"Señora! Save me! God's curse on the ruffian. Oh—"
"Dolores!" Alaire exclaimed. "What has happened?"
Longorio demanded, irritably: "Yes. Why are you yelling like this:"'
"A man—See I One of those dirty peladors. Look where he tore my dress! I warned him, but he was like a tiger. Benito will kill me when he learns—"
"Calm yourself. Speak sensibly. Tell me what happened."
"One of those miserable soldiers who came today—pig!" Dolores was shaking, her voice was shrill. "He followed me. He has been drinking. He followed me about like a cat, purring and grinning and saying the most horrible things. Just now, when I went to your room, he was waiting in the darkness and he seized me. God! It was dreadful."
"A soldier? One of my men?" Longorio was incredulous.
Alaire turned upon him with a blazing anger in her face. "Is this more of your protection?" she stormed. "I give you and your men the freedom of my ranch, and you insult me while they assault my women."
He ignored her accusation, inquiring of the elder woman, "Who was the fellow?"
"How do I know," Dolores sobbed. "He is a—a thick, black fellow with a scar on his lip, like a snarl."