They stopped short and waited.
“What do you want, gringo?” The man was a younger version of Del Oro, he was one of the old bandit’s many sons. He looked primordial, like a version of a human being who’d not fully developed.
Arvel looked at Dan George and whistled quietly between his teeth, “Je-sus! Contact Dubois, I've found his missing link!”
Dan George chuckled, “Amen to that, Arvel, amen to that.”
Arvel lit a cigarette and smoked as he spoke to the ape on the wall, “Sombrero del Oro is dead. We have eight hundred men and thirty cannon ready to reduce you to rubble. Surrender now and we will go easy on you.”
They were met with silence; a group could be heard speaking in a muffled tone, conferring behind the wall. One stuck his head up and shouted, “Sombrero del Oro is not dead, and you have nowhere near that many men and guns. What business does an old man, and Indian, and a whore have in making such bold demands?”
Chica was suddenly there, off to Arvel’s right, in his far periphery where he couldn’t see her. He looked on and smiled. He was about to speak to her when she pulled something from a feed bag so quickly that he didn’t have time to see what it was. She raised it high above her head, pointed at the bandits on the wall and shouted, “How do you suppose he lives without this, puta?”
A collective gasp came from the wall. Chica held up the severed head of their father and beloved leader. Her horse pranced in circles, as if the animal knew the importance of its cargo. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride