"Not even a Montoya would throw his life away for so small a thing," he said harshly.
The captain smiled gently. "Call my bluff, señor."
Rick had no doubt whatever that Montoya was not bluffing. Apparently Guevara was convinced, too. But he tried once more. "How do you expect to get us out of here?"
"Simplicity itself. You will walk to my truck, arm in arm with Señor Connel. That is all. Of course if you should be so unfortunate as to have a peon lift his rifle, you would never reach the truck alive. But perhaps you are lucky. Shall we try, señor?"
Guevara hesitated, then shrugged. "Very well."
Connel spoke for the first time. He demanded hoarsely, "Are you going to let him get away with this when our men have all the rifles?"
Guevara smiled wryly. "You do not know the Montoyas, Brad. Call his bluff yourself—only not if you wish to live."
The ex-lieutenant governor walked slowly toward the ring of men. After a moment Connel joined him. Montoya stepped behind them as though taking a stroll through the Calor public gardens. The ring opened and let them through. Rick breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been quite as confident as Ricardo Montoya appeared to be.
Guevara paused. "May I make an announcement?" he asked.
"Certainly, señor."