From Guajochic I went to Nonoava (in Tarahumare:  Nonoa, nono = father), although this town is outside of the Tarahumare country proper.  The natives here, as may be expected, are pretty well Mexicanised, and losing their customs, religion, and language.  The Apache raids were well remembered here, as they were in Carichic, Cusarare, and Bocoyna.

I came upon a Mexican here who had married a Tarahumare woman.  His predilection for her tribe was also attested by his dress, which was exactly like that worn by the natives.  He had a dark, almost swarthy complexion, but otherwise he did not resemble an Indian.  His big; stomach and short arms and legs betrayed his real race, and contrasted strangely with the slender limbs and graceful movements of the Tarahumares.

Near Nonoava I photographed a magnificent fig-tree of the kind called beyota, the fruit of which is appreciated even by the Mexicans.  It was 116 feet across, and the leaves, as in other trees of the species, were very small.  There are larger trees of this kind to be found, but they are rare.  In the wet season, when the figs are ripe, the Tarahumares have a habit of singing under the trees while gathering the fruit.

I noticed some beautiful mezquites in the bed of a creek, the bottom of which was clayish.  Although the season for it was late, Indians were gathering the fruit.  The proper season is before the rain sets in.  The Indians throw the seeds away, but boil the fruit, grinding it between stones and mixing it with water.  This drink is also used through Sonora and Chihuahua by the Mexicans.

On my return I again spent some time in Guajochic.  The Indians came to visit me every day, and following my rule of giving to every visitor something to eat, I was making satisfactory progress in cultivating their friendship.  Some of them after eating from my plates and cups, went to the river to rinse their mouths and wash their hands carefully, to get rid of any evil that might lurk in the white man’s implements.  To be generous is the first step toward gaining the confidence of both the Indians and the Mexicans, and a gift of food is more eloquent than a long speech.  The Indian, however, before he knows you, always wants to see you eat first.

I interviewed many of the shamans, and began to gain some little knowledge of their songs, which helped to bring me nearer to them.  Shortly after my first arrival here it happened that rain fell, and precipitations continued quite frequently during my stay.  The Indians, who are intensely interested in rain, to obtain which they make so many exertions and sacrifices, evidently began to connect my presence with it.  Before my departure they confided to Don Andres that “It was no good that that man went away; it might happen that he carried the rain with him.”  They even seemed to delight now in posing before my mysterious camera, which they imagined to be a powerful rain-maker.  I heard no more excuses for not wanting to be photographed.  They no longer told me that it would cause their death, and that their god would be angry with them; nor was there any more of that unwillingness expressed by one Indian who told me that, inasmuch as he did not owe me anything, he did not want to be photographed.  Thus, almost without knowing it, I established friendly relations with the people.