re the Mexican padre indulges in his
form of church sociables and grab-bag business. He does it by letting
out the spaces of the square to all sorts of three-card-monte men,
and other catchpennies of that ilk, from December 8th, through the
Christmas Holidays, until the following _fete_ of the Epiphany. It is
said that the padre gets his percentage on the profits also. Poor man,
he must have some compensation, for his lot is such that, under the
laws of Mexico, he, or any other padre, cannot walk the streets in
clerical garb, but must disguise their calling in the ordinary dress of
a civilian. The padre in question, I was told, usually appeared in the
dress of an ordinary peon.

We took a peep into the prison, and were instantly assailed by the
prisoners behind the bars and in the open court within the gates,
offering us for sale trinkets they had made. The Mexican prison rules
do not oblige the jailers to provide food for their prisoners, so they
must in some way hustle for themselves, buy from their jailers, or
depend upon the charity of others. An officer in full uniform lounged
on a chair near by the outer door, and soldiers in canvas uniforms were
on guard with military rigidity, with arms in their hands. It was like
a bit out of the Middle Ages, or a scene from the opera, where brigands
and regulars have varying fortunes of conquering and being conquered.

It was nice to drive back over the Rio Grande del Norte again into the
home land; to have a chat with the United States Custom House officer;
to show him our purchases worth about fifty cents American money, for
which we had got eight or ten pieces of pottery from a street vender,
and then after our chat to be told "it was all right."

When we got into El Paso we saw the first touch of real war in the
shape of a regiment of cavalry bound for New Orleans and Cuba. There
were shouts and hurrahs as they moved off in their train, but not the
noisy enthusiasm which one might expect. Our American people are not
shouters, they are too serious. There is a silence about their most
excited conditions which a stranger can hardly understand.

VIII

Leaving El Paso.--Deming.--The Desert.--The Armed Guard.--The Cacti and
Other Flowers.--The Yuma Indians.--Avoiding Kodaks.--Rossetti's "Sister
Helen."

We left El Paso with pleasant recollections of all the kindness we
received there, and once again we travelled into the night. Ere that,
however, we had ample time