Arizona Angel

Lance Garrett leaned back on his elbows and crossed his ankles to get more comfortable. He had grown so fond of the warm nights in Sonora he feltas though he did not truly come alive until the moment the last of the desert sun s scorching rays disappeared below the horizon. He was stretched out on the grass in front of the bunkhouse, his six-foot-two-inch frame clothed in dusty Levis and a faded cotton shirt. His boots were scuffed and his Stet- son hat far from new, but he had not felt so blissfully con- tent in years. There was a fiesta underway at the house of the patrdn and he was enjoying the lively sound of the mariachi s blaring trumpets far more than he had the elegant stringed quartets to which he had been forced to listen as a child~ One of the other vaqueros passed him a bottle of tequila and he took a long drink, not fond of the Mexican liquor but in far too sociable a mood to refuse such a generous gesture of friendship. When he saw a flurry of white ruffles coming their way, he groaned loudly and took another fortifying gulp before returning the half-empty bottle to its owner. "Viene aquf la sefiorita!" Ernesto used his elbow to give Lance a sharp poke in the ribs as he whispered his warnmg. The clear blue of Lance s eyes darkened menacingly as