Alas, the day! That very night both men, policeman and prisoner, were thrust into the local jail, helplessly drunk.
One evening, during our stay at Chicahuastla, Don Guillermo begged me to go into the kitchen to examine a baby, upon whom he was thinking of performing a surgical operation.

The creature was a boy some three months old, pure indian.

We had heard him crying at night ever since we had come, but had not seen him.

A tumor, or some growth, was on his neck, below the chin.

Don Guillermo handed me the razor, in order that I might remove the swelling, but I refused the task.