rekindled. Is Luac dropping a hint? He said, “He wouldn’t keep me here!”
“You have just made a foolish remark.” Luac lifted his cane, tapped Garson’s arm. “You don’t know what we can do.”
What’s he trying to say? Garson wondered. He said, “You haven’t seen my hand, either. By now, the American Consul knows where I am. They may get very stuffy about finding my head on a gatepost—or just finding me missing.”
Luac nodded vigorously.
He approves of this turn in the conversation , thought Garson. He said, “I intend to do a story on you, Mr. Luac. One of the most important magazines in the United States is expecting it of me. I’d hate to disappoint them.”
“Life has many disappointments, young man. Would you like to know what you’re up against?”
Garson sensed the undercurrent of the conversation: Information about our situation here. He said, “It would help.”
Luac gestured toward the lake with his cane. “The only roads out of here are across that lake. They are patrolled regularly by troops of vaqueros—our own cavalry.” The cane came down, tapped the floor. “Behind us is a swamp in which a man can lose himself in five minutes—and die two hundred feet from safety.”
“Very strategic,” said Garson.
“The location of the hacienda? Yes. The good ones were always laid out like forts.” Luac tugged at his goatee. “Then I have Choco. He was with Pancho Villa when he was eleven. His brother, you know, was one of Villa’s lieutenants. I’m afraid Choco learned some very bad tricks with Villa.”
The frustration of unanswered questions was almost too much for Garson. He sensed also that Luac was playing with him in some way—using him.
How do I get at the truth?
“Father!” Anita Luac’s voice came from behind Garson. She came in from the hallway, her soft curves sheathed in a white sharkskin dress.
Garson felt his blood quicken.
She put an arm on the old man’s shoulder, kissed his cheek, turned and looked squarely at Garson.
“I believe you two have already met,” said Luac.
Her smile carried a hint of mockery. The large brown eyes seemed to say: “ I warned you! ”
“I have had the pleasure,” said Garson. And again he wished that he could have shaved.
“You look just a little the worse for wear, Mr. Garson,” she said. The warm contralto voice, too, carried the veil of mockery.
“Mr. Garson may be our guest for some time,” said Luac. His voice sounded a shade reproachful, as though he reminded his daughter of something with the tone.
Her smile brightened. “It will be pleasant to have you here, Mr. Garson. It gets very lonely with just the same old faces.”
Has she been told to play up to me? Why?
The old man leaned forward on his cane, glowered at the hallway behind Garson. “Choco?”
Garson turned. Raul Separdo came into view, moving softly on the balls of his feet. There was something suggestive of dancing in his motions. Garson found it easy to picture one of Separdo’s ancestors dancing before a pagan idol while a priest tore out the heart of the sacrifice.
“Have we learned anything new?” asked Separdo. He bent his head to Anita Luac. “It’s good to see you again, Nita.”
Garson thought that her smile became a little strained. “You talk as though I’d been away, Raul.”
“Every moment away from you is like a year.”
Choco appeared in the arch of the hallway. “You called, Patron ?” He swung a machete loosely in his left hand. The ends of his mustache drooped.
Separdo frowned.
“Yes, I called,” said Luac. “You are to drop your other . . . work, and . . . uh . . . devote yourself to guiding Mr. Garson while he is our guest.”
Separdo spoke without turning. “And if he attempts to escape, Choco, you may bring him back in pieces.”
Anita Luac drew in a quick breath.
“He is not to be harmed,” said Luac. “I hold you personally responsible.”
Medina’s right hand went to the revolver in his
“You have just made a foolish remark.” Luac lifted his cane, tapped Garson’s arm. “You don’t know what we can do.”
What’s he trying to say? Garson wondered. He said, “You haven’t seen my hand, either. By now, the American Consul knows where I am. They may get very stuffy about finding my head on a gatepost—or just finding me missing.”
Luac nodded vigorously.
He approves of this turn in the conversation , thought Garson. He said, “I intend to do a story on you, Mr. Luac. One of the most important magazines in the United States is expecting it of me. I’d hate to disappoint them.”
“Life has many disappointments, young man. Would you like to know what you’re up against?”
Garson sensed the undercurrent of the conversation: Information about our situation here. He said, “It would help.”
Luac gestured toward the lake with his cane. “The only roads out of here are across that lake. They are patrolled regularly by troops of vaqueros—our own cavalry.” The cane came down, tapped the floor. “Behind us is a swamp in which a man can lose himself in five minutes—and die two hundred feet from safety.”
“Very strategic,” said Garson.
“The location of the hacienda? Yes. The good ones were always laid out like forts.” Luac tugged at his goatee. “Then I have Choco. He was with Pancho Villa when he was eleven. His brother, you know, was one of Villa’s lieutenants. I’m afraid Choco learned some very bad tricks with Villa.”
The frustration of unanswered questions was almost too much for Garson. He sensed also that Luac was playing with him in some way—using him.
How do I get at the truth?
“Father!” Anita Luac’s voice came from behind Garson. She came in from the hallway, her soft curves sheathed in a white sharkskin dress.
Garson felt his blood quicken.
She put an arm on the old man’s shoulder, kissed his cheek, turned and looked squarely at Garson.
“I believe you two have already met,” said Luac.
Her smile carried a hint of mockery. The large brown eyes seemed to say: “ I warned you! ”
“I have had the pleasure,” said Garson. And again he wished that he could have shaved.
“You look just a little the worse for wear, Mr. Garson,” she said. The warm contralto voice, too, carried the veil of mockery.
“Mr. Garson may be our guest for some time,” said Luac. His voice sounded a shade reproachful, as though he reminded his daughter of something with the tone.
Her smile brightened. “It will be pleasant to have you here, Mr. Garson. It gets very lonely with just the same old faces.”
Has she been told to play up to me? Why?
The old man leaned forward on his cane, glowered at the hallway behind Garson. “Choco?”
Garson turned. Raul Separdo came into view, moving softly on the balls of his feet. There was something suggestive of dancing in his motions. Garson found it easy to picture one of Separdo’s ancestors dancing before a pagan idol while a priest tore out the heart of the sacrifice.
“Have we learned anything new?” asked Separdo. He bent his head to Anita Luac. “It’s good to see you again, Nita.”
Garson thought that her smile became a little strained. “You talk as though I’d been away, Raul.”
“Every moment away from you is like a year.”
Choco appeared in the arch of the hallway. “You called, Patron ?” He swung a machete loosely in his left hand. The ends of his mustache drooped.
Separdo frowned.
“Yes, I called,” said Luac. “You are to drop your other . . . work, and . . . uh . . . devote yourself to guiding Mr. Garson while he is our guest.”
Separdo spoke without turning. “And if he attempts to escape, Choco, you may bring him back in pieces.”
Anita Luac drew in a quick breath.
“He is not to be harmed,” said Luac. “I hold you personally responsible.”
Medina’s right hand went to the revolver in his
Similar Books
