There was a catwalk running along the center, and he worked his way to the end of the baggage car and sprang across to the roof of the second-class coach. The stars were pale, and in the east the dark peaks were already tipped with fire, as he jumped to the roof of the Pullman and lowered himself down through the open window to the door.
When he reached Rivera’s compartment, he knocked softly. It opened almost immediately. Dillinger pushed Rivera back in and stepped inside.
Rivera had obviously just awakened. “What is it?”
“Bandits got on at La Lina. We’re having a little trouble back there. Have you got a gun?”
Rivera looked at him suspiciously, then pulled a suitcase from under his bunk, opened it, and produced a revolver. “How many bandits?”
“There were three, but Fallon’s looking after one of them in the luggage van. The leader’s a man called Villa. Fallon said he used to work for you.”
“Juan Villa?” Rivera’s face hardened. “That man is a murderer!”
He brushed past Dillinger and moved along the corridor quickly. The noise of the train effectively cloaked any disturbance that was taking place inside the second-class coach as the two men passed through the empty first-class compartments. Rivera paused at the door to listen for a moment, then opened it.
Juan Villa was halfway along the coach, his hat held out to a group of people at a table. The third man stood a couple of feet away with his back to the door. Rivera took a quick step forward and placed the barrel of the gun against his neck. The man’s whole body seemed to go rigid. Rivera plucked the revolver from his hand and passed it to Dillinger.
Rivera moved forward and said, “Villa!”
Villa looked up sharply. For a moment his face was washed clean of all expression and then he smiled. “Eh, patron. We meet again.”
“Put down the gun,” Rivera said.
As the bandit hesitated, Dillinger shouted to Fallon. A moment later, the first bandit lurched in from the luggage van holding his head, Fallon behind him.
Villa shrugged and dropped his gun on the table.
“Take them to my compartment,” Rivera said.
Fallon pulled the young Indian girl up from the end table and pushed her after the others. “She was in it, too.”
“What about the conductor?” Dillinger said.
“Dead.”
As they reached Rivera’s compartment, the engineer sounded the steam whistle three times-the emergency signal-and braked sharply.
The train slowed to a halt, and Dillinger looked out of the window. A bunch of steers were milling across the track, a dozen or fifteen peons on horseback vainly trying to urge them on. Suddenly the peons turned and galloped forward with shrill cries, drawing revolvers and firing as they came. When they reached the train, they dismounted.
Dillinger ducked back inside and turned to Villa. “Friends of yours?”
The bandit grinned. “I don’t think they’re going to like the way you’ve been treating me, amigo.”
There was an outburst of firing from the rear of the train. A mounted trooper galloped past the window and then another. Rivera pushed Villa forward. “Three times they’ve made this trip to Juarez, my friend. They were beginning to lose faith in you.”
Dillinger looked out and saw mounted troopers of the Federal cavalry emerging one by one from the boxcars at the end of the train. Most of the bandits were still trying to remount when they were surrounded. They tried firing back, but it was no use. They were outmaneuvered and outnumbered. It was all over.
Rivera pulled on his jacket and turned to Fallon. “You stay here with Villa. If he makes the slightest move to escape, shoot him.” He nodded to Dillinger. “Bring the others outside.”
As he jumped to the ground, the young officer in command of the troop walked forward and saluted. “Lieutenant Cordonna. They informed me in Chihuahua that you were traveling on the train, Don Jose. It would seem we have been completely successful.”
“Not quite,” Rivera said. “They murdered the conductor.”
“Which one is Villa?”
“He is at present under guard in my compartment. He, of course, must be held for public trial in Chihuahua, but the others…”