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upon her long hair, wrenching her head back into the mud. Other boots stamped on her wrists, pinning them to the ground. A man crouched at each side of her and splayed her legs, their fingers clawing into her ankles.
    She moaned and prayed for unconsciousness. But the heaven of which she asked deliverance was as much her enemy as the ravishers. It continued to empty its reviving water upon the land, forcing her to stay aware.
    "Now don't all rush," Hood told the men. "The little lady looks like she's got enough for all of us."
    Her eyes still tightly screwed shut, Magda felt the man's weight sink on to her, his hands and mouth defiling her body before he accomplished a clumsy, searing entry. He finished quickly, the manner of the act drawing him close to the edge of fulfillment before he even touched her. And it was the same with the others as they drove their lust into her soft, unresponsive body, demanding nothing from her except her presence beneath their laboring lust. They took their pleasure in silence except for an impassioned moan at each climax. And as she lost count of the number of times she was assaulted, there was no longer any need to hold her prisoner to the mud. For she gave in to the inevitable: lost her will to struggle.
    She waited in patient revulsion for it to end, wanting it to be over only because then she could find the gun and accomplish what Jose had prevented.
    She became so detached from reality that it took her several seconds to become aware what they had done with her and when she opened her eyes many of the men were mounted and the driver was back on the stage. The ugly little man who had ordered her degradation was crouched close to the rear of the wagon, picking up the satchel he had dropped. His bulbous eyes raked across her nudity, starkly white against the black mud, as he halted beside her on the way back to the stage.
    He studied her for long moments, then delved a hand into the satchel and brought out a ten dollar bill. He rolled it into a cylinder and showed his misshapen teeth in a leer as he bent down and left it with her. "Rate for a lousy job, lady," he said. "Ten bucks for ten bucks."
    She met his gaze for a moment, then snapped her eyes closed and listened to the sounds of their departure. Not until the last hoofbeat and the final creak of the stage had diminished into the rain-washed distance did she struggle into a sitting position and snatch the ten-spot from her. She hurled it away and the action seemed to drain her of the last remnants of strength. For each time she struggled to get up, she pitched down into the mud again. Finally, she had to crawl on all fours to where John lay, his head half submerged in mud.
    His shallow breathing expanded tiny bubbles in the thick moisture and she cradled his cheek to her naked breast as tears of joy coursed with the raindrops down her face.
     

     

Chapter Four
     
    B Y four o'clock it was as if the San Fernando Valley had never seen rain. Above, the sky was a polished cobalt blue with a fiery sun shedding a parching heat that sucked thirstily at every droplet of moisture, cracking the earth below. The three men moved through the shimmering heat at a weary, measured pace, Edge slightly ahead of Dexter and Wood. All sweated freely, the perspiration caking into salt amongst their stubble. Dexter carried his coat over his arm. Wood swung his valise from one hand to the other after every ten steps. Edge ambled along unburdened.
    The rain had let uptwo hours previously and they had not had a drink since then. Unused to the Western climate, unwilling to shed any of his clothes and having to take two strides to every one of the bigger men, Wood was suffering the most. But he did not complain. He had fallen in with every suggestion Edge made - about heading for the waystation after they buried the dead at the scene of the hold-up and then continuing to move south when they discovered the buildings vandalized and deserted. It was Dexter, once