Dillinger - Jack Higgins [36]
He turned to look at her. 'Can't anything be done?'
'My father had a plan, a wonderful plan. At the far end of the valley, above the hacienda where the streams run down from the snows of the sierras, he wanted to build a dam. With its waters, the whole valley would have flowered.'
'And your uncle doesn't see things that way?'
'I'm afraid not, senor,' Father Tomas said, emerging from the house behind them. 'Don Jose is interested only in obtaining as much gold as these wretched people can squeeze from the mine. When he is satisfied that the well has run dry he will leave for what to him is a more favourable climate.'
'This is Senor Jordan, Father,' Rose said. 'The one my uncle forced into coming here.'
The old man took Dillinger's hand. 'I heard what happened in Hermosa last night, my son. God moves in his own good time. Perhaps Don Jose made a mistake when he tricked you into coming here?'
Before Dillinger could reply two horsemen galloped down the hill, one behind the other, and turned into the street. Rojas was slightly in front and he reined in so sharply that his horse danced sideways on its hind legs, crowding Dillinger, Rose and the old priest back against the wall, splashing them with mud.
His companion was a Mestizo in a battered red straw hat. A man who had turned against his own people. He had coarse, brutal features and a hide whip dangled from his right wrist.
Rojas sat there glaring at Dillinger. Two of his teeth were missing and his lips were twice their normal size. A livid green bruise stretched from his chin across the left side of his face to the eye, almost closing it.
'What do you want?' Father Tomas said.
'I've come for Maco. The swine's not turned up for work again.'
'He's too sick,' the old man said.
'They're always too sick.' Rojas dismounted. 'They know we need every available man at the mine and take advantage of it.'
He took a step forward and Dillinger put a hand against his chest. 'You heard what Father Tomas said.'
Rojas moved back and his right hand dropped to the butt of his revolver.
'I wouldn't do that if I were you,' Dillinger said calmly.
Through the stillness they could hear the rattle of the steam engine that operated the conveyor belt up at the mine and the thin, high voices of the Indians calling to each other. The Mestizo with the whip fidgeted nervously, avoiding Dillinger's eye. Rojas turned without a word, scrambled into the saddle and lashed his horse into a gallop.
Dillinger turned to Father Tomas and Rose. 'I think it's time I took a closer look at this mine.'
Rose climbed into the saddle of the horse. 'I'm returning to Hermosa now. Will you be coming in this evening?'
'You sure you want to keep company with a desperate character like me?'
'Perhaps I can make you see the error of your ways.'
'I doubt it, but I tell you what you can do?'
'What's that?'
'You can buy the champagne this time.'
She smiled, and he slapped the horse on the rump and it galloped away.
He drove out of the village, following the track up to a small plateau that was like a shelf in the face of the mountain. Water, splashing in a dozen threads from the snow-capped peak, had been channelled to run through a stoutly constructed shed, open at both ends.
It was a scene of great activity. Near the mouth of the mine, the old steam engine puffed smoke, drawing in a steel cable that hauled trucks laden with ore along a narrow track.
Dillinger got out of the Chevrolet and headed toward the ore shed. Fallon emerged to beckon him in. 'Come see this,' the old man said.
Inside the ore shed the only piece of machinery was a steam-operated crusher. Two Indians fed its flames with wood. The heat was unbearable. The water ran into a great tank lined against leakage with clay and there were several cradles and two puddling troughs. The Indians who worked at them were stripped to the waist, their bodies shining with sweat.
'Why