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Dillinger twirled the Colt around once by the finger guard. 'One round is enough. Eight can be too few. Depends on the circumstances.'

'Am I wrong to trust you?'

'You are wrong to trust anybody.'

Rivera laughed. 'Here are some pesos in case you want to indulge yourself in the saloon downstairs. It is not a gift, but an advance against your pay. Don't lose it at poker.'

'I don't lose at poker,' Dillinger said, 'or anything else. What about gas for my car?'

'I trust you with a gun because I have two and I have Rojas. But I do not trust you yet with gas that would give you ideas of leaving Hermosa. Perhaps you will learn to ride a horse, Americano,' Rivera said, laughing again as he closed the door behind him.

Somewhere, someone was playing a guitar and a woman started to sing softly. Dillinger put on the shoulder holster, finished dressing, brushed back his hair and went outside.

Rose de Rivera leaned against the balcony rail at the far end of the building, her face towards the sunset as she played. In Chicago, he had once heard a woman singing in Spanish in a night spot, but nothing like this. Rose's voice was as pure as crystal.

His footfall caused her to turn quickly, the sound of the last plucked string echoing on the evening air in a dying fall. She wore a black mantilla and a scarlet shawl draped across her shoulders. Her dress of black silk cut square across the neck. A band of Indian embroidery in blue and white edged the bodice.

She smiled. 'You feel better for your bath?'

'You saw me?'

'Naturally, I turned my back.'

'My compliments on the dress. Not what I'd looked for.'

'What did you expect, a cheong sam? Something exotically Chinese? I wear those, too, if I'm in the mood, but tonight the Spanish half of me is what I feel.'

'Are you more proud of your Chinese half or your Spanish half?'

'When I am feeling Chinese, I am proud to belong to an ancient and wise civilization except for one thing.'

'What's that?'

'They invented gunpowder,' she said, and she came close. He didn't know what to expect, but all she did was touch his side where the shoulder holster showed. 'Who are you?' she said.

'What about your Spanish half?' he said, avoiding the question.

'My father used to tell me a Rivera sailed with the Spanish Armada.'

'Didn't they lose against the English?'

'Is winning always everything?'

'The Americans beat the English.'

'You are all terrible, vain, proud, impossible. What do you do for a living when you are not being strongman for my uncle? You know he is only playing you off against Rojas?'

'Yes.'

'You know what happened to the last American who worked for him?'

'Yes.'

'You think God gives you special protection that others do not have?'

'Yes,' he said, laughing.

'You haven't answered anything I've asked you. Why are you being so mysterious?'

Dillinger thought how different she was from the pushovers back home. If he'd seen her in Indiana he'd have thought of her as a stranger. His girlfriend, Billie Frechette, was part Indian, really a dish, but nothing like Rose.

He kissed her lightly, the way he'd seen in the movies, keeping his chest away from her so she wouldn't feel the holster pressing against her. When he kissed Billie, she always put her hand down there right away, but Rose just smiled and turned away just enough so he wouldn't try again.

For a second he thought it was his heart beating loudly, but it was a drum pulsating through the dusk, and voices started an irregular chant, the sound of it carried towards them on the evening breeze. There was a flicker of flame from a hollow about a hundred yards away and he noticed an encampment.

'Indians?'

'Chiricahua Apaches. They sing their evening prayer to the Sky God asking him to return the sun in the morning. Would you like to visit them? We have time before supper.'

A flight of wooden stairs gave access to the courtyard and they moved out through the great gateway and went towards the camp. Rose took his arm and they walked in companionable silence.

After a while