Dillinger - Jack Higgins [45]
'I saw you had a gun last night.'
'It belonged to Rojas. I'm sure he has another by now. Rose, I want to trust you with something.'
'My uncle says never trust a woman.'
'I trust you. When I was a kid, I landed in reform school. That's a jail for kids. And then I was transferred to a worse place. I put in nine years, do you know how long that can be? I didn't hurt anybody. I didn't steal much. But I swear to you, I am not spending nine years or nine days in anybody's jail any more. Rivera knows who I am.'
'Better than I do?'
'He knows my identity. Which is why if he and I can't live in the same place, I've got to move on.'
'That will be sad for me.'
'Unless you decided to come with me.' It was out of the bag. He watched her eyes, those beautiful, slightly slanted eyes, larger than any he had ever seen.
'This hotel,' Rose said, 'is all I have in the world. If I cannot move the hotel, I cannot move. I am like a prisoner, too.'
Just then Chavasse came in and placed a large stone pitcher on the table. 'I don't know what is happening. There is not one Indian left in the place. I had to milk the cow myself.'
Rose turned. 'What are you talking about?'
'They've all moved out. Only the Mestizos are left and they seem to be frightened out of their wits.'
'What have they got to be frightened about?' Dillinger demanded.
Rose frowned. 'I thought it was strange when Conchita didn't bring me any eggs this morning.'
She put down the pan and went through into the bar. Chavasse and Dillinger followed her. The town seemed strangely still in the early-morning sun. Old Gomez, the crippled railwayman Rivera had imported to work the telegraph, came out of his office and locked the door. He stumped down the street and paused to raise his hat to Rose.
'Where is everyone this morning, Rafael?'
'The good God knows, senorita. I have troubles of my own. The line is down again.'
'Are you sure?'
Gomez nodded. 'At six each morning I get a signal from Chihuahua, just to check that everything's working. Then I reply. It didn't come through this morning.'
'What happens now?' Dillinger asked him. This man must know they're looking for someone driving a white Chevrolet convertible.
Gomez shrugged. 'They give me three days to find the break and repair it. If they don't hear from me by then they send a repair crew from Macozari. That's how it works. In theory. Last time it happened it was ten days before they did anything.'
As he went off down the street, a crowd of thirty or forty Mestizos emerged from the church and came down the street toward them.
The spokesman was a large fat man with a greying beard. He removed his straw sombrero and said to Rose, 'Senorita, in the night the Indians have stolen away with our burros. Why is this?'
'We don't know, Jorge,' she said. 'Perhaps it is something to do with the disaster at the mine. Perhaps they thought that Don Jose would force them to labour for him in place of those who have died.'
Jorge shook his head. 'There is more to this, senorita. We are afraid.'
'But what is there to fear, Jorge?'
As if in answer there was a whooping yell from many throats. A bullet suddenly splintered the post at the side of the door, and before the echo of the shot could reach them, a second one rang out and shattered one of the windows. As Dillinger swung round, mounted Indians came over the ridge on the far side of the town, howling like a wolf pack as they moved down among the houses.
The people scattered, most of them fleeing in panic to their homes. Dillinger pushed Rose through the door of the hotel and Chavasse followed.
As Dillinger slammed and barred the door, Chavasse ran into the kitchen to do the same at the rear. Several Indians thundered along the street and shots crashed into the building as the Frenchman returned.
'They've gone crazy,' Rose said. 'This hasn't happened in fifty years.'
Dillinger peered out of the window, his face blazing with excitement. 'Apaches painted for war. I never thought I'd see anything like that in my life.'
Another bullet shattered glass and thudded