“Perhaps the greatest sin the white conquerors of South America have committed has been to dispossess the Indian of his native soil. In Mariposa no one has troubled about them for generations and they have staked their claim as it were not on the plains where the Mariposan farmers have their herds but on the scrub ground and on the sides of the mountains that no one else wanted. Yet now they are told that they have no real claim to it. It is General Alejo’s!”

“Has he tried to turn them out?”

“Not yet,” El Diablo said grimly. “The standing army of Mariposa is about seven hundred strong. Counting every trained and semi-trained man, they could, I imagine, bring their strength up to about two thousand. There are already over four thousand men here in the North, the majority of them Indians, who are ready to fight with the farmers for what they believe to be their birthright.”

“So that is why you are afraid of spies!”

“I am not afraid of them,” El Diablo answered. “I merely eliminate them.”

Skye felt herself shiver.

There was a hard note of cruelty in his tone that made her remember again the man who had hung from the tree with his staring eyes and open mouth. For a moment she was almost sorry for the Dictator and then she remembered that she had heard only one side of the story.

It was plausible enough as told her by El Diablo, but she wondered what the official Government of Mariposa would say about a man who defied their laws and hanged those they employed.

They were over the ridge now and were cantering again.

On they went, all through the afternoon, stopping only to water their horses and visit the haciendas and to talk with various small companies of Indians whom they found camped on the hillside.

Once El Diablo pointed out to her the river where the diamonds were found and she could see men working in the riverbed.

“The stones are larger near the source,” he said briefly.

“May I see what is happening?”

“Not today.”

She had another glimpse of men at the mouth of a mine. There were huts and tents not far away, looking in the distance very like El Diablo’s own camp.

But again she was not allowed close enough to see what was happening and they rode on to another hacienda.

It was going to be late before they turned for home. The evening was drawing on and the heat of the day was past.

Skye bent forward to pat her horse’s neck. The mare seemed as fresh as when they had set out.

As if El Diablo guessed her thoughts, he said,

“These animals are bred for long distances. Have you never heard of the Creole horses?”

“No.”

“Unfortunately they are dying out, but the Americas owe them much.”

“What are they?”