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mark of shame; and they’d done something to the left hand. It was wrapped in some stained and grimy cloth that might once have been part of a feminine garment of silk or nylon. I looked at the hand and at the dark-faced woman. She moved her shoulders matter-of-factly.
    “They tried to make her talk, to name her accomplices in the village, señor.”
    “Did she?”
    “Would we have risked our lives for her if she had?” As I reached out to examine the hand and arm, the woman spoke quickly: “Do not touch her, señor.”
    “Why not?”
    “You are a man.”
    She said it as if it explained everything, and I guess it did. I looked at her for a moment, and she looked right back. She was actually a rather handsome woman, I noted, in a solid, swarthy, and savage way. I gathered she didn’t think much of men. At the moment I wasn’t too fond of them myself.
    “Sure,” I said. I took off the pack and opened it, kneeling there. “Well, she’s going to have to swallow her natural and justified prejudice against the sex, just for a moment. I don’t like the looks of that arm. I want to get some penicillin into her right away.”
    “I will give the penicillin. I have done it before. She will scream and fight, perhaps harm herself, if you touch her. We had great trouble bringing her away.”
    “All right,” I said. “I leave her in your care. Here are the clothes I packed in for her. If you need any help, let me know.”
    The woman didn’t answer. Her attitude said that when she asked any man for help, that would truly be the day. Well, her psychological quirks were no problems of mine, thank God.
    I left the stuff with her and went over to Jiminez, who was in a fine lousy mood, too, maybe because he couldn’t smoke his cigars in here without possibly betraying our hiding place, maybe because we could still hear sporadic firing back in the hills where his men were letting themselves be hunted through the growing darkness to save our skins. Or maybe he had other things on his mind, missiles for instance. Anyway, his small, dark, handsome face didn’t light up noticeably with friendship when I came up.
    “How is she?” he asked curtly.
    I moved my shoulders. I’m afraid it’s going to be a job for the doctors and psychiatrists. All we can do is bring the pieces home. Maybe they can put them back together. If not, well, we have a place for people who didn’t make it. The problem arises fairly often in our business.”
    “You take the ruin of a lovely girl, your associate, very calmly.” His voice was cold. I couldn’t see that the comment required an answer, so I didn’t speak. He said, “But then you are proud and happy tonight, Señor Helm. You were brave today. You shot with great precision. You killed many men.”
    “After you’d spotted them for me,” I pointed out. After seeing Sheila, I wasn’t in the best of moods myself.
    He drew a long breath. “Yes, that is true. I helped.”
    “Are you grieving for Santos, Colonel?”
    “Bah!” he said. “El Fuerte was a pig. But his men... Did you see them come, señor? Their leader was dead, but other leaders rose among them. We shot those, and still they came, right up to the guns... President Avila would execute them all for rebels and bandits. In this country, you understand, a rebel is a bandit always. And El Fuerte was truly a bandit. But there are times when I remember that those are my people, too—yes, even the ones who did that to your female agent. After all, she came among them to deceive and kill. They had some provocation, señor. Perhaps one day they will find a leader worthy of them. In the meantime—” He grimaced. “In the meantime, I help gringos shoot them down at five hundred meters. You will excuse me. I mean no offense. But I do not like to see brave men die.” He hesitated. “One favor, Señor Helm.”
    “It is granted,” I said formally.
    “The gun. The big rifle. I am sure our President would like to see it, the gun that