Alex felt sure they crossed the border, although they seemed to take a circuitous route. Finally, the chopper flew up a canyon that cut deep into a higher range of mountains. At one point, the canyon widened into a small vale. That’s where they landed.
A couple of burly men with AK-47s met the aircraft. “Patron,” one said, “what are we to do with the Yankee dogs?”
“I’m no yanqui.” Manuel’s voice was not much more than a growl. “I’m Tohono O’odham.”
“And I’m Scots,” Alex added.
“Callete, you piece of filth.” One of the guards stuck out a foot as Alex stepped out of the craft. He managed not to fall, but it was a close thing.
The man addressed as Patron climbed down behind them. He gave a careless shrug. “Put them in the chicken house,” he said, speaking in Spanish. “That’s a fitting pl
