Where the Indians have had little or nothing to do with the whites, they are obliging, law-abiding, and trustworthy.  Profit is no inducement to them, as they believe that their gods would be angry with them for charging an undue price.  As a matter of fact, they sell corn all the year round, whether it be scarce or plentiful, at the same price, though the Mexicans charge them very different prices.  The almighty dollar has no devotees among these Indians.  They have no need of aught that money can buy, and are swayed by persuasion and kind and just treatment more than by gold.  If they have a few coins, they place them in a jar and bury them in some remote cave, taking from the horde only a little when they have to buy some necessity of life.

Among the pagans in Pino Gordo I met the finest specimen of the Tarahumare tribe, a shaman, called Juan Ignacio.  Although he had never been as far as Guadalupe y Calvo, and only twice in his life to Babori-game, and had thus spent all his life in the mountains among his own people, he showed a courtesy and tact that would have graced a gentleman.  He took splendid care, not only of myself, but of my men and animals as well, giving us plenty to eat, sending his man to chop wood for us, etc.  He was possessed of the nicest temper, and was truthful, a rare quality among Tarahumares, as well as square in his dealings.  His uprightness and urbanity commanded respect even from the lenguarazes, and they did not rob him as much as the other Indians of the district; consequently he was quite well-to-do.

While living among the heathen, of whom there are vet some three thousand left, I had no fear of being robbed of any part of my outfit.  The Indians themselves would not touch anything, and there were no strange Mexicans about.  If they had come, the Tarahumares would have immediately warned me.  Everything was perfectly safe as long as I had an honest interpreter.  The Tarahumare in his native condition is many times better off, morally, mentally, and economically, than his civilised brother; but the white man will not let him alone as long as he has anything worth taking away.  Only those who by dear experience have learned to be cautious are able to maintain themselves independently; but such cases are becoming more and more rare.

It is the same old story over again, in America, as in Africa, and Asia, and everywhere.  The simpleminded native is made the victim of the progressive white, who, by fair means or foul, deprives him of his country.  Luckily, withal, the Tarahumare has not yet been wiped out of existence.  His blood is fused into the working classes of Mexico, and he grows a Mexican.  But it may take a century yet before they will all be made the servants of the whites and disappear like the Opatas.  Their assimilation may benefit Mexico, but one may well ask:  Is it just?  Must the weaker always be first crushed, before he can be assimilated by the new condition of things?