“You are under arrest as a traitor to the government! Pig!” Cuffing a man who was slow to respond, one soldier laughed when the man sprawled to the floor, then viciously struck him with the butt of his rifle, again and again until the peasant lay still and bloodied. It effectively quelled any possible resistance by others.

Christ, just my luck to be in the middle of one of their roundups! Steve thought. He slid one hand down his side, skimming the heavy outline of the .45 in its holster and rearranging the heavy woolen folds of the serape he’d draped over his shoulders.

One of the soldiers paused beside Steve, waited for a moment, his very presence menacing. Steve didn’t react, even when the man nudged him.

“You are from San Luis Potosí?”

Steve shook his head and answered in the same rough dialect, “No, I am from La Junta.”

The soldier moved on, but returned in a few moments, this time with two other men. “You will come with us.”

Appearing to accede, Steve accompanied them without comment, but when he reached the doorway, he hung back to let them clear the opening first. He expected to be ambushed as he stepped outside, but was ready, the butt of his gun already filling his palm.

As he moved to the open doorway, muscles tensed and ready, a shadow detached from the wall and lights exploded behind his eyes before he could evade the blow. His pistol fired, the bullet slamming into the dirt at his feet, and he was only vaguely aware of boots and rifle butts slamming into his head and body as he curled into a knot to protect his belly.

When Ginny awoke, it was dark and Steve was gone. Light filtered in through an open shutter, along with the drone of flies and a barking dog. Somewhere, music played, a guitar lending soft melody to the night. She lay there a while, listening.

Where was Steve? Gone for food, probably, or a drink. She should get up, wash her face and hands. The pitcher and basin were cracked, but serviceable. When she finally rose and lit the lamp, a pool of wavering light showed her that there was no water in the pitcher.

Wearily, she searched for her shoes by the bed, and grabbed up the pitcher. Surely there was a well close by, so she would not have to go to the village well they had passed on their way in. Damn Steve, he should have seen to this, and not left it up to her to go out on her own in a strange place.