His heavy-lidded eyes screwed up as he examined Farias: he stripped his shirt and turned him over: a knife had gone in again and again. Velasco had a magician's face, gray hair, gray goatee: the features seemed to be hiding something absurd, a little vulgar; that vulgarity and absurdity disappeared as he bent over Farias. Short, small-boned, quick, he swung around to face Raul. "He's been dead several hours." "I've got to clamp down on Petaca. Who is capable of doing that kind of killing?" "We're rarely short of that kind of fellow," commented Velasco. Gabriel took Luis into the room, and stayed with him, talking kindly. Even in the bad light he saw the youngster's face grow pale; tears streaked his rawboned features; his shoulders jerked. "Pedro did it," Luis said. "How do you know?" asked Velasco, in the doorway. "Sure ... Pedro," the boy repeated, his hands waving. "You did it, you did it," he said, as if Pedro had come into the room. "Have you seen Pedro?" asked Gabriel, standing behind Raul. "No. But a few days ago my father and I found his hut, near Mountain Rancheria, in a canyon. Guns ... guns in the hut ... rifles, pistols. Pedro came to the hut with a woman, as we hid. We tried to slip away, but my horse made a noise. Pedro shot at us. He saw us both. He shouted threats. He said he'd kill us. My father and I got back last night. He was going to tell you, Don Raul." "It's lucky Pedro didn't find you," said Raul. Gabriel had covered Farias, and bent over him in prayer again. Manuel appeared on the stair, stopping about midway. "Don Raul," he said. "Did you call me?" "Pedro has killed Farias. Have three horses saddled, Manuel. I'll go with Luis and see if we can get Pedro. You ride to Colima and get the rurales. Can you show me the way, Luis?" Luis tapped his thigh where he had worn his gun on trips with his father. "My father," he began, but his voice broke. He walked down a hall to his own room, where he snatched up his revolver, holster and belt. He returned, strapping them on, trembling. "Don't go, Raul," said Gabriel, coming out on the stair. "Let the law take care of Pedro Chávez." Raul was at the bottom of the stair. "The rurales can have Pedro. I won't stop them. Pedro's not at Mountain Rancheria. We can get there before he does, if we move fast. We'll have a chance to get his guns. Let's at least try to get them. Come on, Luis. Manuel, look after the horses! Get water bags. I'll see to the food. We may be able to get to Rancheria within five days."