"!'Cierra el hocico!" The guard’s swarthy features grew dark red with fury at the insolence of the blue-eyed gringo prisoner who dared to address him. The rifle butt came down in a swift, sharp chopping motion as if to hit Steve, but at the last moment, descended with a crushing blow on Juan’s skull.

Steve heard it crack, heard Juan’s soft, almost gentle sigh as he collapsed in a lifeless heap. For an instant, a rational reminder that there were too many guards kept him from reacting, but when the guard laughed, any logic was replaced by gut instinct, and a fury born of deep hate.

The shovel in his hands sliced out and upward, the edge of the heavy metal scoop catching the guard by surprise as it slammed into his throat. Blood spurted out in a geyser; it spattered on his grime-streaked clothes, warm and sticky.

Steve Morgan, goaded by fury and frustration, now moved with reckless efficiency to snatch up the guard’s rifle even as it fell from abruptly limp hands. Whirling in the same fluid circle, he swung it around and fired from the hip just as the other guard began to comprehend what had happened.

The sharp report ignited instant chaos. Prisoners rioted, leaping for their guards with murderous cries of pent-up pain, rage and hate, overpowering many despite the overwhelming odds. Shovels, pickaxes and wooden staves were used as weapons. The canyon resounded with the echoes of gunfire and screams of wounded and dying men.

Somehow, Steve managed to grab a ring of keys from a fallen guard, and unlocked his manacles before tossing them to the next man. He paused only for an instant to ascertain that Juan was truly dead before moving on with grim purpose.

It will soon be a bloodbath if I don’t get to the senator and make him rein in the guards.

Bullets smacked into rock, spraying him with hot, sharp shards that stung as badly as the lash of the whips as he crossed the narrow, rock-rimmed ravine at a run, bent over to provide a less stable target, bare feet tearing on sharp rock.

Brandon was only halfway down the steps, his face ashen in the chaos, when Steve took the steps two at a time to meet him. The wooden staircase vibrated from the force of his ascent and he paused a few feet from the senator.

He’s got nerve, Steve thought cynically when Brandon leveled a pistol at him with cool aplomb. The hand holding the weapon shook only slightly.

“Damn murdering swine—Stop!” He repeated it in Spanish that no Mexican would have recognized, and Steve laughed.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Senator.”

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you where you stand. Tell the others to halt this riot before the guards kill them all!”