“It wouldn’t.” Brandon’s flinty gaze held his. “But you have influential friends and contacts, men who could ruin me. I have worked too hard to take the chance of losing it all now. This mine promises to be the most profitable venture yet. With a railroad to get the ore out more efficiently, we stand to be the richest men in America. You could profit as well.”
“I don’t think I could stand the stench of the blood on my hands.” Steve stood abruptly, saw Brandon brace himself, and said softly, “These men are treated as little more than animals. If you insist upon using prisoners, at least treat them as men instead of beasts.”
“Until I arrived today, I had no idea they were being ill used. For the love of God, Morgan, I’m not uncivilized!”
“I’d like to believe that. Recent events, however, make it a bit difficult. What are you doing here?”
Brandon gave him a sour look. “I came to investigate my interests. A man cannot always trust subordinates to take care of his business as well as he would.”
“I suppose you learned that from Hearst.”
“A consummate businessman, you must admit.”
“Better than Jay Gould,” Steve replied cynically, “but not by much. One of your investors, I presume, another shark in the waters. I would think a man such as yourself, worried about his reputation with the voters, would be more careful about who he went into business with. It would be a shame if it became known that you condone the use of virtual slavery in your mines. What would your constituents have to say about that? Seems to me the stigma of using slaves has a nasty connotation to it lately. Maybe some of the men who put you here condone slavery, but that war is over. How would it look if they found out about these conditions?”
Clearly irritated, Brandon’s knuckles whitened on the head of his cane and he scowled. “I pay the Mexican government for workers, and they provide them. I cannot dictate their policies toward prisoners.”
“No, but you can alleviate their suffering or refuse to use them.” Steve moved closer and saw in the senator’s face an uneasy awareness of his appearance. A tight smile slanted his mouth, and his blue eyes were hard and ruthless. “Maybe if you had to work below ground for a day, you’d know what it’s like to be treated inhumanely. If you think my choice of garments is my own, you’re wrong.”
“I know that, Morgan.” Testily, he added, “We can talk later after you’re cleaned up. You smell foul.”
“Senator, so do you.”
Anger tightened Brandon’s mouth, but he was wise enough not to comment.
Delgado was summoned, clearly unhappy that one of the prisoners—the very one who had started the riot—was now being treated as a guest. He complied with the senator’s request for decent food and clothing, but lodged a protest.
“But he is a bandit, señor! A prisoner!”
“By mistake. I’ll deal with the authorities. You just do as you’re told and provide him with food, clothing and a bath—the latter being the most important at the moment.”
Muttering under his breath, Delgado showed Steve to a small room to one side, but kept a wary eye on him, leaning against the door frame. “Crazy norteamericano,” he spat. “It would have been better had you been killed.”
“Perhaps for you,” Steve said softly in a Mestizo dialect that he knew the man would understand and Brandon would not. “You know I would like to kill you, eh?”
Delgado glared at him silently.
When Steve was washed and dressed, and had rejoined Brandon, the senator dismissed Delgado.
“See to the others. There are matters I must discuss with my—guest.”
Delgado nodded stiffly. ‘‘Sí, señor, but if you should need me to shoot any vermin…” His hand on the pistol he wore strapped to his hip was ample evidence of his meaning.
“Most of the vermin here are already wearing guns,” Steve said before Brandon could reply. “If I were you, Delgado, I would be more concerned with my own neck. I have a feeling the authorities will not be too happy with you.”
“I have done my job well, gringo pig! No man can say that I have not done what I was told to do. And if you think to make trouble for me, you may find that you have a tiger by the tail. I have friends in high places, much higher than a norteamericano who thinks he is so important.” He made a contemptuous gesture, slicing his palm into empty air. “You will soon discover who really owns Mexican silver. It is not all for gringos who care nothing for this country, only for their own pockets!”
“I see we have a patriot in our midst, Morgan.” Senator Brandon’s eyes were half-lidded, his tone dry. “A well-paid patriot, I should add. I wonder if his scruples suffer when he takes my money?”
Delgado made a strangled sound, started forward, then came to a swift halt when Morgan pinned him with a hard, gimlet stare. There was something intimidating about the blue-eyed gringo who moved with such competence, even as weak from hunger and mistreatment as he was now. It was in the way he carried himself, a competence that had been weighted down with chains since arriving at the Galena, but was far too obvious now.
Backing away, Delgado reached for the door handle behind him, keeping his eyes on Steve Morgan. “Keep in mind, Señor Brandon, that the new president may not be as agreeable as the old one.”
When they were alone once more, Brandon said harshly, “Why in hell are you here?”
“If you mean in Mexico, the answer should be fairly obvious. There’s been a revolution.”
Steve prowled the small
