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state—you know we may end up in war over Cuba.”
    â€œYou’ve got a brother and two sisters.”
    â€œAngus manages the Four Aces. And I thought you knew that my sisters live in Europe. But Olga and Leonardo are traveling—Well, that’s not important right now. I am the one called on. And I do my duty to family.”
    He knew she spoke the truth. Of all the McLoughlin daughters, Margaret was the fixer. She wouldn’t quit until the job was done, even though she might gripe the whole way. For the second time today, Rafe let down his guard. “What would your father do without us?”
    â€œNo telling.” A grin softening her ravaged face, she lifted her palms in a gesture of acceptance. “Good old Rafe and Margaret to the rescue.”
    They shared a laugh, and it felt good to Rafe. He didn’t wish to study on why. Since she’d mentioned the Gulf of Mexico port of Tampico, curiosity forced him to ask, “Where exactly is this Fountain of Youth?”
    â€œIt’s called Eden Roc. It’s near El Ojo de la Barranca, in—”
    â€œThe Eye of the Canyon. In Chihuahua state.” His good feeling vanished, Rafe felt his throat closing. And it had nothing to do with his having heard of Eden Roc. The slightest movement impossible, he murmured, “I know the area well.”
    â€œThen you know it’s a very isolated place, several days’ journey from Chihuahua city. I believe the area around Eden Roc is inhabited mostly by Tarahumara Indians.”
    The Tarahumara. Rafe could almost hear their drums and chants, could almost taste their potent beer and voluptuous virgins. What a wonderful time he and Hernán, as youths, had one summer there. As men, they had taken Rafe’s young brother to a nearby village’s notorious whorehouse to make a man out of Xzobal. How Rafe and Hernán had laughed when the boy who became a priest ran screaming from Señora Pilar’s spate of instructions.
    Hernándo! Rafe had to clench his teeth, else he’d scream out his dead cousin’s name.
    Turning on his heel, he went to a table of bottles, selecting tequila. Dust blown from the glasses, he poured two shots, then went over to hand Margaret one. She set hers aside. He quaffed his. “I do not wish to return to Chihuahua.”
    â€œYou’ll be well paid.”
    He started to say she’d be better off staying well away from Eden Roc—the old man who owned it being loco as a Yaqui on peyote, according to the Tarahumara—but he heard something in the distance; a quick look over the patio wall confirmed his suspicions. Dolores and her buggy approached. What was he going to do about La Bruja?
    â€œMargarita,” he said, pronouncing her name in Spanish and waving a hand, “I don’t want the money, I—”
    â€œGood. Then you’ll do it as a favor to my father.”
    He’d forgotten her miserly bent; she could pinch a peso until the eagle gave up the serpent. Another time he might have found humor in that. “Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t want compensation for services rendered.”
    He crossed to her chair and took her arm. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
    â€œMust you always be rude?”
    â€œYes. Always. Now go.” He picked up her handbag, thrust it into her hand, and started leading her to the door. “Nice to see you again,” he lied. “Give your papá my regards.”
    â€œI am not leaving till you promise to take me to Mexico!”
    â€œI’m not promising anything.”
    Margaret got an eyeful of the approaching buggy. “I promise I won’t leave until you say yes.”

Three
    Returning to Chihuahua could cost his life.
    A bead of sweat rolled down his back and into the waistband of his britches; though more than half of October had passed, the weather remained warm