not until morning was the feeling of cold conquered.  Some Tarahumares told me that they are similarly affected, and for this reason they do not take it.  When I told the shaman about the effect hikuli had on me, he asked whether I had rasped on the notched stick, because, he said, hikuli does not give chills to people who rasp.  In other words, according to him, the effect might be warded off by physical exercise.