BarbarousMexico JOHN KENNETH TURNER

OVER THE EXILE ROAD 65
peated the home-like woman. "And if we don't choose—"
"Last Sunday they beat that sister there," said the old
woman. "She swore she'd never choose, and they beat
her just like they beat the men. Come, Refugio, show
them your back."
But the woman at the fire shrank away and hung her
head in mortification.
"No, no," she protested, then after a moment she muttered:
"\Vlien the Yaqui men are beaten they die of
shame, but the women can stand to be beaten; they cannot
(lie."
"It's true," nodded the 01(1 woman, "the men die of
shame sometimes—and sometimes they die of their own
will."
When we turned the talk to Sonora and to the long
journey the voices of the women began to falter. They
were from Pilares de Teras, where are situated the mines
of Colonel Garcia. The soldiers had come in the daytime
while the people were in the field picking the ripe
corn from the stalks. They had been taken from their
harvest labor and compelled to walk all the way to Hermosillo,
a three weeks' tramp.
The Yaqui love for the one who suckled them is
strong, and several of the younger women recounted the
details of the parting from the mother. Then we spoke
of their husbands again, but they held their tears until
I asked the question: How would you like to go back
with me to your homes in Sonora""
That opened the flood-gates. The tears started first
down the p1iiiip cheeks of the cheery, home-like woman,
then the others broke in, one at a time, and at last the
listening children on the floor were blubbering dolefully
with their elders. Weeping, the unhappy exiles lost their
last modicum of reserve. They begged us please to take