She put down the pan and went through into the bar. Chavasse and Dillinger followed her. The town seemed strangely still in the early-morning sun. Old Gomez, the crippled railwayman Rivera had imported to work the telegraph, came out of his office and locked the door. He stumped down the street and paused to raise his hat to Rose.
“Where is everyone this morning, Rafael?”
“The good God knows, senorita. I have troubles of my own. The line is down again.”
“Are you sure?”
Gomez nodded. “At six each morning I get a signal from Chihuahua, just to check that everything’s working. Then I reply. It didn’t come through this morning.”
“What happens now?” Dillinger asked him. This man must know they’re looking for someone driving a white Chevrolet convertible.
Gomez shrugged. “They give me three days to find the break and repair it. If they don’t hear from me by then, they send a repair crew from Macozari. That’s how it works. In theory. Last time it happened it was ten days before they did anything.
As he went off down the street, a crowd of thirty or forty mestizos emerged from the church and came down the street toward them.
The spokesman was a large fat man with a graying beard. He removed his straw sombrero and said to Rose, “Senorita, in the night the Indians have stolen away with our burros. Why is this?”
“We don’t know, Jorge,” she said. “Perhaps it is something to do with the disaster at the mine. Perhaps they thought that Don Jose would force them to labor for him in place of those who have died.”
Jorge shook his head. “There is more to this, senorita. We are afraid.”
“But what is there to fear, Jorge?”
As if in answer there came a whooping yell from many throats. A bullet suddenly splintered the post at the side of the door, and before the echo of the shot could reach them, a second one rang out and shattered one of the windows. As Dillinger swung round, mounted Indians came over the ridge on the far side of the town, howling like a wolf pack as they moved down among the houses.
The people scattered, most of them fleeing in panic to their homes. Dillinger pushed Rose through the door of the hotel, and Chavasse followed.
As Dillinger slammed and barred the front door, Chavasse ran into the kitchen to do the same at the rear. Several Indians thundered along the street, and shots crashed into the building as the Frenchman returned.
“They’ve gone crazy,” Rose said. “This hasn’t happened in fifty years.”
Dillinger peered out of the window, his face blazing with excitement. “Apaches painted for war. I never thought I’d see anything like that in my life.”
Another bullet shattered glass and thudded into the opposite wall. Dillinger drew his Colt automatic. He scrambled across to Rose, who crouched by the window. Her face was very pale, and there was blood on her cheek from a splinter of glass. “Haven’t you any weapons in the place at all?” he said.
She seemed slightly dazed and wiped the blood away mechanically. “There’s an old revolver in the top drawer of the dresser in my bedroom.”
He handed her the Colt. “You know how to use this thing?”
Something clicked in her eyes, and she came back to life again. “Of course I do.”
“Okay. Hang on here. I’ll be back.”
Dillinger went up the stairs on the run, turned along the corridor, and kicked open the door to her room. He found the revolver at once, an old Smith and Wesson.45. It was empty, but there was a box of cartridges. He loaded it quickly, then crossed to the door leading out to the balcony.
As he stepped out, three Apaches rode into the courtyard, one of them carrying a burning brand. Dillinger dropped to one knee, rested the barrel of the Smith and Wesson across the rail, and aimed low. The heavy slug lifted the Apache from the saddle as he started to throw the brand toward the stables. His two companions flattened across their ponies’ necks and rode for cover.
Dillinger went back inside, closed and barred the shutters in all the bedrooms, and hurried downstairs. As he dropped to one knee beside Rose, she turned, her face pale. “Ortiz is leading them. I just saw him ride past. He wasn’t wearing his cassock. He was all Apache.” She shivered.