The plaza at Fortuna, ordinarily so peaceful and sleepy, was alive with hurrying men when Bud and Phil reached town. Over at the station a special engine was wheezing and blowing after its heavy run and, from the train of commandeered ore-cars behind, a swarm of soldiers were leaping to the ground. On the porch of the hotel Don Juan de Dios Brachamonte was making violent signals with his hands, and as they rode up he hurried out to meet them.
"My gracious, boys," he cried, "it's a good thing you came into town! Bernardo Bravo has come over the mountains and he's marching to take Moctezuma!"
"Why, that doesn't make any difference to us!" answered Phil. "Moctezuma is eighty miles from here—and look at all the soldiers. How many men has Bernardo got?"
"Well, that I do not know," responded Don Juan; "some say more and some less, but if you boys hadn't come in I would have sent a man to fetch you. Just as soon as a revolution begins the back country becomes unsafe for Americans. Some of these low characters are likely to murder you if they think you have any money."
"Well, we haven't," put in Bud; "but we've got a mine—and we're going to keep it, too."
"Aw, Bernardo Bravo hasn't got any men!" scoffed Phil. "I bet this is a false alarm. He got whipped out of his boots over in Chihauhua last fall, and he's been up in the Sierra Madres ever since. Probably come down to steal a little beef.
"Why, Don Juan, Bud and I lived right next to a trail all last year and if we'd listened to one-tenth of therevoltosostories we heard we wouldn't have taken out an ounce of gold. I'm going to get my denouncement papers to-morrow, and I'll bet you we work that mine all summer and never know the difference. These rebels won't hurt you any, anyhow!"
"No! Only beg a little grub!" added Bud scornfully. "Come on, Phil; let's go over and look at the soldiers—it's that bunch of Yaquis we saw up at Agua Negra."
They tied their horses to the rack and, leaving the solicitous Don Juan to sputter, hurried over to the yard. From the heavy metal ore-cars, each a rolling fortress in itself, the last of the active Yaquis were helping out their women and pet dogs, while the rest, talking and laughing in high spirits, were strung out along the track in a perfunctory line.
If the few officers in command had ever attempted to teach them military discipline, the result was not apparent in the line they formed; but any man who looked at their swarthy faces, the hawklike profiles, and deep-set, steady eyes, would know that they were fighters.
After all, a straight line on parade has very little to do with actual warfare, and these men had proved their worth under fire.
To be sure, it was the fire of Mexican guns, and perhaps that was why the officers were so quiet and unassertive; for every one of these big, upstanding Indians had been captured in the Yaqui wars and deported to the henequen fields of Yucatan to die in the miasma and heat.
But they had come from a hardy breed and the whirligig of fortune was flying fast—Madero defeated Porfirio Diaz; fresh revolutions broke out against the victor, and, looking about in desperation for soldiers to fill his ranks, Madero fell upon the Yaquis.
Trained warriors for generations, of a race so fierce that the ancient Aztecs had been turned aside by them in their empire-founding migration, they were the very men to whip back the rebels, if he could but win them to his side.
So Madero had approached Chief Bule, whom Diaz had taken under a flag of truce, and soon the agreement was made. In return for faithful service, Mexico would give back to the Indians the one thing they had been fighting a hundred and sixty years to attain, their land along the Rio Yaqui; and there they should be permitted to live in peace as their ancestors had done before them.
And so, with a thousand or more of his men, the crafty old war-chief had taken service in the Federal army, though his mind, poisoned perhaps by the treachery he had suffered, was not entirely free from guile.
"It is the desire of the Yaquis," he had said, when rebuked for serving under the hated flag of Mexico, "to kill Mexicans, And," he added grimly, "the Federals at this time seem best able to give us guns for that purpose."
But it had been a year now since Bule had passed his word and, though they had battled valiantly, their land had not been given back to them. The wild Yaquis, the irreconcilables who never came down from the hills, had gone on the war-path again, but Bule and his men still served.
Only in two things did they disobey their officers—they would not stack their arms, and they would not retreat while there were still more Mexicans to be killed. Otherwise they were very good soldiers.
But now, after the long campaign in Chihuahua and a winter of idleness at Agua Negra, they were marching south toward their native land and, in spite of the stern glances of their leaders, they burst forth in weird Yaqui songs which, if their words had been known, might easily have caused their Mexican officers some slight uneasiness.
It was, in fact, only a question of days, months, or years until the entire Yaqui contingent would desert, taking their arms and ammunition with them.
"Gee! what a bunch of men!" exclaimed Bud, as he stood off and admired their stark forms.
"There's some genuine fighters for you," he observed to Phil; and a giant Yaqui, standing near, returned his praise with a smile.
"W'y, hello there, Amigo!" hailed Bud, jerking his head in a friendly salute. "That's a feller I was making signs to up in Agua Negra," he explained. "Dogged if I ain't stuck on these Yaquis—they're all men, believe me!"
"Good workers, all right," conceded De Lancey, "but I'd hate to have 'em get after me with those guns. They say they've killed a lot of Americans, one time and another."
"Well, if they did it was for being caught in bad company," said Hooker. "I'd take a chance with 'em any time—but if you go into their country with a Mexican escort they'll kill you on general principles. Say," he cried impulsively, "I'm going over to talk with Amigo!"
With a broad grin on his honest face he advanced toward the giant Yaqui and shook hands ceremoniously.
"Where you go?" he inquired in Spanish, at the same time rolling a cigarette and asking by a sign for a match.
"Moctezuma," answered the Indian gravely. Then, as Bud offered him the makings, he, too, rolled a cigarette and they smoked for a minute in silence.
"You live here?" inquired the Yaqui at last.
"Come here," corrected Bud. "I have a mine—ten miles—over there."
He pointed with the flat of his hand, Indian fashion, and Amigo nodded understandingly.
He was a fine figure of a man, standing six feet or better in his well-cut sandals and handling his heavy Mauser as a child would swing a stick. Across his broad chest he wore a full cartridge-belt, and around his waist he had two more, filled to the last hole with cartridges and loaded clips. At his feet lay his blanket, bound into a tight roll, and a canteen and coffee-cup completed his outfit, which, so far as impedimenta were concerned, was simplicity itself.
But instead of the cheap linen uniform of the Federals he was dressed in good American clothes—a striped shirt, overalls, and a sombrero banded with a bright ribbon—and in place of the beaten, hunted look of those poor conscripts he had the steady gaze of a free man.
They stood and smoked for a few moments, talking briefly, and then, as the Yaquis closed up their ranks and marched off to make camp for the night, Bud presented his strange friend with the sack of tobacco and went back to join his pardner.
That evening the plaza was filled with the wildest rumors, and another train arrived during the night, but through it all Bud and Phil remained unimpressed. In the morning the soldiers went marching off down the trail, leaving a great silence where all had been bugle-calls and excitement, and then the first fugitive came in from down below.
He was an old Mexican, with trembling beard and staring eyes, and he told a tale of outrage that made their blood run cold. The red-flaggers had come to his house at night; they had killed his wife and son, left him upon the ground for dead, and carried off his daughter, a prisoner.
But later, when thecomisarioquestioned him sharply, it developed that he lived not far away, had no daughter to lose, and was, in fact, only a crazed old man who told for truth that which he feared would happen.
Notwithstanding the dénouement, his story stirred the Mexican population to the depths, and when Bud and Phil tried to hire men to push the work on the mine, they realized that their troubles had begun. Not only was it impossible to engage laborers at any price, but on the following day Cruz Mendez, with his wife and children and all his earthy possessions on his burros, came hurrying in from the camp and told them he could serve them no more.
"It is my woman," he explained; "my Maria! Ah, if thoserevoltososshould see Maria they would steal her before my eyes!"
So he was given his pay and the fifty dollars he had earned and, after the customary "Muchas gracias," and with the faithful Maria by his side, he went hurrying off to the store.
And now in crowded vehicles, with armed men riding in front and behind, the refugees from Moctezuma and the hot country began to pour into town, adding by their very haste to the panic of all who saw them.
They were the rich property-owners who, having been subjected to forced contribution before, were now fleeing at the first rumor of danger, bringing their families with them to escape any being held for ransom.
In half a day the big hotel presided over by Don Juan de Dios Brachamonte was swarming with staring-eyed country mothers and sternly subdued families of children; and finally, to add éclat to the occasion and compensate for the general confusion, Don Cipriano Aragon y Tres Palacios came driving up to the door with his wife and the smiling Gracia.
If she had been in any fear of capture by bold marauders, Gracia Aragon did not show it now, as she sprang lightly from the carriage and waited upon her lady mother. Perhaps, after a year or more of rumors and alarms, she had come to look upon impending revolutionary conflicts as convenient excuses for a trip to town, a long stop at the hotel, and even a dash to gay Gadsden in case the rebels pressed close.
However that may be, while Don Juan exerted himself to procure them a good room she endured the gaze of the American guests with becoming placidity and, as that took some time, she even ventured to look the Americans over and make some comments to her mother.
And then—or as it seemed to Bud—the mother glanced up quickly and fixed her eyes upon him. After that he was in less of a hurry to return to the mine, and Phil said they would stay inside for a week. But as for Don Cipriano, when he came across them it was with malignant insolence and he abruptly turned his back.
At La Fortuna he was the lord and master, with power to forbid them the place; but now once more the fortunes of war had turned against him, and he was forced to tolerate their presence.
The band played in the plaza that evening, it being Thursday of the week, and as the cornet led with "La Paloma," and the bass viol and guitars beat the measure, all feet seemed to turn in that direction, and the fear of the raiders was stilled.
Around and around the band-stand and in and out beneath the trees the pleasure-loving maidens from down below walked decorously with their mothers; and the little band of Fortuna Americans, to whom life for some months had been a trifle burdensome, awoke suddenly to the beauty of the evening.
And among the rest of the maidens, but far more ravishing and high-bred, walked Gracia Aragon, at whom Bud in particular stole many secret glances from beneath the broad brim of his hat, hoping that by some luck theinsurrectoswould come upon the town, and he could defend her—he alone. For he felt that he could do it against any hundred Mexicans that ever breathed.
In its inception the Fortuna hotel had not been intended for the use of Mexicans—in fact, its rates were practically prohibitive for any one not being paid in gold—but, since most of the Americans had left, and seven dollars a day Mex was no deterrent to the rich refugee landowners, it became of a sudden international, with a fine mixture of purse-proud Spaniards and race-proud American adventurers.
Not a very pleasing combination for the parents of romantic damsels destined for some prearranged marriage of state, but very exciting for the damsels and most provocative to the Americans.
After the promenade in the plaza the mothers by common consent preempted the up-stairs reception-room, gathering their precious charges in close; while the Americans, after their custom, forgathered in the lobby, convenient to the bar. Hot arguments about the revolution, and predictions of events to come, served to pass the early evening, with many scornful glances at the Mexican dandies who went so insolently up the stairs. And then, as the refugees retired to their apartments and the spirit of adventure rose uppermost, Phil De Lancey made a dash out into the darkness and came back with a Mexican string band.
"A serenade, boys!" he announced, as the musicians filed sheepishly into the hotel. "Our guests, the fairseñoritas, you know! We'll make those young Mexican dudes look like two-spots before the war is over. Who's game now for a song beneath the windows? You know the old stand-bys—'La Paloma' and 'Teresita Mia'—and you want to listen to me sing 'Me Gustan Todas' to Gracia, the fairest of the fair! Come on, fellows, out in the plaza, and then listen to the old folks cuss!"
They adjourned then, after a drink for courage, to the moonlight and the plaza; and there, beneath the shuttered windows and vacant balconies, the guitars and violins took up "La Paloma," while Phil and a few brave spirits sang.
A silence followed their first attempt, as well as their second and third, and thecomisarioof police, a mild creature owned and paid by the company, came around and made a few ineffectual protests.
But inside the company's concession, where by common consent the militantruraleskept their hands off, the Americans knew they were safe, and they soon jollied thecomisariointo taking a drink and departing. Then De Lancey took up the burden, and the string band, hired by the hour, strummed on as if for eternity.
One by one the windows opened; fretful fathers stepped out on the balcony and, bound by the custom and convention of the country, thanked them and bade them good night. But the two windows behind which the Señor Aragon and his family reposed did not open and, though the dwindling band stood directly under their balcony, and all knew that his daughter was the fairest of the fair, Don Cipriano did not wish them good night.
Perhaps he recognized the leading tenor—and the big voice of Bud Hooker, trying to still the riot—but, however it was, he would not speak to them, and De Lancey would not quit.
"Try 'em on American music," he cried, as every one but Bud went away in disgust, "the latest rag from Broadwa-ay, New York. Here, gimme that guitar,hombre, and listen to this now!"
He picked out a clever bit of syncopation and pitched his voice to a heady twang:
"Down in the garden where the red roses grow,Oh my, I long to go!Pluck me like a flower, cuddle me an hour,Lovie, let me learn the Rose Red Ra-ag!"
There was some swing to that, and it seemed to make an impression, for just as he was well started on the chorus the slats of one of the shutters parted and a patch of white shone through the spaces. It was the ladies, then, who were getting interested! Phil wailed on:
"Swee-eet honey-bee, be sweet to me!My heart is free, but here's the key!"
And then, positively, he could see that patch of white beat time. He took heart of grace at that and sang on to the end, and at a suggestion of clapping in dumb-show he gave an encore and ragged it over again.
"Ev'rybody's doin' it, doin' it, doin' it!'" he began, as the shadow dance ceased.
"'Honey, I declare, it's a bear, it's a bear, it's a bear!'" he continued temptingly, and was well on his way to further extravagancies when the figure in white swiftly vanished and a door slammed hard inside the house.
Several minutes later the form of Don Juan appeared at the lower door, and in no uncertain tones he requested them to cease.
"The Señor Aragon informs me," he said, "that your music annoys him."
"Well, let him come to the balcony and say his 'buenas noches,'" answered Phil resentfully.
"The gentleman refuses to do that," responded Don Juan briefly.
"Then let him go to bed!" replied De Lancey, strumming a few syncopated chords. "I'm singing to his daughter."
At that Don Juan came down off the porch in his slippers and they engaged in a protracted argument.
"What, don't I get a word," demanded Phil grievously, "not a pleasant look from anybody? 'Swee-eet honey-bee, be sweet to me!'" he pleaded, turning pathetically to the lady's balcony; and then, with a sudden flourish, a white handkerchief appeared through the crack of the shutters and Gracia waved him good night.
"Enough, Don Juan!" he cried, laying down the guitar with a thump. "This ends our evening's entertainment!"
After paying and thanking the stolid musicians Phil joined Bud and the pair adjourned to their room where, in the intervals of undressing, Phil favored the occupants of the adjoining apartments with an aria from "Beautiful Doll."
But for all such nights of romance and music there is always a morning afterward; and a fine tenor voice set to rag-time never helped much in the development of a mine. Though Bud had remained loyally by his friend in his evening serenade he, for one, never forgot for a moment that they were in Fortuna to work the Eagle Tail and not to win the hearts of Spanish-Mexicanseñoritas, no matter how attractive they might be.
Bud was a practical man who, if he ever made love, would doubtless do it in a perfectly businesslike way, without hiring any string bands. But at the same time he was willing to make some concessions.
"Well, go ahead and get your sleep, then," he growled, after trying three times in the morning to get his pardner up; "I'm going out to the mine!"
Then, with a saddle-gun under his knee and his six-shooter hung at his hip, he rode rapidly down the road, turning out from time to time to let long cavalcades of mules string by. The dead-eyedarrieros, each with his combined mule-blind and whip-lash swinging free, seemed to have very little on their minds but their pack-lashings, and yet they must be three days out from Moctezuma.
Their mules, too, were well loaded with the products of the hot country—fanegasof corn in red leather sacks, oranges and fruits in hand-made crates,panochesof sugar in balanced frames, long joints of sugar-cane for thedulcepedlers, and nothing to indicate either haste or flight.
Three times he let long pack-trains go by without a word, and then at last, overcome by curiosity, he inquired about therevoltosos.
"Whatrevoltosos?" queried the old man to whom he spoke.
"Why, the men of Bernardo Bravo," answered Bud; "the men who are marching to take Moctezuma."
"When I left Moctezuma," returned the old man politely, "all was quiet—there were norevoltosos. Since then, I cannot say."
"But the soldiers!" cried Bud. "Surely you saw them! They were marching to fight the rebels."
"Perhaps so," shrugged thearriero, laying the lash of histopojoacross the rump of a mule; "but I know nothing about it."
"No," muttered Bud, as he continued on his way; "and I'll bet nobody else does."
Inquiry showed that in this, too, he was correct. From those who traveled fast and from those who traveled slow he received the same wondering answer—the country might be filled withrevoltosos; but as for them, they knew nothing about it.
Not until he got back to Fortuna and the busy Federals' telegraph-wire did he hear any more news of rapine and bloodshed, and the light which dawned upon him then was gradually dawning upon the whole town.
It was a false alarm, given out for purposes of state and the "higher politics" with which Mexico is cursed, and the most that was ever seen of Bernardo Bravo and his lawless men was twenty miserable creatures, half-starved, but with guns in their hand, who had come down out of the mountains east of Moctezuma and killed a few cows for beef.
Thoroughly disgusted, and yet vaguely alarmed at this bit of opera-bouffe warfare, Bud set himself resolutely to work to hunt up men for their mine, and, as many poor people were out of employment because of the general stagnation of business, he soon had ten Mexicans at his call.
Then, as Phil had dropped out of sight, he ordered supplies at the store and engaged Cruz Mendez—who had spent his fortune in three days—to pack the goods out on his mules.
They were ready to start the next morning if De Lancey could be found to order the powder and tools, and as the afternoon wore on and no Phil appeared, Bud went on a long hunt which finally discovered him in the balcony of their window, making signs in the language of the bear.[2]
[2](In Mexico a man who flirts with a woman, or courts her surreptitiously through the bars of her window, is called a "bear.")
"Say, Phil," he hailed, disregarding his pardner's obvious preoccupation; "break away for a minute and tell me what kind of powder to get to break that schist—the store closes at five o'clock, and—"
He thrust his head out the door as he spoke and paused, abashed. Through the half-closed portal of the next balcony but one he beheld the golden hair of Gracia Aragon, and she fixed her brown eyes upon him with a dazzling, mischievous smile.
"O-ho!" murmured Bud, laying a compelling hand on De Lancey and backing swiftly out of range; "so this is what you're up to—talking signs! But say, Phil," he continued, beckoning him peremptorily with a jerk of his head, "I got ten men hired and a lot of grub bought, and if you don't pick out that mining stuff we're going to lose a day. So get the lady to excuse you and come on now."
"In a minute," pleaded Phil, and he went at the end of his allotted time, and perhaps it was the imp of jealousy that put strength into Hooker's arm.
"Well, that's all right," said Bud, as Phil began his laughing excuses; "but you want to remember the Maine, pardner—we didn't come down here to play the bear. When there's any love-making to be done I want to be in on it. And you want to remember that promise you made me—you said you wouldn't have a thing to do with the Aragon outfit unless I was with you!"
"Why, you aren't—you aren't jealous, are you, Bud?"
"Yes, I'm jealous," answered Hooker harshly; "jealous as the devil! And I want you to keep that promise, see?"
"Aw, Bud—" began De Lancey incredulously; but Hooker silenced him with a look. Perhaps he was really jealous, or perhaps he only said so to have his way, but Phil saw that he was in earnest, and he went quietly by his side.
But love had set his brain in a whirl, and he thought no more of his promise—only of some subtler way of meeting his inamorata, some way which Bud would fail to see.
For sixty days and more, while the weather had been turning from cold to warm and they had been laboring feebly to clear way the great slide of loose rock that covered up the ledge, the Eagle Tail mine had remained a mystery.
Whether, like the old Eagle Tail of frontier fable, it was so rich that only the eagle's head was needed to turn the chunks into twenty-dollar gold pieces; or whether, like many other frontier mines, it was nothing but a hole in the ground, was a matter still to be settled. And Bud, for one, was determined to settle it quickly.
"Come on," he said, as Phil hesitated to open up the way to the lead; "we got a month, maybe less, to get to the bottom of this; and then the hills will be lousy with rebels. If the's nothing here, we want to find out about it quick and skip—and if we strike it, by grab! the' ain't enough red-flaggers in Sonora to pry me loose from it. So show thesehombreswhere to work and we'll be up against rock by the end of the week."
The original Eagle Tail tunnel had been driven into the side of a steep hill; so steep, in fact, that the loose shale stretched in long shoots from the base of the frowning porphyry dikes that crowned the tops of the hills to the bottom of the cañon. On each side of the discovery gulch sharp ridges, perforated by the gopher-holes of the Mexicans, and the ancient workings of the Spaniards, ran directly up the hill to meet the contact. But it was against the face of the big ridge itself that Kruger had driven his drift and exploded his giant blast of dynamite, and the whole slope had been altered and covered with a slide of rock.
Against this slide, in the days when they were marking time, Bud and his pardner had directed their energies, throwing the loose stones aside, building up walls against the slip, and clearing the way to the solid schist. There, somewhere beneath the jumble of powder-riven rock, lay the ledge which, if they found it, would make them rich; and now, with single-jack and drill, they attacked the last huge fragments, blasting them into pieces and groveling deeper until they could strike the contact, where the schist and porphyry met and the gold spray had spewed up between.
It was slow work; slower than they had thought, and the gang of Mexicans that they had hired for muckers were marvels of ineptitude. Left to themselves, they accomplished nothing, since each problem they encountered seemed to present to them some element of insuperable difficulty, to solve which they either went into caucus or waited for the boss. Meanwhile they kept themselves awake by smoking cigarettes and telling stories about Bernardo Bravo.
To the Mexicans of Sonora Bernardo Bravo was the personification of all the malevolent qualities—he being a bandit chief who had turned first general and then rebel under Madero—and the fact that he had at last been driven out of Chihuahua and therefore over into Sonora, made his malevolence all the more imminent.
Undoubtedly, somewhere over to the east, where the Sierras towered like a blue wall, Bernardo and his outlaw followers were gathering for a raid, and the raid would bring death to Sonora.
He was a bad man, this Bernardo Bravo, and if half of the current stories were true, he killed men whenever they failed to give him money, and was never too hurried to take a fair daughter of the country up behind him, provided she took his fancy.
Yes, surely he was a bad man—but that did not clear away the rock.
For the first week Phil took charge of the gang, urging, directing, and cajoling them, and the work went merrily on, though rather slowly. The Mexicans liked to work for Don Felipe, he was so polite and spoke such good Spanish; but at the end of the week it developed that Bud could get more results out of them.
Every time Phil started to explain anything to one Mexican all the others stopped to listen to him, and that took time. But Bud's favorite way of directing a man was by grunts and signs and bending his own back to the task. Also, he refused to understand Spanish, and cut off all long-winded explanations and suggestions by an impatient motion to go to work, which thetrabajadoresobeyed with shrugs and grins.
So Don Felipe turned powder-man and blacksmith, sharpening up the drills at the little forge they had fashioned and loading the holes with dynamite when it became necessary to break a rock, while Bud bossed the unwilling Mexicans.
In an old tunnel behind their tent they set a heavy gate, and behind it they stored their precious powder. Then came the portable forge and the blacksmith-shop, just inside the mouth of the cave, and the tent backed up against it for protection. For if there is any one thing, next to horses, that the rebels are wont to steal, it is giant powder to blow up culverts with, or to lay on the counters of timorous country merchants and frighten them into making contributions.
As for their horses, Bud kept them belled and hobbled, close to the house, and no one ever saw him without his gun. In the morning, when he got up, he took it from under his pillow and hung it on his belt, and there it stayed until bedtime.
He also kept a sharp watch on the trail, above and below, and what few men did pass through were conscious of his eye. Therefore it was all the more surprising when, one day, looking up suddenly from heaving at a great rock, he saw the big Yaqui soldier, Amigo, gazing down at him from the cut bank.
Yes, it was the same man, yet with a difference—his rifle and cartridge-belts were absent and his clothes were torn by the brush. But the same good-natured, competent smile was there, and after a few words with Bud he leaped nimbly down the bank and laid hold upon the rock. They pulled together, and the boulder that had balked Bud's gang of Mexicans moved easily for the two of them.
Then Amigo seized a crowbar and slipped it into a cranny and showed them a few things about moving rocks. For half an hour or more he worked along, seemingly bent on displaying his skill, then he sat down on the bank and watched the Mexicans with tolerant, half-amused eyes.
If he was hungry he showed it only by the cigarettes he smoked, and Hooker, studying upon the chances he would take by hiring a deserter, let him wait until he came to a decision.
"Oyez, Amigo," he hailed at last and, rubbing his hand around on his stomach he smiled questioningly, whereat the Yaqui nodded his head avidly.
"Stowano!" said Hooker. "Ven." And he left his Mexicans to dawdle as they would while he led the Indian to camp. There he showed him the coffeepot and the kettle of beans by the fire, set out a slab of Dutch-oven bread and a sack of jerked beef, some stewed fruit and a can of sirup, and left him to do his worst.
In the course of half an hour or so he came back and found the Yaqui sopping up sirup with the last of the bread and humming a little tune. So they sat down and smoked a cigarette and came to the business at hand.
"Where you go?" inquired Bud; but Amigo only shrugged enigmatically.
"You like to work?" continued Bud, and the Indian broke into a smile of assent.
"Muy bien," said Hooker with finality; "I give Mexicans two dollars a day—I give you four. Is that enough?"
"Sí," nodded the Yaqui, and without more words he followed Bud back to the cut. There, in half a day, he accomplished more than all the Mexicans put together, leaping boldly up the bank to dislodge hanging boulders, boosting them by main strength up onto the ramshackle tram they had constructed, and trundling them out to the dump with the shove of a mighty hand.
He was a willing worker, using his head every minute; but though he was such a hustler and made their puny efforts seem so ineffectual by comparison, he managed in some mysterious way to gain the immediate approval of the Mexicans. Perhaps it was his all-pervasive good nature, or the respect inspired by his hardihood; perhaps the qualities of natural leadership which had made him a picked man among his brother Yaquis. But when, late in the afternoon, Bud came back from a trip to the tent he found Amigo in charge of the gang, heaving and struggling and making motions with his head.
"Good enough!" he muttered, after watching him for a minute in silence, and leaving the new boss in command, he went back and started supper.
That was the beginning of a new day at the Eagle Tail, and when De Lancey came back from town—whither he went whenever he could conjure up an errand—he found that, for once, he had not been missed.
Bud was doing the blacksmithing, Amigo was directing the gang, and a fresh mess of beans was on the fire, the first kettleful having gone to reënforce the Yaqui's backbone. But they were beans well spent, and Bud did not regret the raid on his grub-pile. If he could get half as much work for what he fed the Mexicans he could well rest content.
"But how did this Indian happen to find you?" demanded Phil, when his pardner had explained his acquisition. "Say, he must have deserted from his company when they brought them back from Moctezuma!"
"More'n likely," assented Bud. "He ain't talking much, but I notice he keeps his eye out—they'd shoot him for a deserter if they could ketch him. I'd hate to see him go that way."
"Well, if he's as good as this, let's take care of him!" cried Phil with enthusiasm. "I'll tell you, Bud, there's something big coming off pretty soon and I'd like to stay around town a little more if I could. I want to keep track of things."
"F'r instance?" suggested Hooker dryly. It had struck him that Phil was spending a good deal of time in town already.
"Well, there's this revolution. Sure as shooting they're going to pull one soon. There's two thousand Mexican miners working at Fortuna, and they say every one of 'em has got a rifle buried. Now they're beginning to quit and drift out into the hills, and we're likely to hear from them any time."
"All the more reason for staying in camp, then," remarked Bud. "I'll tell you, Phil, I need you here. That dogged ledge is lost, good and plenty, and I need you to say where to dig. We ain't doing much better than old Aragon did—just rooting around in that rock-pile—let's do a little timbering, and sink."
"You can't timber that rock," answered De Lancey decidedly. "And besides, it's cheaper to make a cut twenty feet deep than it is to tunnel or sink a shaft. Wait till we get to that porphyry contact—then we'll know where we're at."
"All right," grumbled Bud; "but seems like we're a long time getting there. What's the news downtown?"
"Well, the fireworks have begun again over in Chihauhua—Orozco and Salazar and that bunch—but it seems there was something to this Moctezuma scare, after all. I was talking to an American mining man from down that way and he told me that the Federals marched out to where the rebels were and then sat down and watched them cross the river without firing on them—some kind of an understanding between Bernardo Bravo and these black-leg Federals.
"The only fighting there was was when a bunch of twenty Yaquis got away from their officers in the rough country and went after Bernardo Bravo by their lonesome. That threw a big scare into him, too, but he managed to fight them off—and if I was making a guess I'd bet that your Yaqui friend was one of that fighting twenty."
"I reckon," assented Bud; "but don't you say nothing. I need thathombrein my business. Come on, let's go up and look at that cut—I come across an old board to-day, down in the muck, and I bet you it's a piece that Kruger left. Funny we don't come across some of his tools, though, or the hole where the powder went off."
"When we do that," observed Phil, "we'll be where we're going. Nothing to do then but lay off the men and wait till I get my papers. That's why I say don't hurry so hard—we haven't got our title to this claim, pardner, and we won't get it, either—not for some time yet. Suppose you'd hit this ledge—"
"Well, if I hit it," remarked Bud, "I'll stay with it—you can trust me for that. Hello, what's the Yaqui found?"
As they came up the cut Amigo quit work and, while the Mexicans followed suit and gathered expectantly behind him, he picked up three rusty drills and an iron drill-spoon and presented them to Bud.
Evidently he had learned the object of their search from the Mexicans, but if he looked for any demonstrations of delight at sight of these much-sought-for tools he was doomed to disappointment, for both Bud and Phil had schooled themselves to keep their faces straight.
"Um-m," said Bud, "old drills, eh? Where you find them?"
The Yaqui led the way to the face of the cut and showed the spot, a hole beneath the pile of riven rock; and a Mexican, not to be outdone, grabbed up a handful of powdered porphyry and indicated where the dynamite had pulverized it.
"Bien," said Phil, pawing solemnly around in the bottom of the hole; and then, filling his handkerchief with fine dirt, he carried it down to the creek. There, in a miner's pan, he washed it out carefully, slopping the waste over the edge and swirling the water around until at last only a little dirt was left in the bottom of the pan. Then, while all the Mexicans looked on, he tailed this toward the edge, scanning the last remnant for gold—and quit without a color.
"Nada!" he cried, throwing down the pan, and in some way the Mexicans sensed the fact that the mine had turned out a failure. Three times he went back to the cut and scooped up the barren dust, and then he told the men they could quit.
"No more work!" he said, affecting a dejected bitterness. "No hay nada—there is nothing!" And with this sad, but by no means unusual, ending to their labors, the Mexicans went away to their camp, speculating among themselves as to whether they could get their pay. But when the last of them had gone Phil beckoned Bud into the tent and showed him a piece of quartz.
"Just take a look at that!" he said, and a single glance told Hooker that it was full of fine particles of gold.
"I picked that up when they weren't looking," whispered De Lancey, his eyes dancing with triumph. "It's the same rock—the same as Kruger's!"
"Well, put 'er there, then, pardner!" cried Bud, grabbing at 'De Lancey's hand. "We've struck it!"
And with a broad grin on their deceitful faces they danced silently around the tent, after which they paid off the Mexicans and bade them "Adios!"
It is a great sensation—striking it rich—one of the greatest in the world.
Some men punch a burro over the desert all their lives in the hope of achieving it once; Bud and Phil had taken a chance, and the prize lay within their grasp. Only a little while now—a month, maybe, if the officials were slow—and the title would be theirs.
The Mexican miners, blinded by their ignorance, went their way, well contented to get their money. Nobody knew. There was nothing to do but to wait. But to wait, as some people know, is the hardest work in the world.
For the first few days they lingered about the mine, gloating over it in secret, laughing back and forth, singing gay songs—then, as the ecstasy passed and the weariness of waiting set in, they went two ways. Some fascination, unexplained to Bud, drew De Lancey to the town. He left in the morning and came back at night, but Hooker stayed at the mine.
Day and night, week-days and Sundays, he watched it jealously, lest some one should slip in and surprise their secret—and for company he had his pet horse, Copper Bottom, and the Yaqui Indian, Amigo.
Ignacio was the Indian's real name, for the Yaquis are all good Catholics and named uniformly after the saints; but Bud had started to call him Amigo, or friend, and Ignacio had conferred the same name on him.
Poor Ignacio! his four-dollar-a-day job had gone glimmering in half a day, but when the Mexican laborers departed he lingered around the camp, doing odd jobs, until he won a place for himself.
At night he slept up in the rocks, where no treachery could take him unaware, but at the first peep of dawn it was always Amigo who arose and lit the fire.
Then, if no one got up, he cooked a breakfast after his own ideas, boiling the coffee until it was as strong as lye, broiling meat on sticks, and went to turn out the horses.
With the memory of many envious glances cast at Copper Bottom, Hooker had built a stout corral, where he kept the horses up at night, allowing them to graze close-hobbled in the daytime.
A Mexicaninsurrectoon foot is a contradiction of terms, if there are any horses or mules in the country, and several bands of ex-miners from Fortuna had gone through their camp in that condition, with new rifles in their hands. But if they had any designs on the Eagle Tail live stock they speedily gave them up; for, while he would feed them and even listen to their false tales of patriotism, Bud had no respect for numbers when it came to admiring his horse.
Even with the Yaqui, much as he trusted him, he had reservations about Copper Bottom; and once, when he found him petting him and stroking his nose, he shook his head forbiddingly. And from that day on, though he watered Copper Bottom and cared for his wants, Amigo was careful never to caress him.
But in all other matters, even to lending him his gun, Bud trusted the Yaqui absolutely. It was about a week after he came to camp that Amigo sighted a deer, and when Bud lent him his rifle he killed it with a single shot.
Soon afterward he came loping back from a scouting trip and made signs for the gun again, and this time he brought in a young peccary, which he roasted in a pit, Indian style. After that, when the meat was low, Bud sent him out to hunt, and each time he brought back a wild hog or a deer for every cartridge.
The one cross under which the Yaqui suffered was the apparent failure of the mine and, after slipping up into the cut a few times, he finally came back radiant.
"Mira!" he said, holding out a piece of rock; and when Hooker gazed at the chunk of quartz he pointed to the specks of gold and grunted "Oro!"
"Seguro!" answered Bud, and going down into his pocket, he produced another like it. At this the Yaqui cocked his head to one side and regarded him strangely.
"Why you no dig gold?" he asked at last, and then Bud told him his story.
"We have an enemy," he said, "who might steal it from us. So now we wait for papers. When we get them, we dig!"
"Ah!" breathed Amigo, his face suddenly clearing up. "And can I work for you then?"
"Sí," answered Bud, "for four dollars a day. But now you help me watch, so nobody comes."
"Stawano!" exclaimed the Indian, well satisfied, and after that he spent hours on the hilltop, his black head thrust out over the crest like a chucka-walla lizard as he conned the land below.
So the days went by until three weeks had passed and still no papers came. As his anxiety increased Phil fell into the habit of staying in town overnight, and finally he was gone for two days. The third day was drawing to a close, and Bud was getting restless, when suddenly he beheld the Yaqui bounding down the hill in great leaps and making signs down the cañon.
"Two men," he called, dashing up to the tent; "one of them arural!"
"Why arural?" asked Bud, mystified.
"To take me!" cried Amigo, striking himself vehemently on the breast. "Lend me your rifle!"
"No," answered Bud, after a pause; "you might get me into trouble. Run and hide in the rocks—I will signal you when to come back."
"Muy bien," said the Yaqui obediently and, turning, he went up over rocks like a mountain-sheep, bounding from boulder to boulder until he disappeared among the hilltops. Then, as Bud brought in his horse and shut him hastily inside the corral, the two riders came around the point—aruraland Aragon!
Now in Mexico arural, as Bud well knew, means trouble—and Aragon meant more trouble, trouble for him. Certainly, so busy a man as Don Cipriano would not come clear to his camp to help capture a Yaqui deserter. Bud sensed it from the start that this was another attempt to get possession of their mine, and he awaited their coming grimly.
"'S tardes," he said in reply to therural'ssalute, and then he stood silent before his tent, looking them over shrewdly. Theruralwas a hard-looking citizen, as many of them are, but on this occasion he seemed a trifle embarrassed, glancing inquiringly at Aragon. As for Aragon, he was gazing at a long line of jerked meat which Amigo had hung out to dry, and his drooped eyes opened up suddenly as he turned his cold regard upon Hooker.
"Señor," he said, speaking with an accusing harshness, "we are looking for the men who are stealing my cattle, and I see we have not far to go. Where did you get that meat?"
"I got it from a deer," returned Bud. "There is his hide on the fence; you can see it if you'll look."
Therural, glad to create a diversion, rode over and examined the hide and came back satisfied, but Aragon was not so easily appeased.
"By what right," he demanded truculently, "do you, an American, kill deer in our country? Have you the special permit which is required?"
"No,señor," answered Hooker soberly; "the deer was killed by a Mexican I have working for me."
"Ha!" sneered Aragon, and then he paused, balked.
"Where is this Mexican?" inquired therural, his professional instincts aroused, and while Bud was explaining that he was out in the hills somewhere, Aragon spurred his horse up closer and peered curiously into his tent.
"What are you looking for?" demanded Hooker sharply, and then Aragon showed his hand.
"I am looking for the drills and drill-spoon," he said; "the ones you stole when you took my mine!"
"Then get back out of there," cried Bud, seizing his horse by the bit and throwing him back on his haunches; "and stay out!" he added, as he dropped his hand to his gun. "But if theruralwishes to search," he said, turning to that astounded official, "he is welcome to do so."
"Muchas gracias, no!" returned therural, shaking a finger in front of his face, and then he strode over to where Aragon was muttering and spoke in a low tone.
"No!" dissented Aragon, shaking his head violently. "No—no! I want this man arrested!" he cried, turning vindictively upon Bud. "He has stolen my tools—my mine—my land! He has no business here—no title! This land is mine, and I tell him to go!Pronto!" he shouted, menacing Hooker with his riding-whip, but Bud only shifted his feet and stopped listening to his excited Spanish.
"No,señor," he said, when it was all over, "this claim belongs to my pardner, De Lancey. You have no—"
"Ha! De Lancey!" jeered Aragon, suddenly indulging himself in a sardonic laugh. "De Lancey! Ha, ha!"
"What's the matter?" cried Hooker, as theruraljoined in with a derisive smirk. "Say, speak up,hombre!" he threatened, stepping closer as his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "And let me tell you now," he added, "that if any man touches a hair of his head I'll kill him like a dog!"
Theruralbacked his horse away, as if suddenly discovering that the American was dangerous, and then, saluting respectfully as he took his leave, he said:
"The Señor De Lancey is in jail!"
They whirled their horses at that and galloped off down the cañon, and as Bud gazed after them he burst into a frenzy of curses. Then, with the one thought of setting Phil free, he ran out to the corral and hurled the saddle on his horse.
It was through some chicanery, he knew—some low-down trick on the part of Aragon—that his pardner had been imprisoned, and he swore to have him out or know the reason why. Either that or he would go after Aragon and take it out of his hide.
It was outside Bud's simple code even to question his pardner's innocence; but, innocent or guilty, he would have him out if he had to tear down the jail.
So he slapped his saddle-gun into the sling, reached for his quirt, and went dashing down the cañon. At a turn in the road he came suddenly upon Aragon and therural, split a way between them, and leaned forward as Copper Bottom burned up the trail.
It was long since the shiny sorrel had been given his head, and he needed neither whip not spurs—but a mile or two down the arroyo Bud suddenly reined him in and looked behind. Then he turned abruptly up the hillside and jumped him out on a point, looked again, and rode slowly back up the trail.
Aragon and theruralwere not in sight—the question was, were they following? For a short distance he rode warily, not to be surprised in his suspicion; then, as he found tracks turning back, he gave head to his horse and galloped swiftly to camp.
The horses of the men he sought stood at the edge of the mine-dump and, throwing his bridle rein down beside them, Bud leaped off and ran up the cut. Then he stopped short and reached for his six-shooter. The two men were up at the end, down on their knees, and digging like dogs after a rabbit.
So eager were they in their search, so confident in their fancied security, that they never looked up from their work, and the tramp of Hooker's boots was drowned by their grubbing until he stood above them. There he paused, his pistol in hand, and waited grimly for developments.
"Ha!" cried Aragon, grabbing at a piece of quartz that came up. "Aqui lo tengo!" He drew a second piece from his pocket and placed them together. "It is the same!" he said.
Still half-buried in the excavation, he turned suddenly, as a shadow crossed him, to get the light, and his jaw dropped at the sight of Bud.
"I'll trouble you for that rock," observed Bud, holding out his hand, and as theruraljumped, Aragon handed over the ore. There was a moment's silence as Bud stood over them—then he stepped back and motioned them out with his gun.
Down the jagged cut they hurried, awed into a guilty silence by his anger, and when he let them mount without a word therurallooked back, surprised. Even then Bud said nothing, but the swing of the Texan's gun spoke for him, and they rode quickly out of sight.
"You dad-burned greasers!" growled Bud, returning his pistol with a jab to its holster. Then he looked at the ore. There were two pieces, one fresh-dug and the other worn, and as he gazed at them the worn piece seemed strangely familiar. Aragon had been comparing them—but where had he got the worn piece?
Once more Bud looked it over, and then the rock fell from his hand. It was the first piece they had found—the piece that belonged to Phil!
When the solid earth quakes, though it move but a thousandth of an inch beneath our feet, the human brain reels and we become dizzy, sick, and afraid. So, too, at the thought that some trusted friend has played us false, the mind turns back upon itself and we doubt the stability of everything—for a moment. Then, as we find all the trees straight up, the world intact, and the hills in their proper places, we cast the treacherous doubts aside and listen to the voice of reason.
For one awful moment Hooker saw himself betrayed by his friend, either through weakness or through guile; and then his mind straightened itself and he remembered that Phil was in jail.
What more natural, then, than that theruralesshould search his pockets and give the ore to Aragon? He stooped and picked up the chunk of rock—that precious, pocket-worn specimen that had brought them the first sure promise of success—and wiped it on his sleeve.
Mechanically he placed it beside the other piece which Aragon had gouged from the ledge, and while he gazed at them he wondered what to do—to leave their mine and go to his friend, or to let his friend wait and stand guard by their treasure—and his heart told him to go to his friend.
So he swung up on his horse and followed slowly, and as soon as it was dark he rode secretly through Old Fortuna and on till he came to the jail. It was a square stone structure, built across the street from thecantinain order to be convenient for the drunks, and as Bud rode up close and stared at it, some one hailed him through the bars.
"Hello there, pardner," called Hooker, swinging down and striding over to the black window, "how long have they had you in here?"
"Two days," answered Phil from the inner darkness; "but it seems like a lifetime to me. Say, Bud, there's a Mexican in here that's got the jim-jams—regulartequilajag—can't you get me out?"
"Well, I sure will!" answered Bud. "What have they got you in for? Where's our friend, Don Juan? Why didn't he let me know?"
"You can search me!" railed De Lancey. "Seems like everybody quits you down here the minute you get into trouble. I got arrested night before last by those damnedrurales—Manuel Del Rey was behind it, you can bet your life on that—and I've been here ever since!"
"Well, what are you pinched for? Who do I go and see?"
"Pinched for nothing!" cried De Lancey bitterly. "Pinched because I'm a Mexican citizen and can't protect myself! I'mincomunicadofor three days!"
"Well, I'll get you out, all right," said Hooker, leaning closer against the bars. "Here, have a smoke—did they frisk you of your makings?"
"No," snapped De Lancey crossly, "but I'm out of everything by this time. Bud, I tell you I've had a time of it! They threw me in here with this crazy, murdering Mexican and I haven't had a wink of sleep for two days. He's quiet now, but I don't want any more."
"Well, say," began Bud again, "what are you charged with? Maybe I can grease somebody's paw and get you out tonight!"
There was an awkward pause at this, and finally De Lancey dropped his white face against the bars and his voice became low and beseeching.
"I'll tell you, Bud," he said, "I haven't been quite on the square with you—I've been holding out a little. But you know how it is—when a fellow's in love. I've been going to see Gracia!"
"Oh!" commented Hooker, and stood very quiet while he waited.
"Yes, I've been going to see her," hurried on Phil. "I know I promised; but honest, Bud, I couldn't help it. It just seemed as if my whole being was wrapped up in her, and I had to do it. She'd be looking for me when I came and went—and then I fixed it with her maid to take her a letter. And then I met her secretly, back by the garden gate. You know they've got some holes punched in the wall—loopholed during the fight last summer—and we'd—"
"Sure, I'll take your word for that," broke in Hooker harshly. "But get to the point! What are you pinched for?"
"Well," went on De Lancey, his voice quavering at the reproof, "I was going to tell you, if you'll listen to me. Somebody saw us there and told Aragon—he shut her up for a punishment and she slipped me out a note. She was lonely, she said. And that night—well, I couldn't stand it—I hired the string band and we went down there in a hack to give her a serenade. But this cad, Manuel del Rey, who has been acting like a jealous ass all along, swooped down on us with a detachment of hisruralesand took us all to jail. He let the musicians out the next morning, but I've been here ever since."
"Yes, and what are you charged with?" demanded Bud bruskly.
"Drunk," confessed Phil, and Bud grunted.
"Huh!" he said, "and me out watching that mine night and day!"
"Oh, I know I've done you dirt, Bud," wailed De Lancey; "but I didn't mean to, and I'll never do it again."
"Never do what?" inquired Bud roughly.
"I won't touch another drop of booze as long as I'm in Mexico!" cried Phil. "Not a drop!"
"And how about the girl?" continued Bud inexorably. "Her old man was out and tried to jump our mine to-day—how about her?"
"Well," faltered De Lancey, "I'll—she—"
"You know your promise!" reminded Bud.
"Yes; I know. But—oh, Bud, if you knew how loyal I've been to you—if you knew what offers I've resisted—the mine stands in my name, you know."
"Well?"
"Well, Aragon came around to me last week and said if I'd give him a half interest in it he'd—well, never mind—it was a great temptation. But did I fall for it? Not on your life! I know you, Bud, and I know you're honest—you'd stay by me to the last ditch, and I'll do the same by you. But I'm in love, Bud, and that would make a man forget his promise if he wasn't true as steel."
"Yes," commented Hooker dryly. "I don't reckon I can count on you much from now on. Here, take a look at this and see what you make of it." He drew the piece of ore that he had taken from Aragon from his pocket and held it up in the moonlight. "Well, feel of it, then," he said. "Shucks, you ought to know that piece of rock, Phil—it's the first one we found in our mine!"
"No!" exclaimed De Lancey, starting back. "Why—where'd you get it?"
"Never mind where I got it!" answered Hooker. "The question is: What did you do with it?"
"Well, I might as well come through with it," confessed Phil, the last of his assurance gone. "I gave it to Gracia!"
"And I took it away from Aragon," continued Bud, "while he was digging some more chunks out of our mine. So that is your idea of being true as steel, is it? You've done noble by me and Kruger, haven't you? Yes, you've been a good pardner, I don't think!"
"Well, don't throw me down, Bud!" pleaded Phil. "There's some mistake somewhere. Her father must have found it and taken it away! I'd stake my life on it that Gracia would never betray me!"
"Well, think it over for a while," suggested Bud, edging his words with sarcasm. "I'm going up to the hotel!"
"No; come back!" cried De Lancey, clamoring at the bars. "Come on back, Bud! Here!" he said, thrusting his hand out through the heavy irons. "I'll give you my word for it—I won't see her again until we get our title! Will that satisfy you? Then give me your hand, pardner—I'm sorry I did you wrong!"
"It ain't me," replied Hooker soberly, as he took the trembling hand; "it's Kruger. But if you'll keep your word, Phil, maybe we can win out yet. I'm going up to find thecomisario."
A brief interview with that smiling individual and the case of Phil De Lancey was laid bare. He had been engaged in a desperate rivalry with Manuel del Rey for the hand of Gracia Aragon, and his present incarceration was not only for singing rag-time beneath the Aragon windows, but for trying to whip the captain of theruraleswhen the latter tried to place him under arrest.
And De Lancey was the prisoner not of thecomisario, but of the captain of therurales. Sore at heart, Bud rode up through the Mexican quarters to thecuartelof therurales, but the captain was inexorable.
"No,señor," he said, waving an eloquent finger before his nose, "I cannot release your friend. No,señor."
"But what is he charged with," persisted Bud, "and when is his trial? You can't keep him shut up without a trial."
At this the captain of theruraleslifted his eyebrows and one closely waxedmustachioand smiled mysteriously.
"Y como no?" he inquired. "And why not? Is he not a Mexican citizen?"
"Well, perhaps he is," thundered Bud, suddenly rising to his full height, "but I am not! I am an American, Señor Capitan, and there are other Americans! If you hold my friend without a trial I will come and tear your jail down—and thecomisariowill not stop me, either!"
"Ah!" observed the dandy little captain shrugging hismustachioonce more and blinking, and while Hooker raged back and forth he looked him over appraisingly.
"One moment!" he said at last, raising a quieting hand. "These are perilous times,señor, in which all the defenders of Fortuna should stand together. I do not wish to have a difference with the Americans when Bernardo Bravo and his men are marching to take our town. No, I value the friendship of the valiant Americans very highly—so I will let your friend go. But first he must promise me one thing—not to trouble the Señor Aragon by making further love to his daughter!"
"Very well!" replied Bud. "He has already promised that to me; so come on and let him out."
"To you?" repeated Manuel del Rey with a faint smile. "Then, perhaps—"
"Perhaps nothing!" broke in Hooker shortly. "Come on!"
He led the way impatiently while the captain, his saber clanking, strode out and rode beside him. He was not a big man, this swashing captain of the rural police, but he was master, nevertheless, of a great district, from Fortuna to the line, with a reputation for quick work in the pursuance of his duty as well as in the primrose ways of love.
In the insurrections and raidings of the previous summer he had given thecoup de grâcewith his revolver to more than one embryo bandit, and in his love-affairs he had shown that he could be equally summary.
The elegant Feliz Luna, who for a time had lingered near the charming Gracia, had finally found himself up against a pair of pistols with the option of either fighting Captain del Rey or returning to his parents. The young man concluded to beat a retreat. For a like offense Philip De Lancey had been unceremoniously thrown into jail; and now thecapitanturned his attention to Bud Hooker, whose mind he had not yet fathomed.
"Excuse me,señor," he said, after a brief silence, "but your words left me in doubt—whether to regard you as a friend or a rival."
"What?" demanded Bud, whose knowledge of Spanish did not extend to the elegancies.
"You said," explained the captain politely, "that your friend had promised you he would not trouble the lady further. Does that mean that you are interested in her yourself, or merely that you perceive the hopelessness of his suit and wish to protect him from a greater evil that may well befall him? For look you,señor, the girl is mine, and no man can come between us!"
"Huh!" snorted Bud, who caught the last all right. Then he laughed shortly and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said gruffly, "but he will stay away, all right."
"Muy bien," responded Del Rey carelessly and, dismounting at the jail, he threw open the door and stood aside for his rival to come out.
"Muchas gracias, Señor Capitan," saluted Bud, as the door clanged to behind his pardner. But Phil still bristled with anger and defiance, and the captain perceived that there would be no thanks from him.
"It is nothing," he replied, bowing politely, and something in the way he said it made De Lancey choke with rage. But there by thecárceldoor was not the place for picking quarrels. They went to the hotel, where Don Juan, all apologies for his apparent neglect—which he excused on the ground that De Lancey had been heldincomunicado—placated them as best he could and hurried on to the news.
"My gracious, Don Felipe," he cried, "you don't know how sorry I was to see you in jail, but the captain's orders were that no one should go near you—and in Mexico we obey therurales, you know. Otherwise we are placed against a wall and shot.
"But have you heard the news from down below? Ah, what terrible times they are having there—ranches raided, women stolen, rich men held for ransom! Yes, it is worse than ever! Already I am receiving telegrams to prepare rooms for the refugees, and the people are coming in crowds.
"Our friend, the Señor Luna, and his son Feliz have been taken by Bernardo Bravo! Only by an enormous ransom was he able to save his wife and daughters, and his friends must now pay for him.
"At the ranch of the rich Spaniard, Alvarez, there has been a great battle in which the red-flaggers were defeated with losses. Now Bernardo Bravo swears he will avenge his men, and Alvarez has armed his Yaqui workmen.
"He is a brave man, this Colonel Alvarez, and his Yaquis are all warriors from the hills; but Bernardo has gathered all theinsurrectosin the country together—Campos, Rojas, the brothers Escaboza—and they may crush him with their numbers. But now there is other news—that they are marching upon Fortuna and El Tigre, to seize the mines and mills and hold the rich American companies up for ransom.
"No,señores, you must not return to your camp. Remain here, and you shall still have your room, though Spanish gentlemen sleep on the floors. No, allow me, Don Felipe! I wish to show you how highly I value your friendship! Only because we cannot disobey theruralesdid I suffer you to lie in jail; but now you shall be my guest, you shall—"
"Nope," answered Bud; "we're safer out at the mine."
He glanced at De Lancey, in whose mind rosy visions were beginning to gather, and he, too, declined—with a sigh.
"Make it a bed for the night," he said. "I've got to get out of this town before I tangle with Del Rey again and find myself back in jail. And now lead me to it—I'm perishing for a bath and a sleep!"
They retired early and got up early—for Bud was haunted by fears. But as they passed through Old Fortuna the worst happened to him—they met Gracia, mounted on a prancing horse and followed by aruralguard, and she smote him to the heart with a smile.
It was not a smile for Phil, gone astray and wounding by chance; it was a dazzling, admiring smile for Bud alone, and he sat straighter in his saddle. But Phil uttered a groan and struck his horse with the quirt.
"She cut me!" he moaned.
"Aw, forget it!" growled Bud, and they rode on their way in silence.