Only that her skin was fair made her different from the men riding beside her. Her size was not particularly noticeable. Many of the gauchos were small-boned and the long hours in the saddle and the hardness of their lives made them thin and wiry without a spare ounce of flesh upon them.

Skye gave the brim of her hat a little tug to shadow her face.

A week ago she might have desired to be recognised so that there could be some chance of escape, but now in one thing at any rate she supported El Diablo in his hatred of Alejo and of the injustices of the Government.

She thought of Josné, of the Indians who had been deprived of their land, of the farmers whose haciendas were to be taken away and of the people of Mariposa whose national wealth was to be exploited by a foreign power.

No, whatever her personal hatred of El Diablo, she was on his side in this fight against aggression.

He looked at his watch.

“It’s time we started,” he said quietly.

The men got themselves into line, three abreast as he ordered and then he rode ahead.

The poor houses on the outskirts gave way to the shops and wide tarmacked roads of the modern part of Jācara. Here they encountered the smart, shiny American cars that ran the Dictator and his friends round the town and up to the Racecourse.

Every Minister was entitled to one of these elegant automobiles and, when they grew too old and too shabby for such distinguished use, they were passed down the scale to the secretaries and the lower Civil Servants, until eventually, when they were worn out and no longer smart enough for official use, they would be sold, if possible at a fictitious figure, to the ordinary townsfolk.

El Diablo, who knew of these machinations only too well, deliberately kept his horse to the centre of the road so that the cars were crowded out as the cavalcade passed by.

“El Diablo! El Diablo!” the name began in a whisper and rose to a shout.

Their appearance at the beginning of the town was the signal for a large company of people to come storming onto the pavements, waving and cheering and following them along the broad highway to where the streets grew narrow among the old Spanish buildings.

Now the road was cobbled and flanked by houses with fluted tiles and overhanging balconies. Skye knew that there were great flowery patios and corridors paved with coloured marble hidden away behind the columned facades. Here was the elegance of a bygone century and it seemed as if they stepped backwards in time.

The old town wound to the very foot of the Palace and the pull uphill and the crowds in the street made them move slowly.