“At first they held some order. Not at once, even by their kind, are the sanctities to be destroyed. In the days that Don Porfirio held them in place a white woman was as high above them as the angels of light, so their tradition held them for a little while. Their first awe, however, soon became as a whet to their evil appetites. From rough jokes, bad talk, they proceeded to worse—entered her bedroom and the child’s, broke open the locked drawers, looted and handled their clothing.
“For that she did not care—not for anything, could she but keep the child from their hands. To have her out of their sight, she left her with me in my kitchen when she herself carried the food and waited upon them.
“‘Get Betty away!’ she had whispered to me. But the bandits had seen to that. Two of them sat at my kitchen door eating while they kept guard.
“Still she had hope—that, being fed and flattered and pleased with their plunder, they would ride on their way. Even when, as she came and went among them, they began to pluck at her with little pats and pinches, she still clung to the hope; held them off as she could with smiling reproof. But, beasts as they were, they took their bread from her hand, and then—and then—how shall one tell it?
“They demanded that the señorita Betty be brought in to wait on them. At first they took the food she brought, patted her on the back, called her ‘Linda’ and other pet names. But soon they began to torment her also. At last one beast pulled her on to his knee.
“To me, in the kitchen, came the child’s scream and the señora’s bitter cry. ‘For the sake of your mothers, señores!’ followed by the crash of furniture, smash of crockery swept to the floor.
“At the cry I ran to the doorway and saw Terrubio, my man, rush in at the opposite door. The face of him was torn with the fury of hell! One! Two! Three! He split their hearts with his knife, before he also went down under a saber stroke and was hacked to bits as he lay on the ground. From the meat-block I had snatched my fleshing knife. But as I gained the doorway the guards took me from behind and threw me backward upon the floor. As I lay there, fighting with both of them, the screams of the child, desperate moaning of the mother, rang in my ears! Mercy of God! Pity of the Virgin! Where were they? Where were they?”
Covering her ears, as though to shut out the dreadful echoes, she cowered at Bull’s feet while shudder after shudder shook her frame.
“Go on!” He stooped and shook her violently. “Go on!”
She looked up, the tears streaming from her eyes. “I was wrong, señor. One mercy was granted—death! They murdered them ... murdered them! Angered by the death of their own men, they murdered them—the innocent woman, sweet child!”