Dillinger - Jack Higgins [25]
The canyon floor was a waste of gravel and rock, bright in the morning sun, dotted with clumps of mesquite and sage. Already the fierce heat of this dead land was beginning to rise from the ground.
At the station, Rivera took charge of the flurry of activity, getting the luggage off, then supervising the unloading of the convertible.
'Tell them anybody scratches the paint on that car is going to get personal retribution from me,' Dillinger told Rivera.
'You better learn some Spanish,' Rivera said, 'because as soon as we get to the mine, you're going to have to give your own orders.'
'Avanca, hurry your ass, vamos, let's go, vete, get out of here. See,' Dillinger said, 'Fallon's been teaching me real good.'
As the Chevvy was driven down the ramp and came to rest on the solid but dusty ground, Dillinger patted the hood as if it was the nose of a horse. He unscrewed the hood ornament and topped up the water in the radiator, then seated himself behind the wheel as if it was a throne.
'He is a child,' Rivera said to Fallon.
'I wouldn't let him hear you say anything like that, Senor Rivera,' Fallon whispered.
Just then a large buckboard came over the hill, pulled by two horses. Its iron-bound wheels rattled over the stones in the dirt road.
The driver was an ox of a man. Under his wide-brimmed straw hat was a coarse and brutal face. A revolver and cartridge belt were strapped to his waist. He jumped to the ground and hurried forward, hat in hands.
'You're late, Rojas,' Rivera said. 'I've been waiting for at least half an hour.'
'There was trouble at the mine, patron,' Rojas said in his harsh voice.
'Anything serious?'
'I took care of it.' Rojas held up a fist like a rock.
'Good,' Rivera said. 'You got my wire?'
Rojas nodded and glanced at Dillinger. 'Is this the one?'
Rivera said, 'Senor Jordan will operate under my direct orders when circumstances require it. You, Rojas, will still control the men.'
It was part of Rivera's plan never to let just one man be in charge of disciplining the work in the mine. Rojas would seek his favours as he did in the past. And the gringo would keep Rojas on his toes - as did the gringo before him. Rivera ruled by the oldest precept of all: divide and conquer.
'Hey,' Rojas shouted, spotting Fallon, 'the old fool has come back.' He strutted over to Fallon, only to find Dillinger barring his way.
'The old fool's name is Mr Fallon. My name is Mr Jordan. Your name is?'
'Rojas!' Rojas shouted.
'Pleased to meet you, Senor Rojas,' Dillinger smiled, extending his hand.
'Enough of this nonsense,' Rivera said. 'Get the buckboard loaded. We've wasted enough time.'
Dillinger and Fallon stooped to raise one of the packing cases between them. Rojas, to show off, lifted the other easily in his great arms.
'We haven't got all day to waste while you two fool about like a couple of old washerwomen.'
He pushed Fallon out of the way, grabbed at the packing case and tried to pull it from Dillinger's grasp. Dillinger held on tight, and with the point of his right boot caught the Mexican on the shin where a small blow will go a long way. Rojas staggered back with a curse. Dillinger lifted the packing case into the buckboard and turned to face him.
'Sorry, I didn't see you there,' he said calmly.
The Mexican took a single step forward, his great hands coming up, and Rivera cried, 'Rojas - leave it!'
Rojas reluctantly stepped back, eyes smouldering. 'As you say, patron.'
'Follow us with the buckboard, Rojas,' Rivera said. He got into the rear seat of the convertible as Fallon slipped in beside Dillinger at the wheel. As they went over the brow of the hill above the railway line, Dillinger offered Fallon a cigarette.
The old man said in a low voice, 'What are you trying to do - commit suicide?'
'Rojas?' Dillinger shrugged. 'He's like a slab of granite. Hit it in the right spot and it splits clean down the middle.'
'I hear everything you say,' Rivera said from the back seat.
'I intended you