“Your house,” Roberto said. “We thought they might be watching Ben’s.”

“Naturally. You could have kept on going.”

Anna buttoned her shirt. “Joe,” she said, “he’s blind.”

“Blind and crazy.”

“Have you climbed the ladder in my dream yet?” Roberto asked Joe.

“See what I mean?” Joe asked Anna.

“The Service came by with a federal warrant,” Sophie said. “They were talking about sabotage and the FBI. They said they were watching the bus terminals, so Ben and Roberto should give themselves up.”

“You saw the warrant?” Joe asked.

“I can read,” Sophie said stiffly.

“They need your help, Joe,” Anna said.

“To do what? I already gave them two chances to escape, but they wanted to play cowboys and Indians. Only now it’s getting a little rough. I told them there was a war on, but they didn’t believe me. What do you care? A minute ago you couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Come on, I’ll take you back. You’re freezing.”

“I gathered some sticks,” Sophie said. “We could be warm if you have a match.”

“You have to help them, Joe,” Anna said.

“I don’t have to do a damn thing. I’m not responsible for them. Don’t tell me what to do. I made a fool of myself for you, but that’s over, right? Over, and you’re going. I don’t want to hear any more from you about ethical choices. All I want is you in the jeep, you on the train and gone.”

“Joe,” Sophie said. “Please.”

In a depression in the sand was driftwood that looked like piled antlers. He sighed, then knelt and lit the shavings underneath with his lighter; yellow flames branched from stick to stick. In the upcast glow, Ben’s face was dusty and scraped from a fall. Roberto’s hands were wrapped in bloody bandages. Joe looked up. Was the entire universe Indian, or were there scattered craters of sanity?

Roberto’s eyes turned to the heat. “That spy on the cliff. What ever happened to him?”

“He means Fuchs,” Joe told Anna. “So far, Roberto, he seems to be getting away, which is more than I can say for you. A federal warrant? That means another country, at least until this blows over.”

“Smokes?” Ben asked.

Joe gave him his Luckies. “Keep the pack.”

“I prefer Chesterfields,” Ben said, but pocketed the cigarettes. “What do you mean, ‘another country’?”

“Mexico’s the nearest one. You can be another Pancho Villa, Uncle.”

“I don’t like Mexico. They do something funny to their beans.”

“Yeah, they mash them into shit and pour flies over them. That’s why they have such good beer. Uncle, are you listening? Mexico’s your only chance. The war’ll be over soon, people will calm down, and then you can come back here.”

“You’ll take them?” Anna asked.