"The people of Mazatlan are not the politest in the world. They are given not only to staring, but to directing rude remarks at strangers. That sort of thing grows wearisome after a while, and I determined to correct it. Observing one big caballero eying me rather superciliously, I noticed his get-up with a critical and observant eye. Whereat I soliloquized: "Anybody, anywhere, might wear that shirt and trousers, but that sombrero and bright red serape are distinctively Mexican. Aha! I have it. I'll get a costume." And so I hied me to a shop, and, by more or less intelligible gestures and the exhibition of sundry coins, succeeded in encompassing my desires. Gee, whiz! What a make-up! My model wore a sombrero with a six-inch rim. I bought one with a rim a foot wide. To show my lofty contempt for his style of headgear, I bought an extra one about the size of his and stuck it under my arm. He had a fiery red serape wrapped around him, hot as it was. I procured one with red, blue, yellow and green stripes. Ah, but it was a kaleidoscopic dream! And hot-- oh, my!
To make my bluff good, I purchased a huge machete and slung it over my shoulder. I wanted to buy a pair of huge Mexican spurs, but the proprietor of the store would have none of it. He fain would not be accessory to a riot, I fancy. I left the shop as proud as a peacock, intending to paralyze the town. About a block away was standing my model, daintily twirling his moustache and smoking a big cigar, still with that supercilious air. He looked up, saw me and through me. His superciliousness changed to contempt, and then, as the absurdity of the counterfeit dawned fully upon him, he laughed uproariously. As I fled to my boat I was conscious that he had company in his hilarity. He had called his friends to see the show.
Well, anyhow, I don't believe I shall ever go down there again. Even if I should, those fellows probably would not remember me. But I'll not visit their old town again if I can help it--machete me if I do."
from "Panama and the Sierras: A Doctor's Wander Days" (1900)
by G. Frank Lydston
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