In the
bloody retreat of the Spaniards from Mexico, in their fight with the
Aztecs, during the Noche Triste, Don Pedro Alvarado, from whom we
were descended, lost his mare through a deadly arrow. "Muy bien,
amigo Don Reyes," said I; "if you fear these people, I advise you to
return home to Dona Josefita, but I shall go on alone." "I fear not
man or beast!" flared up Don Reyes, "as you well know, friend, but
these are heathen fiends, not human, who worship a huge rattlesnake,
which they keep in an underground den and feed with the innocent
blood of Christian babes. Lead on, senor, I shall follow. I see it is
as Dona Josefita, my little wife, says: "If these young gringos crave
a thing, there is no use in denying them, for they seem to compel! To
the very door of that uncanny place I follow you, amigo, but enter
therein I shall not, unless I be first absolved from my sins and
shriven by the padre."
We had now arrived at the door of the estufa (oven), where the
entertainment was going on, full blast. I alighted and my friend took
charge of my horse and stationed himself at the door while I got down
on all fours and crawled inside. I seated myself on a little bench at
one side of the entrance. When my eyes got accustomed to the dense
atmosphere of the place, I observed that the room was full of people,
dancing in couples with a peculiar slow-waltz step.
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