Every point in the writing was plainly visible.
“See, Clayley!” cried I, admiring this lamp of Nature’s own making. “Never trust the tales of travellers. I have heard that half a dozen of these insects in a glass vessel would enable you to read the smallest type. Is that true?” added I, repeating what I had said in Spanish.
“No, Señor; ni cincuenta,” (No, sir; nor fifty), replied the Mexican.
“And yet with a single cocuyo you may. But we are forgetting—let us see what’s here.”
I bent my head to the paper, and read in Spanish:
“I have made known your situation to the American commander.”
There was no signature nor other mark upon the paper.
“From Don Cosmé?” I inquired, in a whisper to the Mexican.
“Yes, Señor,” was the reply.
“And how did you expect to reach us in the corral?”