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'Then go and have a smoke or something. I'd like a word with our friend here.'

'Suit yourself,' Fallon said, and went away along the corridor.

Out of the silence, as Villa and Dillinger looked at each other, Cordonna's voice drifted, sharp and clear on the morning air. There was no fear on Villa's face, only strength and a blazing intelligence.

'In case you have failed to discover the fact for yourself, I should inform you that the patron enjoys this sort of thing.'

'He called you a murderer.'

'Quite true, senor. He had a foreman at his hacienda and I had a young wife who killed herself. It did not take me long to discover the reason. It seemed to me that I was justified in putting my knife between his ribs. The patron thought otherwise.'

'I thought it would be something like that.' The silence was broken by another volley and Dillinger moved out into the corridor and opened the door on the other side. He turned to Villa. 'You'd better get going. You haven't much time.'

'For what, a bullet in the head, senor?'

Dillinger took the remains of his packet of Artistas from his pocket and tossed it across. 'You can keep them.'

Villa's face split in a wide grin. 'Sometimes God looks down through the clouds, senor. It is almost enough to give a man faith again.'

He jumped down to the ground and ran for a narrow gully that curved up into the scrub that covered the lower slopes. Dillinger watched him disappear, then broke the revolver and emptied the rounds into his hand. He threw them away and turned as the third volley crashed out.

A moment later Rivera climbed up and immediately frowned at the sight of the open door. 'What has happened?'

'I'm afraid Villa got away,' Dillinger said.

Cordonna appeared in the doorway at ground level and stood there listening. Rivera said, 'Why didn't you shoot him?'

'I tried to.' Dillinger took the revolver from his pocket and handed it across. 'Unfortunately, the damned thing wasn't loaded.'

As he turned from the rage in Rivera's eyes, Cordonna ran for his horse, calling to his men. Dillinger moved along the coach between the staring people and sat down beside Fallon.

'What's all the excitement?' Fallon asked.

'Villa got away.'

As the train moved forward with a sudden jerk, Fallon said, 'Johnny, I kind of think you and that fellow you just let get away have a few things in common.'

6

Dillinger had had enough of the train to last him. 'I can't wait till they get my Chevvy on the ground again,' he told Fallon. 'I want to pay my first call on what's her name - Rose - the lady at the hotel.'

'First may be last if Rivera catches you. He doesn't like his people consorting with his enemies.'

Dillinger grabbed Fallon by the front of his shirt. 'Don't ever refer to me as one of his people. I don't belong to anybody.'

'I'm sorry,' Fallon said. 'Meant no harm.'

Dillinger released him. 'Let's get one thing straight, Fallon. You're an American and I'm an American and nobody else around here is an American, which gives the two of us some common ground that's one helluva lot more important than the fact that we are temporarily working for Rivera.'

'What do you mean temporarily, Johnny?'

'Do you intend to stay? I don't intend to stay. Your problem is you can't go home and you need some dough to live on this side of the border, right?'

Fallon nodded.

'I intend to solve your problem just as soon as I solve my problem. My problem,' Dillinger continued, 'is that you blew my cover.'

'You know I didn't want to.'

'Some people who talk lose the use of their tongues.'

'But Rivera knows.'

'Well,' Dillinger said, 'he might just lose something else.'

'What might that be?'

'The thing he values most.'

'His life?' Fallon asked.

'His gold.'

'We're almost there,' Fallon said to Dillinger, who was getting more and more restless by the minute.

In the far distance a feather of smoke marked the train's progress and a faint whistle echoed back eerily. The only signs of man's presence were the telegraph poles that branched from the