As he drew nearer, Jimmy saw that there was something else to look at besides the tree. He had a quick impression of horror in Skye’s wide eyes before he heard her voice, quick and urgent, ask,

“Jimmy, is he dead?”

He saw then that hanging from a bough of the tree was a dead man. He was swinging a few feet above the ground, a rope round his neck, his face distorted by the agony in which he had died.

There was no need for Jimmy to touch the cold hands, tied together behind his back or to feel the stillness of his heart to know that the man was dead. He had been hanged, perhaps two or three hours earlier and extremely effectively without there being the slightest chance of his being able to escape strangulation.

“Yes, he’s dead, Skye – and now come away.”

“But – but ought we not do something?”

Skye turned to her cousin in a perplexity that made him realise that she was in many ways very young and very inexperienced.

“There’s nothing we can do,” he replied.

“But surely we should report his death – to someone?” she asked. “Who can have dared to do such a thing?”

The colour was coming back into her cheeks and once again there was a ring in her voice.

“It is nothing to do with us,” Jimmy said quietly. “We are strangers, visitors, to this country. It’s always best to remember that our ideas of justice may not be other people’s.”

“Justice!” Skye cried. “Do you imagine that they gave him a trial of any sort? And now he will hang here until – ”

She glanced up at the sky.

Jimmy followed her gaze. As he expected there were two vultures hovering above them, waiting until they should move away.

“It’s horrible! It’s bestial!” Skye exclaimed.

She wheeled her horse round slowly. With an obvious reluctance the guides were following them and Skye rode a few paces towards them.

“Who has done this?” she asked as soon as she was within earshot. “Who is responsible for such an outrage?”

She pointed to the corpse as she spoke. The two boys looked for a moment and then glanced at each other. One crossed himself surreptitiously, but the other looked round quickly, as if in search of an enemy.

“Who could have done such a thing?” Skye repeated.

The boys looked at each other again and, hardly above a whisper one said, almost as if he spoke to himself,

“El beso del Diablo.”

“The kiss of the Devil,” Skye translated. “What does that mean?”

“I shouldn’t ask too many questions,” Jimmy said warningly in a low voice.

“But I want to know,” Skye retorted. “Surely things like this cannot happen, even in Mariposa, without some explanation?”

“We know nothing, señorita,” the older boy said with an air of defiance. “We should go back. It is not permitted to go any further.”