The first night on the Teboreachic was a most delightfully cool one after the long spell of warm weather we had experienced on the lower levels. It was preceded by a slight thunder shower, the first one of the season, but it warned us in unmistakable terms that the rainy season was not far off, and that we had better get out of the mountains before it was upon us. Before making La Laja, the second night, we passed the homes of many Indians, both of the semi-civilized type and the wilder ones of the cliffs and caves. At one point I stopped to get a photograph of the homes of some cliff dwellers, where, directly below the cliffs, were a couple of rude stone huts, built on a steep side of the mountain. The men seemed to be absent from this place, but we could see the forms of some women moving about and crouching down to avoid being seen by us. My Mexican man, Dionisio, was greatly alarmed at my action in dropping behind the party to photograph this group of strange homes, and loudly declared we would all be shot by the men, should they return and see us at this, to them, strange work. It was almost impossible to induce Dionisio to bring up my camera or hold my mule, so anxious was he to get away. There was really no danger whatever from these people, as they only fight to defend their homes, but the fear of the cowardly Mexican was very amusing. [Illustration: HOMES OF SEMI-CIVILIZED TARAHUMARIS.] Before leaving Batopilas we had been told that whatever we had seen of the wonderful or beautiful in nature on our outward journey by other trails, a treat of a most magnificent character was reserved for us on this route, one that was unique and wholly without parallel in those grand old mountains. This was the day's journey through the Arroyo de las Iglesias. So we were in a measure prepared for the many beautiful sights that awaited us on our third day. Although we had been passing through picturesque valleys and were constantly crossing lovely mountain brooks, one must admit without hesitation that of the many hundreds of beautiful streams in the Sierra Madre Mountains, flanked by cut and carved stone, there is none that will compare in extent or beauty with the sculptured rock of the Arroyo de las Iglesias (the Cañon of the Churches), so named on account of the spires of rock that greet one on every side for the greater part of a day's travel. For eighteen or twenty miles the Cañon of the Churches seems more like some theatrical representation of a fairy scene than a real one from nature. The limestone has been eroded into a thousand fantastic forms by the action of the elements, the predominating one being some feature of a church or cathedral, either in spires, minarets, or flying buttresses built far out from the main walls of the cañon. The most grotesque forms are those that generally cap the spires; it seems necessary that some hard rock above should protect the softer underneath in order to