"Arizona," Tyler said.

"That's a long way. Your family live there?"

"I don't have a family, not anymore."

Tavalera looked at the stock pens and then at Tyler again. "May I ask how much you sell the horses for?"

Charlie Burke stepped in. "Hundred and fifty pesos, any horse you want."

Tavalera was nodding. "But with the duty tax, how do you make money? Or you don't pay so much of the duty. Listen, I ton't care, it's your business."

"We're delivering this string," Charlie Burke said, "to Mr. Roland Boudreaux in Matanzas, along with some beef cows. Giving him a special deal."

"I know Mr. Roland Boudreaux," Tavalera said, and looked at Tyler again. "I visit in Mexico when I was young. At that time I want to be a cowboy like you. But I return home and they accept me to attend the Colegio Real Militar. You know what that is? Like your West Point. I was honored to be assigned to the Guardia Civil when I was in Spanish Africa, then they send me here at the beginning of the second Cuban insurrection, February 1895, again assigned to the Guardia Civil." Tavalera was saying, "In these three years…" as Fuentes called to them:

"Lieutenant Barban ask how much for all five horses."

Charlie Burke answered him. "You know what we're asking."

Tyler watched the Guardia officer's expression turn hard, not caring for this interruption.

He waited another moment before saying, "In these three years I've come to love this country," telling it in a flat voice with an accent, cold, stating a fact. "After the war I intend to stay here to live in Matanzas, the most beautiful city in Cuba." He glanced at Charlie Burke. "Where he say you going to deliver these horses."