24
In the front room of Aningie Homestead, Don Williams and Luke Boyd and Rodolfo Herrera stood side by side in front of the caretaker. Positioned deliberately about a metre apart so the caretaker’s focus swung erratically from one to the other, they glared threateningly at him.
Behind Bill Kirkwood, the second Mexican, the short stocky one with the bandy legs, held a large knife pressed against his neck. He fought against the urge to stand and fight the intruders, knowing to do so would inevitably get him killed. He was not a young man anymore; far too many years of booze and poor eating habits had left him incapable of anything more than token resistance. From somewhere deep inside, he mustered strength to not appear afraid. His eyes were clear and focused, a benefit of sobriety, he fi
