"Even Pancho Villa's heard of you", said a revolutionary leader, downing a glass. "He's always saying, I want to meet this Miranda."
Juan, who was sitting among a crowd at a dining table, in one of the wealthier carriages on the train, looked up at the men around him. John was reclining, half-asleep, across a bed on the other end of the carriage.
"Me?", said Juan with a mouth full of food. He would have been honoured with the prospect of meeting the great Pancho Villa... back when Villa was still just a bandit chief, before this whole bloody revolution happened.
"That's right", chuckled the leader. He was a full-bearded man, who wore a scruffy jacket and a necktie, and had a cigar in his mouth. "The military Junta commander told us everything you've done."
"Whatever it was you've heard", said a familiar voice from the other end of the carriage, "I can assure you they were only words".
Slowly, John opened his eyes, as Dr. Villega came in through the door.
"But words aren't enough to describe what Juan has done and suffered for the cause," Villega went on. Oh, Juan had suffered, all right.
Juan greeted the doctor with open arms, warmly embracing him.
"Hey, Doctor, hey! How've you been, ah? Now this is the man who should talk to Villa," Juan said enthusiastically to the crowd. He would never learn what really happened.
Excitedly, he patted John, who glared up at Villega like some sort of vengeful cat.
Villega held out his hand to John for him to shake. "John...", he said gratefully, not knowing yet that John had learned of his betrayal.
"Doctor...", said John, taking his hand. "We thought we'd lost ye, Doctor."
The train screeched to a halt again. The revolutionaries went to the windows to investigate.
"Listen", whispered Juan loudly to John, "Gunther Reza is after me, and now Villa wants to talk to me. I think we should get out of here." It seemed like cowardice, but Juan wanted no more violence, no more suffering. He just wanted to go back to being an ignorant bandido again, even if he was alone this time. Alone except for John, anyway.
"Oh, Jesus, Juan, you can't leave now," said John, standing up from the bed. "You're a grand, glorious hero of the revolution."
"Eh, can I tell you something?" asked Juan.
"What?"
"Fuck you", said Juan softly.
The revolutionary leader received a note from one of his friends in one of the other carriages, and read it, a concerned look on his face.
"A military train carrying 1,000 soldiers and heavy weapons is heading towards us.", said the leader, holding the notice in his hand.
"What about Villa's troops?", said Villega.
"He met resistance in the sierra, and asks us to hold out for twenty-four hours", the leader informed him.
Puffing on his cigar, he spread a map out on a bed. Juan, John and Villega all stood around him, observing it.
"Where the hell are we?", inquired John.
"Approximately here", said the revolutionary leader, pointing to their place on the map.
"Ah, it's a beautiful desert there", said John. "Not a stream, canyon or anything in a hundred miles."
"How long do you think it'd take them to get here?", said Juan, who sat himself down on one of the chairs.
"Three hours, more or less", replied the leader.
"Three hours...", repeated John, peering out the window at the fields and deserts ahead, puffing on his own cigar. He could see several walls, extending out beyond the train, which would make good defense lines for an ambush, almost like trenches. "Well," he decided, tossing the cigar out the window, "Looks as though we'll have to stop them right here, doesn't it?"
"All it takes is unbolting a couple of yards of track", said the revolutionary leader, folding up the map. "But then what? They'd still slaughter us."
"Ah, well", said John confidently. "There's more than one way to stop a train."
"How much dynamite have we?", asked Villega.
"Maybe two hundred pounds", said the leader.
"Is that enough for you?", Villega asked John. Despite everything Villega had done, he'd had faith in John's explosives expertise, just like everyone else.
"Oh, yes, it'll have to do all right", John replied, almost distractedly. "We'll also need a locomotive and a man."
"Si, si, si, si, okay", Juan interrupted, getting up to volunteer.
"Someone who's brave and loyal to the cause..." John continued. This chicken thief wasn't going to be the one. Mind you, John's ideal choice was no saint himself.
"Never mind about that. Just tell me what I have to do", insisted Juan.
"Someone like Dr. Villega, I think". Yes, you guessed it.
Dr. Villega looked nervously around the carriage. "I-I-I-I... I'm honoured."
"I don't doubt it, Doctor", said John, handing the note to Villega, as though he were interrogating the doctor. "Also because an old friend of ours is in command of that train. A Colonel Gunther Reza".
As his train whistled through the night, Col. Reza brushed his teeth with much more menace than was necessary.
John and Villega shovelled coal into the fires of their own train.
"Let's get shovelling, man! Come on, put your back into it, Villega", ordered John.
Villega had been the one doing most of the shovelling, and he glared at John as he did so. He finally threw down his shovel.
"Let's stop pretending, Mallory", said Villega. "You know everything. You sensed it. Or guessed it."
"Simpler than that, Villega", said John, proudly. "I saw ya. That night in the rain." John was the toughest of the bunch, but he wasn't psychic.
Villega looked guilty. "I see. You have already judged and condemned me. That's why you've brought me with you. To kill me. It's easy to judge." He continued to talk as John picked up the shovel and began to shovel more coal into the fire. "Have you ever been tortured? Are you sure you wouldn't talk? I was sure. And yet I talked. Some men died because of me. What should I do, kill myself? Why? The dead remain dead. But me, I have not changed. I still believe in the same things. I can continue to serve the cause-"
"Shut up, Villega!", snapped John. "Shut up, for Christ's sake!"
The night that John had killed Sean, he was too filled with rage to forgive his friend for betraying him. As far as he knew, the man didn't belong to the cause anymore.
Yet he remembered the relief Sean felt for John gunning down the soldiers and policemen, and then his look of shock as John shot him through the head. He never really wanted to do it. Yet for the good of the cause, for the good of the revolution, he had to dispatch a traitor.
"When I started usin' dynamite", said John, "I believed in many things. All of it. Finally, I believed only in dynamite. I don't judge you, Villega. I only did that once in my life. Get shovelin'", he sneered as he shoved the doctor forward and sauntered over behind him.
It seemed about enough coal. He pulled a lever, and off the train went, into the night.