The letter was addressed—in no very fair hand—to an enemy, not only of my nation, but, as I deemed him, an enemy of mankind.
I drew the sheet from its cover—a piece of coarse foolscap, folded note fashion. The writing was in pencil, and just legible.
“Excellentissimo Señor!—La niña se huye del campamento. Es cierto que la ha mandado el hermano. Ha recibido la putita las propuestas de V.E. con muchas señales de civilidad. No tenga V. cuidad. Yo soy alerte. En buen tiempo, dormira ella en la tienda y los brazos de V.E. o no esta mia nombre.
“Ramon Ratas.”
Literal translation:—
“Most Excellent Sire!—The young girl has disappeared from the camp—assuredly by the command of her brother. The ‘putita’ (a word not to be translated) listened to the proposal of your Excellency with much show of complaisance. Don’t have any disquietude about the result. I am on the alert. In good time she shall sleep in the tent and arms of your Excellency, or my name isn’t.
“Ramon Ratas.”
Whatever of sleep was left in my body or brain, was at once dispelled by the reading of this disgusting epistle. I had not the slightest doubt as to whom it referred. “La niña” could be no other than Dolores Vergara.
There might be other niñas following the Mexican army who had brothers, but the communication of Rayas pointed to one who had lately disappeared from the camp—a circumstance identifying her with the sister of Calros.