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made her hand twitch. Her eyes flashed at him and she straightened. “If I had a gun, I’d shoot you, I swear I would! How dare you make such a statement to me!”
    He raised his eyebrows. “What kind of treatment did you expect, Miss Lang? Do you think that prim act fooled me?”
    She stared at him blankly. “What prim act?”
    He looked vaguely mocking. “It’s not very effective coming from your sort of woman,” he drawled. “We both know you want a hell of a lot more from me than kisses.”
    She gasped with furious indignation and gave him a fierce glare before she abruptly moved away from him, almost running. He poured himself a cup of punch and wandered off to mingle with his guests. But even as he smiled and wound through the crowd, he was thinking about Trilby. He really shouldn’t have baited her like that. Even if she’d been having a blatant affair with Curt, it didn’t make her a prostitute. She might actually love the man.
    He didn’t understand why he’d said the things he had, except that thinking of her with his cousin made him angry.
    His eyes finally found her, dancing with, of all people, Curt. The other man was about his height but muchheavier and less abrasive. Curt had a ready smile and he liked women. They liked him, too, with his city manners and gentlemanly ways.
    Thorn had been fond of him until his wife had thrown Curt up to him as an example of what she called a “civilized man.” He was tired of coming off second when compared to a dandy. Seeing Trilby in his arms made something explode inside him, especially when an icy, resentful Lou, Curt’s wife, sat seething as she watched them dance.
    “How’s the Mexican problem?” Jack Lang asked, pausing beside him long enough to divert his attention.
    “Getting worse, I think,” Thorn replied. He glanced at Trilby and away again. It was all he could do not to throw a punch at Curt for his duplicity. “Don’t let the women stray far from the house. We’ve had a few cattle stolen. One of my men tracked them down into Mexico. We never did catch the thieves.”
    “You can’t fault the peons for taking the side of the insurgents,” Jack said patiently. “Conditions under Díaz are intolerable for the Mexican people, from what we hear from our vaqueros.”
    “They’ve always been intolerable. They always will be,” Thorn said impatiently. “The average Mexican peasant has centuries of oppression behind him, from the Aztecs all the way up through Cortés and the Spanish and French, and, eventually, Díaz. These are a perennially oppressed people. They’ve been forced to knuckle under to everyone, especially the Spanish. It takes generations to overcome a suppressed attitude. They haven’t had enough time yet to break the pattern.”
    “Madero seems to be doing it.”
    “Madero is a little rooster,” Thorn mused. “Hisheart’s in the right place. I think he may surprise the Federales. They underestimate him. They’ll regret it.”
    “His army is ragtag,” Jack protested.
    “You need to read history,” came the dry reply. “It’s chock-full of ragtag armies taking over continents.”
    Jack pursed his lips. “You’re amazingly astute.”
    “Why, because I live on a ranch and spend my life around cattle and dust? I’m well read, and I have a friend who knows more about the past than he knows about the present. Did you meet my Eastern guest over there? McCollum’s an anthropologist, although he also teaches archaeology. He comes out with his students every spring to interview people from local Indian tribes and look for evidence of ancient cultures.”
    “You don’t say! He never told me any of that,” Jack murmured, eyeing the tall, rough-looking blond man who was talking to an area businessman.
    “McCollum won’t talk about his work. He’s opinionated enough about everything else,” Thorn said, with an amused smile.
    McCollum glanced at Thorn and glowered. A minute later, he excused himself to the man with