Another guard came up behind the first one, and keys jangled in the lock. “We chain all our prisoners! After the last one escaped, we learned to—Dios! It is him. It is the blue-eyed devil who killed four guards! What is he doing here? He is friends with el presidente, we were told, and there was much trouble after the owner left last time!”

With a careless shrug, Paco said, “He made the mistake of killing the Adjutant General of Spain, and for his crime he has been sent back to prison. It is fitting that he be brought here, eh, where he caused so much trouble before?”

Laughing, the guards said, “El capitán will be most glad to see this one. He was very angry that this prisoner caused so much trouble. Of course, he is too far above himself at times, but it would be foolish to tell him that.”

As Steve was led inside, the manacles around his wrists clanking heavily, he slid his gaze around the high rock walls, the armed guards and the ragged men that strained under the lash of whips to drag up heavy ore cars. Wooden staircases crisscrossed the rock face of the mines, rising as high as a three-story building. Chutes and tracks gleamed in the searing sunlight, metal reflecting bright rays of heat.

“There are so many men,” Paco commented casually as they rode into the open area below the captain’s quarters.

“They are like mules, only cheaper. It is not so big a loss when they die,” one of the guards replied with a shrug.

Delgado met them at the foot of the wooden stairs leading to the offices, his black eyes glittering with angry satisfaction when he saw Steve pulled from his horse.

“So, he has been brought back. This time, he will not find his accommodations quite so comfortable.”

Steve did not look up as Delgado spoke to Paco; he had begun to sweat beneath the heavy wool serape. Below that he wore a loose shirt that covered the .45 stuck into his belt next to his belly. Suddenly it seemed far too small a weapon for what he planned. He wished grimly he’d brought a cannon, something to annihilate the mines as well as the brutal guards.

He was pushed forward a step, his boots scraping on rock.

Delgado stepped close; he stank of sweat and the potent pulque that was brewed by so many Mexicans. Dark patches discolored his brown shirt, and spread under his arms and down the sides. Using the handle of his whip, he shoved it under Steve’s jaw to snap his head back.

“Filth, did you think to escape? You have no protector here now. It is only I, Victor Delgado, who has the power of light and darkness over you. Ah, I see you do not like that! You will like even less what I have planned for you, I can promise you that.”