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102 of "a few stripes to the lazy ones as medicine for the day."

"But after awhile," declared Pla, "even the cane doesn't do any good. There comes a time when they just can't work any longer."

Pla told us that an agent of the government had three months before tried to sell him 500 Yaquis for twenty thousand pesos, but he had rejected the offer, as, though the Yaquis last like iron, they will persist in taking long chances in a break for liberty.

"I bought a bunch of Yaquis several years ago," he said, "but most of them got away after a few months. No, Yucatan is the only place for the Yaquis."

We found two Yaquis, however, on the farm, "Los Mangos." They said they had been there for two years and were the only ones left out of an original lot of two hundred. One had been out of commission for a few days, one of his feet being half gone—eaten off by insects.

"I expect I'll have to kill that tiger," said Pla, in the man's hearing. "He'll never be worth anything to me any more."

The second Yaqui we found in the field working with a gang. I stepped up to him and felt of his arms. They were still muscular. He was really a magnificent specimen and reminded me of the story of Ben Hur. As I inspected him he stood erect, staring straight ahead but trembling slightly in every limb. The mere attitude of that Yaqui was to me the most conclusive evidence of the beastliness of the system under which he was enslaved.

At "Los Mangos" a foreman let us inspect his long, lithe cane, the beating cane, the cane of bejuco wood. It bent like a rawhide buggy whip, but it would not break.

"The bejuco tree grows on the mountain side,"