At seven o'clock that night the fanatic band came
marching down to the hospitable house of Colonel
Manuel Chaves, the most extraordinary Indian fighter
New Mexico ever produced. A little family chapel
stands a few rods from the house, behind two sturdy
oaks, in whose never-forg^otten shade Colonel Chaves
rested one awful day fifty-eight years ago, when,
sieved by seven Navajo arrows, he was crawling his
bloody one hundred and fifty miles homeward to
Cebolleta. Hither the procession turned. There
were now five Hermanos Disciplinantes, but only one
of them was using his whip — a short, youthful-seem-
ing fellow of beautiful muscular development. Kneel-
ing in turn and kissing the rude cross that leaned
against one of the trees, each one waddled on his
knees into the chapel and up to the altar, where all
remained kneeling. Back of them were two-score
women on their knees, while a dozen men stood rev-
erently along the wall. The Hennano Mayor, Jose
Salazar — a small, amiable-looking shrivel — raised his
cracked voice in a hymn ; and the audience followed,



THE PENITENT BROTHERS 93

in the nasal drawl so dear to native New Mexican
singers. It was an impressive sight — the little adobe
room, whose flaring candles struggled vainly with the
vagrant shadows ; the altar bright with chromos of
the saints, a plaster image of the Holy Mother dressed
in tulle and wreaths of paper flowers ; the black-
capped, bare-backed five before the altar ; and the
awe-struck Crowd behind — as they sang over and
over, with intense feeling, if with scant harmony :

" LAS COLUAINAS.'

" En una columna atado

Mallards al Rey del Cielo,
Herido y ensangrentado
Y arrastrado por el suelo.
