His enemy was still at large, most likely still alive, and he remained a liability until his head was safely in the bag. As for that head, Luis Rivera would be happy to assist in its removal.

"What is the nearest town?" he asked Camacho, certain that he knew the answer even as he spoke.

"It will be Santa Rosa, jefe."

"Take one car north to watch the road beyond, and leave another in the town itself. But be discreet. I want no contact with the enemy until we are prepared."

"It will be done."

"Remain in contact via radio. I will be waiting two miles south of Santa Rosa to receive your news."

"Si, jefe."

He cast a final glance at the Mercedes.

"Burn the car before you leave. It must appear to be abandoned by a car thief who desired to leave no clues."

Camacho hustled off to do his master's bidding, and Rivera ambled back in the direction of the highway, where his convoy waited. Stone-faced gunners followed him with eyes that showed no trace of human feeling.

They were close. He felt it in his bones as some men feel cold weather in the offing. Soon the prey would fall into his hands and he would make things right again. He would have justice for himself, and for the wrongs he had suffered at a stranger's hands. With any luck at all he would find out who was behind the raid, and his retribution could include the brains behind the gun.

But first he had to find the warrior, run him to ground before the man could report on Rivera's operation. Time was of the essence, and instinct told him that the answer to his problems would be waiting for him when he got to Santa Rosa. Fortunately he was represented in the town. If the stranger tried to hide there, he would know it, and his wrath would fall on anyone who helped his enemies.