Antonio slept at the rebel compound and decided to go down as twilight embarked upon the break of day. Most of the rebels were astir and a sense of nervousness enveloped them. Mireles sat on a boulder picking his teeth with a thorn and keeping an eye on Antonio as he started his decent. It was cold in the highlands and the redolent aromas of sweet nature rode the wind in a mild breeze. Antonio took a deep breath enjoying its pureness. A peregrine soared high silhouetted against the glowing splendor of the deep blue and golden sky, gliding with the current and flushing prey with its call. With keen vision, it dove at its target on the ground with razor sharp talons and the killer instinct taking over, knowing the precise time to snap its quarry. Hovering low, it flipped her wings one last time and with shear power clasped the hare by the soft spot, securing it within its grasp and delivering the fatal blow. A wolf howled and ceased and then began again. The sun peaked at the summit shinning in the new day. The country rolled away with Antonio’s descent and the cordilleras rose and disappeared and the lights of the city flickered off. The curfew lifted at six in the morning and Antonio always felt daring against the vigilantes heedless of the horror tales people yarned about them. Cresting a mound, Antonio was stunned with his unexpected encounter in front of him. Four horsemen in dove-gray uniforms challenged him. One had Víbora trailing with a rope around his neck and his hands tied behind his back and a piece of cord binding his mouth. Víbora was flailing about trying to untie himself by writhing in the tie rope. Horror enveloped his face in disbelieve. “Identify yourself,” one of them said. “Antonio,” he said. “And who are you?” “Vigilantes,” one of them said, with a hard face, sending evil messages to Antonio. “Why is he tied up?” Antonio said. “Caught stealing a sack full of bread last night. Know it’s for the rebels in the mountains,” he said. “We’re also looking for a muchacho who spies for the rebels in the sierra and rats on us. He comes down at will.” Antonio stood stock-still, not daring to utter another word. He saw Víbora in his tattered clothes. His spirit was gone and filth and dirt covered him as they’d finished dragging him through the streets in Morelia. “He’s a scoundrel and a thug who breaks windows at the homes of our civilian patrons supporting our cause. He’s young enough to be in school...like you.” The vigilante skewed his eyes. “Why you not in school?” “That’s ’cause I’m punished for the things the hoodlums do,” he said unable to keep his chatty mouth shut. The vigilantes gleaned at Antonio and all said, “You’re the one. Been looking for you, cabrón.” Antonio felt somebody pushing him from behind. “Run, run,” the voice of an old man said. In one swift movement, Antonio turned and flew as one with the wind. The vigilantes kicked their horses to maul yet another insurgent. At a short stretch, Antonio encountered a gulch with a sweeping torrent and knew he was in trouble. The arroyo was immense and the horses trampled the ground with powerful thuds on back of him. Without hesitating, Antonio opened his eyes wider than ever, gasped for air and leaped across the void, running in mid air and descending to the other side. His heart milled with relief as he landed on solid ground. He stumbled but regained his stride with swiftness. He paused for a second to check behind him. The ravine was too wide for the horses to jump. The vigilantes halted at the brim of the creek with the horses set astir, snorting, and rearing with vigor. He witnessed the vigilante with the slip noose around Víbora. He’d a black mole across half the left cheek and a machete cicatrix from the top of his ear to the end of the blotch. The boy killer threw the mecate over the highest bough and fastened the other end to his saddle horn. Víbora screamed in clamor, twisting and contorting in all directions then scrambled a few steps attempting to flee but the rope snapped tight behind him and he fell supine. The hangman heeled his mount pulling the hanging rope taut as the muchacho stretched his legs, kicking and twitching in vacuum. Antonio tore off as fast as light and within an instant he was too far into the woodlands for the vigilantes to catch up with him. He ran to get away. He kept running all morning and afternoon and into the night to leave the reality behind that touched him. He ran to forget and to forgive Víbora for what he’d done to him and the death that he did not deserve. He ran with his friend’s spirit and the shade benders and with the wind and the trees and light of day and the darkness of night, with the sun and the moon and as one with the earth in harmony. Far atop the mountain overlooking the lights below, he swept the city with his arm and rid the evil living in it.