BarbarousMexico JOHN KENNETH TURNER

OVER THE EXILE ROAD
signal of the administrador did I know that the blows
were delivered by the watch and not until it was all over
did I know that, in order to multiply the torture, six
seconds were allowed to intervene between each stroke.
The second blow fell, and the third, and the fourth.
I counted the blows as they fell, ages apart. At the
fourth the strong l)rOWfl skin broke and little pin-heads
of crimson pushed themselves out, burst, and started
downward in thin tricklets. At the sixth the glistening
back lost its rigidity and fell to quivering like a jellyfish.
At the ninth a low whine somewhere in the depths
of that Yaqui, found its devious way outward and into
the open. Oh, that whine! I hear it now, a hard, hard
whine, as if indurated to diamond hardness by drilling
its way to the air through a soul of adamant.
At last the spats ceased—there were fifteen—the administrador,
with a final nod, put away his watch, the
giant Chinaman released his grip on the brown wrists
and the Yaqui tumbled in a limp heap to the ground.
He lay there for a moment, his face in his arms, his
quivering, bleeding flesh to the sky, then a foreman
stepped forward and put a foot roughly against his
hip.
The Yaqui lifted his head, disclosing to the light a
pair of glazed eyes and a face twisted with pain. A moment
later lie rose to his feet and staggered forward to
join his fellow bondsmen. In that moment the spell of
breathless silence on the seven hundred snapped, the
ranks moved in agitation and there rose a bum of low
speech from every section of the crowd. The special
"cleaning tip" of the morning was over. Five minutes
later the day's work on the farm had begun.
Naturally I made inquiries about Rosanta Bajeca to
find out what crime he had committed to merit fifteen
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