Dillinger - Jack Higgins [44]
Dona Clara was running for the narrow entrance to the canyon, clutching Juanita in her arms, tripping over her long skirts, her mouth open in a soundless scream. An Apache in an old blue coat with brass buttons galloped behind her, laughing, holding his rifle by the barrel. He swung it in a circle and Fallon could see it curving toward Dona Clara's head and he could do nothing to stop it as the Apache's rifle splintered bone and Donna Clara pitched forward onto her face. Juanita clutched at her mother's body, screaming, trying to shake her back to life.
Fallon looked about him desperately, but there was no retreat. The sloping sides of the bowl lifted smooth and bare into the sky out of the white sand. Rough hands dragged him from under the buckboard.
The Indians lashed him to the rear of the buckboard, his hands behind him. Maria crawled over to her mistress, weeping, then tried to take Juanita in her arms but the child would not let go of her mother. Felipe leaned against the rock clutching a bloody arm. The Apaches were armed with repeating rifles and two of them had revolvers in their belts. Their faces were painted in vertical stripes of blue and white.
What happened then was like something out of a nightmare. One of the Apaches turned Dona Clara over. She was mercifully dead. He went over to the frightened Maria who was begging him for mercy but, his face impassive, the Apache lifted his rifle and smashed her head again and again. He picked up little Juanita, who was now kicking and screaming, and when Fallon yelled, 'Leave the little girl alone,' he lifted Fallon's chin and spat in his face.
Meanwhile, the others had built a fire from pieces of the buckboard. When it was going well they removed one of the wheels, lashed the screaming Felipe to it in the form of a St Andrew's Cross, and roasted him alive, all because they belonged to Rivera.
As the sun rose, the stench of burning flesh became unbearable. Fallon hung there, waiting for his turn to come and his head dropped forward on his chest.
A thunder of hooves caused him to look up as Ortiz rode into the bowl followed by a dozen warriors. Ortiz dismounted and walked forward, pushing aside those who crowded around him excitedly. Unlike the others he wore no war paint, but Fallon took in the red flannel shirt and headband, the rawhide boots. It was enough.
He tried to moisten dry lips. 'Juan?' he said. 'What is this?'
'No more Juan Ortiz,' the other said. 'You see only Diablo now. You understand me?'
'Diablo?' Fallon croaked.
'That's right,' Ortiz said. 'Now say it again. I want you to know that Juan Ortiz exists no longer.'
'Diablo,' Fallon whispered.
'Good,' Ortiz said and he took out his knife and sliced through the bonds.
Fallon swayed slightly, dazed and stupefied, and they brought a pony and pushed him on to its back. He groped for the halter and Ortiz put a hand on his arm.
'You will tell Rivera I hold his daughter, old man. For that I will let you live, understand?'
Fallon lashed the pony and galloped away.
11
When Dillinger went out on the balcony the sun was just beginning to appear over the rim of the mountains. Rose had let him stay the night, but on the couch in her sitting room. He stood there breathing in the freshness of the morning for a while before going downstairs. He had understood love when he was a boy in Indiana because he had loved his dog. But the feeling he had now was different from the feeling he had had toward the many other women. He was happy, yet his heart hurt with the pain of his happiness.
The bar was empty, but there were sounds of movement from the kitchen. He leaned in the doorway. Rose stood at the stove, dressed for riding.
'Whatever it is, it smells good.'
She smiled over her shoulder. 'I'm short on eggs this morning. You'll have to make do with refried beans. There's coffee in the pot.'
He found a cup and helped himself.
'Are you going out to the mine?' she asked.
'If Rojas or Rivera tries to grab