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Author's Chapter Notes:

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At two minutes past nine, Little Clark Cross stealthily emerged from the right-hand pocket of his brother's dress gray long coat.

Father Cypriano had told them about Heraclitoris' gruesome form of necromancy. So, the twins and their stepfather had planned around that. As Lewis had put it:

"Give 'em what they expect. And, they'll never expect what they get."

Clark now assumed a half-kneeling firing position. From a quiver made of cigarette-rolling paper, he withdrew a toothpick to which a jumping cholla needle had been bonded with sealing wax. Only the barbed tip of it left exposed. He then pulled back on the string of his willow-sprig bow...and released.

With an almost-inaudible "twang," the makeshift arrow went sailing upward in a semi-circular arc. Ultimately landing...behind the knee of one of the jaguar-cultists guarding his brother.


"Que paso?" demanded the rifleman to his right. To which the jaguar-man replied that he felt like he had just been bitten by a overgrown mosquito!

By the time the jaguar-man's comrade had bent down to examine the area of the "bite," Clark had run diagonally to his right. So, as to get closer to their immediate leader.

He ran hunched over, fervently hoping it was enough to keep him unnoticed. He then skidded to a stop, and prepared to fire a second arrow.


This time, the barbed shaft landed in the big toe of El Jefe's sandaled left foot!!

"Hijo de perra!!!"

El Jefe started dancing up and down on his good right leg. Prompting Lewis to decide that he would never have a better chance. He hastily lifted his own left leg, and withdrew the spring-bladed D'Estaing dirk Fleischer had loaned him.

With a slight click, the blade flicked up and out. Whereupon, Lewis made a left-handed throw with it. Straight towards the third rifleman, behind El Jefe's shoulder!

The latter clutched at his throat with both hands, a sickening gurgle emerging from it. But, Lewis did not stop to admire his handiwork. In less time than it takes to tell, he was already carrying out his pre-planned follow-through. Namely, tackling the first pair of riflemen to the ground.

From the holster of the one Clark had "wounded," his brother withdrew a .44-caliber Allen & Wheelock revolver. Spinning about, clockwise, he fanned the gun with his right hand. Downing the second rifleman with the first two shots. Followed by two more for the fourth rifleman. And, one apiece for El Jefe and the third rifleman!

Alison Sillitoe, initially as surprised as the others, quickly overcame her astonishment, and started to charge at Lewis. Which--as Fate would have it--was also the precise moment that the jaguar-men, walking sentry on the parapet of the rear wall, started shouting:

"Cuidado! Cuidado!"

The ensuing explosions that occurred, just below where they were standing, made those the last words they ever uttered as they fell to the ground, dead.

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