When the newcomers were directly in front of them, Jimmy and Skye reined in their horses and Jimmy raised his hat.

“Buenos dias, señor!”

For a moment there was no answer and then the leader of the gauchos spoke,

“You are not permitted on this land. You will return immediately to Jācara.”

His voice was deep, vibrant and imperious.

“We are strangers here,” Jimmy said quietly, “so we must crave your indulgence if we unwittingly are trespassing. We apologise, señor, and will return to Jācara as you suggest.”

He turned his horse as he spoke, but Skye remained where she was.

“Does this land belong to you?” she asked.

The leader of the men glanced at her as if for the first time. His eyes, deep-set and dark in the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat, seemed to take in every detail of her appearance.

“It belongs to the people of Mariposa,” he replied.

The words were simple enough, but somehow they were a challenge.

Their eyes met and for the first time in her life Skye was conscious that a man was looking at her, not in admiration but with what seemed to her to be dislike.

There was something else too in his expression, something she could not put a name to and yet instinctively she defied it.

She threw back her head, forgetting caution, forgetting that a moment before she too had been a little frightened when their guides had run away.

She stretched out her hand and pointed towards the dead man dangling from the tree.

“And does that too belong to the people of Mariposa?” she asked.

The expression on the face of the man she was speaking to did not alter, but she fancied that for a moment that his eyes narrowed.

Then, as she waited, wondering what answer he would give, his voice came quietly from between his lips.

“That is the way, señorita, that the people of Mariposa treat traitors.”

Skye had not thought it possible that so much could be conveyed by so few words – cruelty, disdain, tyranny! She could sense his pride and she hated the insolent arrogance of his manner, knowing in that moment full well who was responsible for the man’s death.

She wanted to say more, she wanted to defy him, to challenge his right to such an action and to tell him what she thought of such a crime. But before she could speak, Jimmy’s voice came clearly to her.

“Come at once, Skye. At once!”

He spoke in English and, although the men might not understand, there was no mistaking both the command and entreaty in his tone. For the first time since they had met them the gauchos and their leader seemed to relax.

It even seemed to Skye that a faint smile flickered over the hawk-like face before his hard lips parted and he said,