The Government should be forced to act. Alejo should be shamed into protecting the liberty of the individual, but not unless he was forced would there be much hope of help from Mariposa’s Dictator.

Standing high above the town and harbour, the great Palace, which had originally been built by the Spaniards as a fortress and which had been converted later into something more picturesque, was impressive enough until one saw the slums behind the main streets of the town.

There might be modern cinemas, a Racecourse, American bars, English tea shops and advertisements for Coca Cola, but hidden away behind the neon lights there was starvation and a lack of the most elementary sanitation, which contrasted badly with the garish gold-laced uniforms of the Palace guards.

There was something wrong with the country and, thinking of what she had seen already, Skye decided to use the most modern weapon available to combat such out of date evils – the press.

She knew that she would have no difficulty in getting anything she wrote published in America, for, when she had inherited her grandfather’s fortune and was the sole heir to millions of dollars made in oil, the press besieged her night and day for interviews, for articles, her autobiography and anything she cared to set down on paper.

She thought, for a short time that she might take up writing as a profession, but Jimmy had dissuaded her.

“Live and learn first and write about it afterwards,” he said. “You are too young to be sure of anything but your own ignorance.”

For once she had been in agreement with him, but sometimes she had scribbled down stories and fragments of her thoughts which, although she did not try to have them published, she knew were worthy of print.

One day, perhaps, she would write well, but in the meantime here was the chance to try her hand at doing something worthwhile, helping and perhaps saving a people who were obviously being misgoverned.

Excited by the idea, she found it hard to go to sleep and, when she did, it seemed to her in her dreams that she was haunted by two faces, that of the dead man and that of the one who had killed him.

El Diablo! Even in her dreams she could hear his hateful voice saying,

“Don’t interfere with things that don’t concern you!”

Once she awoke to hear her own voice say aloud,

“How dare you! – you Devil!”

Now that morning had arrived, all that she intended to do came flooding back to her and it was with an air of determination that she began to dress.

She had decided not to ride until the afternoon. This morning she would explore Jācara and made a few discreet enquiries.