“They look like Mexican cavalry,” Chavasse said.
Dillinger nodded. “Could be the bunch looking for Villa.” Or for a white convertible, he thought.
Ortiz called out sharply. Those of his men who were on foot mounted, and the whole troop galloped along the street into the smoke.
Dillinger opened the trap and let down the ladder.
Consumed by the fierce flames from the burning porch, the front door had fallen from its hinges, and Dillinger kicked the charred remains into the street. As the others moved out to join him, the soldiers came past the church and galloped toward them, Lieutenant Cordona leading.
Cordona flung up his hand and dismounted. There were twelve troopers with him and Sergeant Bonilla, who had a length of rope looped to his right wrist, the other tied around Juan Villa’s neck.
The bandit sat on his horse with ease in spite of the fact that his hands were tied in front of him. He grinned at Dillinger. “We meet again, amigo.”
Cordona came forward excitedly, his elegant uniform coated with dust. “What has happened here?”
“During the night every Indian in the place moved away,” Chavasse said. “Before we had time to find out what it was all about, the Apaches hit us.”
“Why should they do this thing?”
“There was a cave-in at the mine yesterday,” Rose told him. “About twenty Indians lost their lives. This American wanted to use dynamite to try to get them out, but Don Jose refused, and when Father Tomas pleaded with him, Rivera shot him. Ortiz has sworn vengeance.”
Cordona crossed to the store and with his foot turned over the Apache whom Dillinger had shot from the roof. He looked down at the painted face. “How many were there?”
Dillinger looked inquiringly at Chavasse and then shrugged. “A dozen or fifteen, certainly no more. We killed four of them. They cleared off fast when they saw you coming.”
“Then we must teach them that there are laws now,” Cordona said briskly. “Water the horses, Sergeant. We move out at once.”
“What about the prisoner?” Bonilla demanded.
“We must leave him.” Cordona turned to Dillinger and smiled faintly. “Perhaps this time, senor, you could contrive to make sure that he does not escape?”
He didn’t see Dillinger winking at Villa.
Cordona saluted Rose gallantly. “The pleasure of seeing you again is marred by the distressing circumstances, Senorita de Rivera. We shall lay them by the heels, never fear.”
Chavasse said, “They can run a long way. They know every arroyo, every water hole in these mountains.”
“So do my men,” Cordona said. “Half of them are Indians themselves, remember.”
“But not Apache,” Chavasse said.
Sergeant Bonilla turned from the water trough and led Cordona’s horse forward.
Cordona mounted, adjusted his chin strap, and smiled. “Before dark, my friends, I promise you Juan Ortiz. Either riding a horse or across one.”
Watching him canter away into the smoke, followed by his men, Villa sighed. “What a pity that in life we do not profit by the experience of others.”
He slid to the ground and held out his bound hands to Dillinger with a smile. “Would you mind, amigo? There is really no place I would care to run to at the moment, and I find this rope most uncomfortable.”
Ignacio Cordona had held his present rank for only six months and had little prospect of receiving a captain’s bars in less than three years. It seemed only reasonable to assume, however, that the destruction of Diablo and his band would bring his promotion significantly nearer. That thought pushed every other consideration from his mind.
Half an hour after leaving Hermosa they topped a rise and saw a bearded scarecrow riding toward them on an Indian pony. When Fallon caught sight of the uniforms, he slid to the ground with a hoarse cry and waited for them.
He was still terribly shaken by his ordeal, and Cordona dismounted and held a canteen to his lips. When he had drunk his fill, the old man stammered out his story in a few graphic sentences.
Cordona turned to Bonilla. “Four in the ambush at the canyon and perhaps twelve or fifteen have joined them from the town.” He grinned. “Fair odds.”