The morning sun was cutting hot swaths through the fading mist when El Rojo followed the Saint and Teresa along the winding ledge between cliff and cliff that led out of his eyrie high above the river. Where the slope of the mountain opened clear before them he called to them to stop, and held the bridle of the horse which the girl was to ride while she climbed into the saddle.
“I give you — buen viaje,” he said. “You can make no mistake. Follow the side of the hill until you come to a belt of trees, and then go downwards. To find your way back here — that is another matter. But if you keep going downwards you must come to the river, and on the other side of the river is the road to La Quinta. I will meet you somewhere on that road in three days from now, at about four o’clock in the afternoon.”
“I can never thank you,” she said.
“You have no need to,” he answered roughly. “You are going to bring me — how much did we agree? — one hundred thousand pesos, and the señor remains as my guest as a surety for our meeting. I regret that I have to be commercial, but one must live, and if your lover is rich he will not mind.” She held out her hand to the Saint.
“I shall be there to meet him in three days,” she said. “And then I shall be able to thank you again.”
“This was nothing,” he answered with his lazy smile. “But if you ever meet any dragons I wish you’d send for me.”
He kissed her fingers, and watched her ride away until the curve of the hill hid her from sight. It was true that he had done very little, but he had seen the light in her eyes before she went, and to him that was reward enough for any adventure.
He was thoughtful as he walked back along the cliff edge track towards the bandit’s cave with El Rojo just behind his elbow, and when they were halfway along it he said casually, “By the way, I ought to warn you that the parole I renewed last night is just running out.”
The muzzle of the bandit’s rifle pressed into his chest as he turned.
“In that case señor, you will please put up your hands. Unless, of course, you prefer to renew your parole again.” Simon raised his hands to the level of his shoulders. “My friend,” he said, “have you forgotten the Arroyo Verde?”