The Mexicans hate the law to step in to settle their differences, as they believe only in personal vengeance. I was in the commissaria once when a man was brought in badly hurt, and, as he refused to tell the judge who had done it, he was sent to jail till he should tell. On a recurring sentence or, as the judge said, “trenta days y vuelta” (thirty days and return); this is a very common way of prolonging a sentence when the law distinctly lays down the limit of sentence for the offence. I said to the judge, who is a good friend of mine, that this seemed queer justice. “Well,” said he, "it is the only means I have to deal with these people, and to avert murder. If I can only find out who the other man is I can put him out of harm’s way till this fellow cools down and forgets his wrongs." I heard of another case of a man brought in as a drunk, who was set in one corner to wait his turn at examination. When his turn finally came, they tried to prod him up when he did not answer, thinking he was shamming, but they found he was dead from a bad stab in the chest. He had kept himself so covered with his blanket that they had not known he was wounded, trusting, I suppose, that it would not be discovered, and that later he could settle with his opponent in his own way. Mexicans are of a stoical Indian blood, and pain that they understand they can bear without a murmur. But a headache or other pain that they cannot account for makes them think they are going to die. One of our men slipped into a melting-tank containing liquid asphalt at between 300° and 400° Fahrenheit. He fell in up to his armpits, yet never made a sound either then or when he was pulled out, but actually assisted us in getting his clothes off. We rolled him in oiled cloths, got him into a hack, gave him half a bottle of tequila, and prepared to start him off to the hospital when a priest came up, running, confessed him, and gave him the last rites of the church. Through it all he never made a moan, though his teeth were chattering with the shock. The law in this country said that in case of an accident one must not touch the person until the police have had a chance to investigate, and had this happened with only Mexicans around, they would have telephoned the police, and then sat idle till they came, with the man still in the kettle: this law has since been changed. I, however, took chances, and ordered a hack, then I telephoned to the _Jefe Politico_ (mayor and chief magistrate) asking permission to send the man direct to the hospital without waiting for the police investigation. He consented on my assuring him that it was an accident. So I sent a man with the poor fellow and a note to the director of the hospital, but I found out later that when the director saw that the man was certain to die, he refused to receive him without a permit from the police captain of our precinct. So the poor devil was driven one and one-half miles back to the police station and from there