After leaving the hamlet, we passed by the little church whose bell we had heard upon the previous night. The door was closed, and I noticed that it was charred by burning and blackened by smoke. I was told that this remote church was frequently closed during the time that the priest was away in other parts of the district, and when the Indians came here, they stuck lighted candles upon the door as nearly as possible in the direction of the image to which they wished to make their offerings. The church door was consequently deeply marked by the flames. Here, as also before the closed doors of other chapels in the mountains, the Indians have the custom of raising a temporary altar outside, before which they place offerings, and sit patiently in silence for many hours. They then fill a brazier with chips of resinous wood, and light their candles and the brazier and go away to their huts, leaving the incense burning. This is possibly a survival of the ancient usage of burning copal incense before their idols. During the forenoon we went over several steep ranges of hills, and down very abrupt descents until we arrived at the village of St. Martin, when we stopped at a deserted shed, and Carlos proposed that he should get ready the breakfast. It was always a pleasure to watch an Indian lighting a fire. His materials are usually a few dry sticks, some leaves, a flint, a steel, and a roll of prepared cotton, which, when slightly burnt, easily catches fire from the sparks of the flint. There was often, however, a difficulty in getting the fuel to burst into a flame, and the steady persistent patience of Indians in doing this is extraordinary. It was a great comfort in riding amongst the sierras, to have always the power of making a fire. It was of still greater importance to carry your own bed.