“True—such schooling as we had. That is long ago. Since then we have never seen him till lately. He left our village, and went to live in the great city of Puebla—a wicked place, though it be called the City of the angels. We didn’t hear of him for a long time; and then we were told that he had taken to the camino real—had become, as I’ve said, a salteador.”
“And now he is an officer in the Mexican army?”
“That’s the strangest of all. But no. It’s not so strange to us down here, who are well acquainted with Don Antonio. Ramon Rayas isn’t the only picaro in his employ. As I’ve told you, we’d seen nothing of Ramon since he was a boy at school. Then one day he reappeared among us with a commission to recruit—no, not that, but rather to take us young fellows by force, and make soldiers of us. I was compelled to go with the rest. We were formed into a guerilla, with Rayas as our captain. It was at that time his eyes fell upon Lola.”
“But did your sister accompany you in the campaign?”
“She did. There were many other women with us—the wives and sisters of my comrades. They came to work for us, and make us comfortable in camp. It is our custom, ñor Americano. ’Tis not so with you, I am told.”
“No, we don’t trouble ourselves with such company.”
“Ah, ñor capitan, it has indeed proved a trouble to me. It has required all to protect my poor little sister.”
“Protect her! Against whom?”
“Our captain—Don Ramon. His importunities—cruelties I should call them—were of daily, hourly occurrence. They were growing worse, when—”
“You sent her out of his reach?”