again at Mitla. It was a festival day, that of the
Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle. In the evening there were rockets,
the band played, and a company of drummers and _chirimiya_ blowers went
through the town. Senor Quiero had fires of blazing pine knots at the
door. When the procession passed we noted its elements. In front was the
band of ten boys; men with curious standards mounted on poles followed.
The first of these standards was a figure, in strips of white and pink
tissue paper, of a long-legged, long-necked, long-billed bird, perhaps a
heron; next stars of colored paper, with lights inside; then were large
globes, also illuminated, three of white paper and three in the national
colors--red, white, and green. Grandest of all, however, was a globular
banner of cloth on which was painted a startling picture of the saint's
conversion. All of these were carried high in the air and kept rotating.
Behind the standard bearers came a drummer and the player on the shrill
pipe or _pito--chirimiya_. The procession stopped at Senor Quiero's
_tienda_, and the old man opened both his heart and his bottles; spirits
flowed freely to all who could crowd into the little shop and bottles
and packs of _cigarros_ were sent out to the standard-bearers. As a
result we were given a vigorous explosion of rockets, and several pieces
by the band, the drummer, and the _pitero_.

Beyond Mitla the valley narrows and the road rises onto a gently sloping
terrace; when it strikes the mountains it soon becomes a bridle-path
zigzagging up the cliffside. As we mounted by it, the valley behind
expanded magnificently under our view. We passed through a belt of
little oak trees, the foliage of which was purple-red, like the autumnal
coloring of our own forests. Higher up we reached the pine timber. As
soon as we reached the summit, the lovely valley view was lost and we
plunged downward, even more abruptly than we had mounted, along the side
of a rapidly deepening gorge. At the very mouth of this, on a pretty
terrace, we came abruptly on the little town of San Lorenzo with
palm-thatched huts of brush or cane and well grown hedges of _organo_
cactus. Here we ate _tortillas_ and fried-eggs with chili. Immediately
on setting out from here we rode over hills, the rock of which was
deeply stained with rust and streaked with veins of quartz, up to a
crest of limestone covered with a crust of stalagmite.

[Illustration: THE START FROM OAXACA]

[Illustra