I could scarcely restrain them, till we should hear the tale. We guessed it already; but we needed some details to guide us in the execution of vengeance. It was told by many mouths, interrupting or confirming one another.
One of the men was more coherent—Pedro, who used to sell mezcal to the troop. To him we listened. The substance of his story was as follows:—
Shortly after we had left the rancheria, it was entered by the guerrilleros with cries of “Viva Santa Anna! Viva Mexico!” and “Death to the Yankees!” They commenced by breaking open the tiendas, and drinking mezcal and whatever they could find. They were joined by the mob of the place—by leperos and others. Pedro noticed the herredero (blacksmith) and the matador (cattle-killer) taking a conspicuous part. There were many women in the mob—the mistresses of the guerrilleros, and others of the town.
After drinking a while, they grew more excited. Then was heard the cry, “Mueran los Ayankieados!” and the crowd scattering in different directions, entered the houses, shouting, “Saquenlos afuera! matenlos!” (Drag them out! kill them!)
The poor girls, and all who had been friendly to the Americanos, were dragged into the piazza amidst the oaths and execrations of the guerrilla, and hissings and hootings from the mob. They were spit upon, called by filthy names, pelted with mud and melon-rinds, and then some of the crowd suggested that they should be marked, so that their friends the Tejanos should know them again. The suggestion was adopted; the women, more fiendish than the men, exciting the latter to the deed. Voices were heard calling to the blacksmith—
“Traiga el fierro! traiga el fierro!” (Bring the branding-iron!)
Others cried out, “Sacan las orejas!” (Cut off their ears.)
The brutal blacksmith and butcher, both half drunk obeyed the call—willingly, Pedro alleged. The former used the branding-iron—already prepared—while the latter performed his bloody office with the knife of his trade!
Most of the guerrilleros wore masks. The leaders were all masked, and watched the proceedings from the roof of the alcalde’s house. One Pedro knew in spite of his disguise; he knew him by his great size and red hair: it was the salteador, El Zorro. Others he guessed at; but he had no doubt it was the band of Don Rafael Ijurra—nor had we.
Had they left the rancheria before Pedro and the others came away?