Arriving at the crest, we saw a long plain stretching before us, presenting a mingled growth of palms and pines.

At the very border of the ridge stood a hut of poles, where we stopped to drink _tepache_ and to eat broiled chicken which we had brought with us.

We found the old woman, an indian--neither Cuicatec, Chinantec, Mixtec, nor Zapotec, as we might expect--but a full Aztec from Cordoba.

She was bright and shrewd, and, as we chatted with her, we noticed a little chicken a few days old awkwardly running about with curiously deformed feet.

Upon my noticing it, the old lady remarked that the moon made it so.