“I am not grieving for the dead,” he said. “It is for my angelita, Juanita.”
“We will get her back,” Rose said.
“Who will get her back?” Rivera asked. “The troopers are dead. I can send someone to the next telegraph station, and they will send twice as many Federalists to avenge Cordona’s death, but by that time who knows what that Ortiz will have done to the child.”
“We will get her back now.” It was Dillinger, standing at Rose’s side. “Provided you do not send for the troops.”
Rivera looked at them, Rose and the American, and he could see what had passed between them.
“Rose,” Rivera said, “in this moment of my greatest sorrow, I must tell you who this man is.”
“I know he is not Harry Jordan. His name is Johnny.”
“He is a wanted man.”
Rose said, “He is wanted by me.”
“He is wanted by the police in North America. He is a gangster, a robber of banks!”
Dillinger looked at Rose as if to try to read what was going on in her mind.
She said, “Uncle, I have known for some time what kind of man he is. That he takes money from banks that take money from the people may be an act of justice that is against the law. Johnny,” she turned to him, “have you ever taken a life?”
“No, except in self-defense.”
Rose whirled on Rivera. “Yet just yesterday, uncle, you took twenty lives that he wanted to save. Who killed the priest? And how many lives have you taken over the years in order to pry gold out of the mountain? If there is a gangster here, it is you!”
Rivera, his eyes like dark steel, looked at her and at Fallon and Dillinger, all stepping back from him as if he were a pariah.
“I want my daughter back,” he said.
Dillinger said, “Rivera, you are a businessman. I want to make a business proposition to you.”
Slowly, Rivera turned to fix his gaze on the man he had just reviled. “Yes, Senor Dillinger.”
So, it is “senor” again, Dillinger thought. Out loud, he said, “I’ll take a small group into the mountains. Fallon, Rojas, Villa, Nachita as a guide. You can come, too, if you want to, but get this straight. I’m in charge.”
“Continue,” said Rivera.
“Rojas has got to obey my orders like everybody else.”
Rojas started to object but was immediately silenced by Rivera.
“Continue,” Rivera said.
“We’ll need guns from your storehouse. Including my Thompson submachine gun. I’ll need gas from your cache for my car, and horses. We’ll get done what the stupid cavalry couldn’t do.”
“And what is the other side of your proposition?” Rivera asked.
“If I get your kid back alive, I want twenty thousand dollars of your stored gold and safe conduct to a place on the border where I can cross safely back into the United States. Fallon gets another five thousand dollars of your gold and stays with you only until he gets a prearranged message from me that I am safely over the border.”
Rivera thought for a moment.
“I warn you,” Dillinger said, “don’t bargain with me about the price.”
“It is agreed. You can trust me, Senor Dillinger.”
“I’m not a fool, Rivera. The kid and Rose come with me to the border. They go back if I cross safely over.”
“What if Rose decides to go with you?”
Dillinger looked at Rose.
“Nachita can come with us. He can bring the kid back.”
I accept your proposition,” Rivera said, approaching Dillinger, extending his hand.
Dillinger ignored the offered hand. “Come on, Rojas,” he ordered. “Let’s get the guns.”
The child Juanita sat in the sand and listlessly played with an old doll, pretending not to be frightened by the Apaches sprawled around her. They were as uncomfortable with the Spanish child in their midst as she was with these strangers with painted faces. Behind them the foothills dropped steeply to merge with the desert. To the west, a great canyon sliced into the heart of the mountains.
Ortiz went up the slope above them, a vivid splash of color as he moved through the brush. He climbed onto a pillar of rock and looked east. In the far distance he looked for the tracer of dust that he was expecting.