The number of natives travelling on foot the same way we were going was unusually large and kept increasing each mile. All the by-paths contained their quota, who joined those on the main road, like the little rivulets which made up the great stream. All were dressed in their best, for that is usually about all they possess; at least their clothes were freshly washed and looked unusually well. Men, women and children, all in family groups, moved along at a rapid pace as if drawn by a powerful magnet. The number of Indians kept increasing more and more for the next few miles, each carrying their baskets of food and many stopping along the road to eat. At last we reached a town where a fiesta was in progress, and this seemed to be their Mecca. All along the road from the capital we had noticed decorated arches erected over the road every few miles. A bishop had come to this village and these arches had been erected in his honour. It was the first time for nine years that a clergyman had been in that village. It was the duty of a priest living about thirty miles away to come here at least once each year to perform marriage ceremonies, baptisms, and other religious ceremonies. He started each year, but failed to come because he always got thoroughly saturated with liquor each time before he had travelled this far. One incident happened here which rather discomfited an American liquor salesman whom I met. He had sent several mule cargoes of liquor over for the train that we were attempting to make in order to ship it to Honduras. It is necessary for each driver in charge of such merchandise to have a “guia” showing that all government fees had been paid. The driver did not have his in proper shape, so the _commandante_ arrested the whole outfit, mules, driver, and whisky. They extracted a few gallons of the liquid cheer to aid in the proper celebration of the priest’s coming, and then let the driver proceed unmolested.