Just as we were descending a high mountain into the beautiful valley of the Tatawichic, we passed by an enormous rock on the steep trail of the mountain side that must have been fully three hundred feet high and not over thirty feet in diameter, which did not vary a foot from its base to its top, where it was rounded off like a half globe. It was green in color, looked exactly like a pitahaya cactus turned into stone, and seemed wonderfully unstable as seen from the trail that wound around its base on the steep descent. The name of the station at this point was Pilarcitas (Little Pillars), from the many curious and fantastic rock formations which assumed the shape of pillars, either singly or in groups of two, three, or more. The previous night had been very cold in the mountains, and the constant showers only increased the chill; so we found the little station houses the most welcome places of refuge as night came on. The last station on this trail is about four or five miles from Carichic, and is in the center of a productive and well-watered valley. The little cultivation done there by the Indians shows a wonderful fertility of soil; in truth there are but few of the staple products that could not be grown in that portion of the country in the greatest abundance. At this last station of the Batopilas Company they start their private stages directly for Chihuahua. We remained over for a day, awaiting the departure of the regular diligence from Carichic. [Illustration: STONE PILLAR ABOUT THREE HUNDRED FEET HIGH, RESEMBLING CACTUS.] While here I talked with an intelligent American, who had lived for many years in this country, about the Tarahumaris. He told me he had that season attended one of their foot races, a favorite pastime of these people. At this particular contest one of the fleetest and most enduring foot runners in all the great band of the Tarahumaris (or tribe of "foot runners," as we know they are called) was a contestant. That summer he had made one hundred Spanish miles--about ninety of ours--in eleven hours and twenty minutes, in a great foot contest near the Bacochic River, resting but once for half an hour in this terribly long race. The man, Mr. Thomas Ewing by name, told me that he attempted to run this foot runner a _vuelta_, (which is six miles straight away and return, or twelve miles altogether), Ewing using a horse; and although the white man tried this three times with three different horses, the Tarahumari cave dweller beat him each time. These contests of the Tarahumaris are almost always very long and exciting. They make their bets with stock of some kind, sheep, cattle, or goats, and large numbers of these change hands on the outcome of the races. In a letter to me regarding these races, Mr. Ewing writes of one of the runners: