By this time my own party was in arms; photographer, plaster-worker, Manuel, all were scared.

They insisted that our throats would be cut that night.

They called attention to the ugly manner and black looks of the town authorities.

They declared that we had better flee, while yet there was opportunity; they insisted that they had not left comfortable homes to be murdered in cold blood; they begged that I would, at least, retreat from the position taken, and consent to measure the subjects who were waiting.

I assured them that it was far more important to teach the town a lesson regarding their duty to their higher officials, than to measure a few indians.