"Buen'!" bowed Mendez. "And many thanks!"
"It is nothing," replied De Lancey politely, and then with a crooked smile he gazed after the old man as he went hurrying off down the cañon.
"Well," he observed, "I guess we've got Mr. Mendez started just about right – what? Now if we can keep him without the price of a drink until we get out papers we stand a chance to win."
"That's right," said Bud; "but I wish he had two good eyes. I knowed a one-eyed Mex up in Arizona and he was sure a thieving son of a goat!"
VII
There are doubtless many philanthropists in the Back Bay regions of Boston who would consider the whipsawing of Cruz Mendez a very reprehensible act. And one hundred dollars Mex was certainly a very small reward for the service that he was to perform.
But Bud and Phil were not traveling for any particular uplift society, and one hundred pesos was a lot of money to Cruz Mendez. More than that, if they had offered him a thousand dollars for the same service he would have got avaricious and demanded ten thousand.
He came to the hotel very early the next morning and lingered around an hour or so, waiting for the American gentlemen to arise and tell him his fate. A hundred dollars would buy everything that he could think of, including a quantity of mescal. His throat dried at the thought of it.
Then the gentlemen appeared and asked him many questions – whether he was married according to law, whether his wife would sign the papers with him, and if he believed in a hereafter for those who played false with Americans. Having answered all these in the affirmative, he was taken to the agente mineral, and, after signing his name – his one feat in penmanship – to several imposing documents, he was given the precious permit.
Then there was another trip to the grounds with a surveyor, to make report that the claim was actually vacant, and Mendez went back to his normal duties as a packer.
In return for this service as a dummy locator, and to keep him under their eye, the Americans engaged El Tuerto, the one-eyed, to pack out a few tools and supplies for them; and then, to keep him busy, they employed him further to build a stone house.
All these activities were, of course, not lost on Don Cipriano Aragon y Tres Palacios, since, by a crafty arrangement of fences, he had made it impossible for anyone to reach the lower country without passing through the crooked street of Old Fortuna.
During the first and the second trip of the strange Americans he kept within his dignity, hoping perhaps that they would stop at his store, where they could be engaged in conversation; but upon their return from a third trip, after Cruz Mendez had gone through with their supplies, he cast his proud Spanish reserve to the winds and waylaid them on the street.
"Buenas tardes, señores," he saluted, as they rode past his store, and then, seeing that they did not break their gait, he held up his hand for them to stop.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, speaking genially but with an affected Spanish lisp. "I have seen you ride past several times – are you working for the big company up at New Fortuna?"
"No, señor," answered De Lancey courteously, "we are working for ourselves."
"Good!" responded Aragon with fatherly approval. "It is better so. And are you looking at mines?"
"Yes," said De Lancey non-committally; "we are looking at mines."
"That is good, too," observed Aragon; "and I wish you well, but since you are strangers to this country and perhaps do not know the people as well as some, I desire to warn you against that one-eyed man, Cruz Mendez, with whom I have seen you riding. He is a worthless fellow – a very pelado Mexican, one who has nothing – and yet he is always seeking to impose upon strangers by selling them old mines which have no value.
"I have no desire to speak ill of my neighbors, but since he has moved into the brush house up the river I have lost several fine little pigs; and his eye, as I know, was torn from his head as he was chasing another man's cow. I have not suffered him on my ranch for years, he is such a thief, and yet he has the effrontery to represent himself to strangers as a poor but honest man. I hope that he has not imposed upon you in any way?"
"No; not at all, thank you," responded De Lancey, as Bud raised his bridle-reins to go. "We hired him to pack out our tools and supplies and he has done it very reasonably. But many thanks, sir, for your warning. Adios!"
He touched his hat and waved his hand in parting, and Bud grinned as he settled down to a trot.
"You can't help palavering 'em, can you, Phil?" he said. "No matter what you think about 'em, you got to be polite, haven't you? Well, that's the way you get drawn in – next time you go by now the old man will pump you dry – you see. No, sir, the only way to get along with these Mexicans is not to have a thing to do with 'em. 'No savvy' – that's my motto."
"Well, 'muchas gracias' is mine," observed De Lancey. "It doesn't cost anything, and it buys a whole lot."
"Sure," agreed Bud; "but we ain't buying nothing from him – he's the one particular hombre we want to steer clear of, and keep him guessing as long as we can. That's my view of it, pardner."
"Oh, that's all right," laughed De Lancey, "he won't get anything out of me – that is, nothing but a bunch of hot air. Say, he's a shrewd-looking old guinea, isn't he? Did you notice that game eye? He kept it kind of drooped, almost shut, until he came to the point – and then he opened it up real fierce. Reminds me of a big fighting owl waking up in the daytime. But you just watch me handle him, and if I don't fool the old boy at every turn it'll be because I run out of bull."
"Well, you can hand him the bull if you want to," grumbled Bud, "but the first time you give anything away I'm going to pick such a row with the old cuss that we'll have to make a new trail to get by. So leave 'im alone, if you ever expect to see that girl!"
A close association with Phil De Lancey had left Bud not unaware of his special weaknesses, and Phil was undoubtedly romantic. Given a barred and silent house, shut off from the street by whitened walls and a veranda screened with flowers, and the questing eyes of Mr. De Lancey would turn to those barred windows as certainly as the needle seeks the pole.
On every trip, coming and going, he had conned the Aragon house from the vine-covered corredor in front to the walled-in summer-garden behind, hoping to surprise a view of the beautiful daughter of the house. And unless rumor and Don Juan were at fault, she was indeed worthy of his solicitude – a gay and sprightly creature, brown-eyed like her mother and with the same glorious chestnut hair.
Already those dark, mischievous eyes had been busy and, at the last big dance at Fortuna, she had set many heads awhirl. Twice within two years her father, in a rage, had sent her away to school in order to break off some ill-considered love-affair; and now a battle royal was being waged between Manuel del Rey, the dashing captain of the rurales stationed at Fortuna, and Feliz Luna, son of a rich haciendado down in the hot country, for the honor of her hand.
What more romantic, then, than that a handsome American, stepping gracefully into the breach, should keep the haughty lovers from slaying each other by bearing off the prize himself?
So reasoned Philip De Lancey, musing upon the ease with which he could act the part; but for prudential purposes he said nothing of his vaunting ambitions, knowing full well that they would receive an active veto from Bud.
For, while De Lancey did most of the talking, and a great deal of the thinking for the partnership, Hooker was not lacking in positive opinions; and upon sufficient occasion he would express himself, though often with more force than delicacy. Therefore, upon this unexpected sally about the girl, Phil changed the subject abruptly and said no more of Aragon or the hopes within his heart.
It was not so easy, however, to avoid Aragon, for that gentleman had apparently taken the pains to inform himself as to the place where they were at work, and he was waiting for them in the morning with a frown as black as a thunder-cloud.
"He's on!" muttered Phil, as they drew near enough to see his face. "What shall we do?"
"Do nothing," growled Bud through his teeth; "you jest let me do the talking!"
He maneuvered his horse adroitly and, with a skilful turn, cut in between his pardner and Aragon.
"'S días," he greeted, gazing down in burly defiance at the militant Aragon; and at the same moment he gave De Lancey's horse a furtive touch with his spur.
"Buenos días señores!" returned Aragon, striding forward to intercept them; but as neither of the Americans looked back, he was left standing in the middle of the street.
"That's the way to handle 'im," observed Hooker, as they trotted briskly down the lane. "Leave 'im to me."
"It'll only make him mad," objected De Lancey crossly. "What do you want to do that for?"
"He's mad already," answered Bud. "I want to quarrel with him, so he can't ask us any questions. Get him so mad he won't talk – then it'll be a fair fight and none of this snake-in-the-grass business."
"Yes, but don't put it on him," protested De Lancey. "Let him be friendly for a while, if he wants to."
"Can't be friends," said Bud laconically; "we jumped his claim."
"Maybe he doesn't want it," suggested Phil hopefully. "He's dropped a lot of money on it."
"You bet he wants it," returned Hooker, with conviction. "I'm going to camp out there – the old boy is liable to jump us."
"Aw, you're crazy, Bud!" cried Phil; but Hooker only smiled.
"You know what happened to Kruger," he answered. "I'll tell you what, we got to keep our eye open around here."
They rode on to their mine, which was only about five miles from Fortuna, without discussing the matter further; for, while Phil had generally been the leader, in this particular case Kruger had put Bud in charge, and he seemed determined to have his way so far as Aragon was concerned. In the ordering of supplies and the laying out of development work he deferred to Phil in everything, but for tactics he preferred his own judgment.
It was by instinct rather than reason that he chose to fight, and people who follow their instincts are hard to change. So they put in the day in making careful measurements, according to the memoranda that Kruger had given them; and, having satisfied themselves as to the approximate locality of the lost vein, they turned back again toward town with their heads full of cunning schemes.
Since it was the pleasure of the Señor Aragon to make war on all who entered his preserves, they checkmated any attempt on his part to locate the lead by driving stakes to the north of their ledge; and, still further to throw him off, they decided to mark time for a while by doing dead work on a cut. Such an approach would be needed to reach the mouth of their tunnel.
At the same time it would give steady employment to Mendez and keep him under their eye, and as soon as Aragon showed his hand they could make out their final papers in peace and send them to the City of Mexico.
And not until those final papers were recorded and the transfer duly made would they so much as stick a pick into the hillside or show a lump of quartz.
But for a Spanish gentleman, supposed to be all supple curves and sinuous advance, Don Cipriano turned out somewhat of a surprise, for when they rode back through his narrow street again he met them squarely in the road and called them to a halt.
"By what right, gentlemen – " he demanded in a voice tremulous with rage, – "by what right do you take possession of my mine, upon which I have paid the taxes all these years, and conspire with that rogue, Cruz Mendez, to cheat me out of it? It is mine, I tell you, no matter what the agente mineral may say, and – "
"Your mine, nothing!" broke in Hooker scornfully, speaking in the ungrammatical border-Mexican of the cowboys. "We meet one Mexican – he shows us the mine – that is all. The expert of the mining agent says it is vacant – we take it. Stawano!"1
He waved the matter aside with masterful indifference, and Aragon burst into a torrent of excited Spanish.
"Very likely, very likely," commented Bud dryly, without listening to a word; "sí, señor, yo pienso!"
A wave of fury swept over the Spaniard's face at this gibe and he turned suddenly to De Lancey.
"Señor," he said, "you seem to be a gentleman. Perhaps you will listen to me. This mine upon which you are working is mine. I have held it for years, seeking for the lost vein of the old padres. Then the rebels came sweeping through the land. They stole my horses, they drove off my cattle, they frightened my workmen from the mine. I was compelled to flee – myself and my family – to keep from being held for ransom. Now you do me the great injustice to seize my mine!"
"Ah, no, señor," protested De Lancey, waving his finger politely for silence, "you are mistaken. We have inquired about this mine and it has been vacant for some time. There is no vein – no gold. Anyone who wished could take it. While we were prospecting we met this poor one-eyed man and he has taken out a permit to explore it. So we are going to dig – that is all."
"But, señor!" burst out Aragon – and he voiced his rabid protests again, while sudden faces appeared in the windows and wide-eyed peons stood gawking in a crowd. But De Lancey was equally firm, though he glimpsed for the first time the adorable face of La Gracia as she stared at him from behind the bars.
"No, señor," he said, "you are mistaken. The land was declared forfeit for non-payment of taxes by the minister of Fomento and thrown open for location. We have located it – that is all."
For a minute Don Cipriano stood looking at him, his black eyes heavy with rage; then his anger seemed to fall away from him and he wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Very well," he said at last, "I perceive that you are a gentleman and have acted in good faith – it is only that that fellow Mendez has deceived you. Let it pass, then – I will not quarrel with you, my friend – it is the fortune of war. But stop at my store when you go by and come and see me. It is indeed lonely here at times, and perhaps I can pass a pleasant hour with you. My name, señor, is Don Cipriano Aragon y Tres Palacios – and yours?"
He held out his hand with a little gesture. "Philip De Lancey," replied that gentleman, clasping the proffered hand; and with many expressions of good-will and esteem, with a touching of hats and a wriggling of fingers from the distance, they parted, in spite of Bud, apparently the best of friends.
VIII
There are some people in this world with whom it seems impossible to quarrel, notably the parents of attractive daughters.
Perhaps, if Gracia Aragon had not been watching him from the window, Philip De Lancey would not have been quite so cordial with her father – at least, that was what Hooker thought, and he was so badly peeved at the way things had gone that he said it, too.
Then, of course, they quarreled, and one thing leading to another, Phil told Bud he had a very low way of speaking. Bud replied, that whatever his deficiencies of speech might be, he was not fool enough to be drawn in by a skirt, and Phil rebuked him again. Then, with a scornful grunt, Bud Hooker rode on in silence and they said no more about it.
It was a gay life that they led at night, for the Fortuna Hotel was filled with men of their kind, since all the staid married men had either moved across the line with their families or were under orders to come straight home.
In the daytime the hotel was nearly deserted, for every man in town was working for the company; but in the evening, when they gathered around the massive stove, it was a merry company indeed.
There were college men, full of good stories and stories not so good, world-wanderers and adventurers with such tales of the East and West as never have been written in books. But not a college boy could match stories with Phil De Lancey, and few wanderers there were who could tell him anything new about Mexico. Also, when it came to popular songs, he knew both the words and the tune. So he was much in demand, and Don Juan passed many drinks across the bar because of him.
In all such festivities the two pardners stayed together; Bud, with a broad, indulgent grin, listening to the end, and Phil, his eyes alight with liquor and good cheer, talking and laughing far into the night.
Outside the winter winds were still cold and the Mexicans went wrapped to the eyebrows; but within the merry company was slow to quit, and Phil, making up for the lonely months when he had entirely lacked an audience, sat long in the seat of honor and was always the last to go.
But on the evening after their spat Bud sat off to one side, and even Phil's sprightly and ventriloquistic conversation with the-little-girl-behind-the-door called forth only a fleeting smile.
Bud was thinking, and when engaged in that arduous occupation even the saucy little girl behind the door could not beguile him.
But, after he had studied it all out and come to a definite conclusion, he did not deliver an ultimatum. The old, good-natured smile simply came back to his rugged face; he rolled a cigarette; and then for the rest of the evening he lay back and enjoyed the show. Only in the morning, when they went out to the corral to get their horses, he carried his war-bag with him and, after throwing the saddle on Copper Bottom, he did the same for their spare mount.
"What are you going to pack out, Bud?" inquired Phil, and Bud slapped his canvas-covered bed for an answer. Then, with a heave, he snaked it out of the harness-room where it had been stored and slung it deftly across the pack-saddle.
"Why, what's the matter?" said De Lancey, when they were on their way. "Don't you like the hotel?"
"Hotel's fine," conceded Bud, "but I reckon I'd better camp out at the mine. Want to keep my eye on that Mexican of ours."
"Aw, he's all right," protested Phil.
"Sure," said Bud; "I ain't afraid he'll steal something – but he might take a notion to quit the country."
"Why, what for?" challenged De Lancey. "He's got his wife and family here."
"That's nothing – to a Mexican!" countered Bud. "But I ain't figuring on the excuse he'd give – that won't buy me nothing – what I want to do is to keep him from going. Because if we lose that Mex now, we lose our mine."
"And – "
"No 'and' to it," said Bud doggedly. "We ain't going to lose him."
"But if we did," persisted De Lancey, "why, then you think – "
"Your friend would get it," finished Hooker grimly.
"Ah, I see," nodded De Lancey, noting the accent on "friend." "You don't approve of my making friends with Aragon."
"Oh, that's all right," shrugged the big cowboy. "It won't make no difference now. Go ahead, if you want to."
"You mean you can get along without me?"
"No," answered Bud. "I don't mean nothing – except what I say. If you want to palaver around with Aragon, go to it. I'll round up Mendez and his family and keep 'em right there at the mine until we get them papers signed – after that I don't care what happens."
"Oh, all right," murmured De Lancey in a subdued tone; but if his conscience smote him for the moment it did not lead to the making of any sentimental New Year's resolutions, for he stopped when he came to the store and exchanged salutations with Aragon, who was lounging expectantly before his door.
"Buenos días, Don Cipriano!" he hailed. "How are you this morning?"
"Ah, good morning, Don Felipe," responded Aragon, stepping forth from the shadow of the door. "I am very well, thank you – and you?"
"The same!" answered Phil, as if it were a great piece of news. "It is fine weather – no?"
"Yes, but a little dry," said Aragon, and so they passed it back and forth in the accepted Spanish manner, while Bud hooked one leg over the horn of his saddle and regarded the hacienda with languid eyes.
But as his gaze swept the length of the vine-covered corredor it halted for a moment and a slow smile came over his face. In the green depths of a passion-flower vine he had detected a quick, birdlike motion; and then suddenly, like a transformation scene, he beheld a merry face, framed and illuminated by soft, golden locks, peering out at him from among the blossoms. Except for that brief smile he made no sign that he saw her, and when he looked up again the face had disappeared.
Don Cipriano showed them about his mescal plant, where his men kept a continual stream of liquid fire running from the copper worm, and gave each a raw drink; but though De Lancey gazed admiringly at the house and praised the orange-trees that hung over the garden wall, Spanish hospitality could go no farther, and the visit ended in a series of adioses and muchas graciases.
"Quick work!" commented Phil, as they rode toward the mine. "The old man has got over his grouch."
"Um," mused Bud, with a quiet, brooding smile; and the next time he rode into town he looked for the masked face among the flowers and smiled again. That was the way Gracia Aragon affected them all.
He did not point out the place to Phil, nor betray her by any sign. All he did was to glance at her once and then ride on his way, but somehow his heart stood still when he met her eyes, and his days became filled with a pensive, brooding melancholy.
"What's the matter, Bud?" rallied Phil, after he had jollied him for a week. "You're getting mighty quiet lately. Got another hunch – like that one you had up at Agua Negra?"
"Nope," grinned Bud; "but I'll tell you one thing – if old Aragon don't spring something pretty soon I'm going to get uneasy. He's too dog-goned good-natured about this."
"Maybe he thinks we're stuck," suggested De Lancey.
"Well, he's awful happy about something," said Bud. "I can see by the way he droops that game eye of his – and smiles that way – that he knows we're working for him. If we don't get a title to this mine, every tap of work we do on it is all to the good for him, that's a cinch. So sit down now and think it out – where's the joker?"
"Well," mused Phil, "the gold is here somewhere. He knows we're not fooled there. And he knows we're right after it, the way we're driving this cut in. Our permit is good – he hasn't tried to buffalo Mendez – and it's a cinch he can't denounce the claim himself."
"Maybe he figures on letting us do all the work and pay all the denouncement fees and then spring something big on old One-Eye," propounded Bud. "Scare 'im up or buy 'im off, and have him transfer the title to him. That's the way he worked Kruger."
"Well, say," urged Phil, "let's go ahead with our denouncement before he starts something. Besides, the warm weather is coming on now, and if we don't get a move on we're likely to get run out by the revoltosos."
"Nope," said Bud; "I don't put this into Mendez's hands until I know he's our man – and if I ever do go ahead I'll keep him under my six-shooter until the last paper is signed, believe me. I know we're in bad somewhere, but hurrying up won't help none.
"Now I tell you what we'll do – you go to the mining agent and get copies of all our papers and send them up to that Gadsden lawyer. I'm going to go down and board with Mendez and see if I can read his heart."
So they separated, and while Phil stayed in town to look over the records Bud ate his beans and tortillas with the Mendez family.
They were a happy little family, comfortably installed in the stone house that Mendez had built, and rapidly getting fat on three full meals a day. From his tent farther up the cañon Bud could look down and watch the children at play and see the comely Indian wife as she cooked by the open fire.
Certainly no one could be more innocent and contented than she was, and El Tuerto was all bows and protestations of gratitude. And yet, you never can tell.
Bud had moved out of the new house to furnish quarters for El Tuerto and had favored him in every way; but this same consideration might easily be misinterpreted, for the Mexicans are slow to understand kindness.
So, while on the one hand he had treated them generously, he had always kept his distance, lest they be tempted to presume. But now, with Phil in town for a few days, he took his meals with Maria, who was too awed to say a word, and made friends with the dogs and the children.
The way to the dog's heart was easy, almost direct, and he finally won the attention of little Pancho and Josefa with a well-worn Sunday supplement. This gaudy institution, with its spicy stories and startling illustrations, had penetrated even to the wilds of Sonora, and every Sunday as regularly as the paper came Bud sat down and had his laugh over the funny page.
But to Pancho, who was six years old and curious, this same highly colored sheet was a mystery of mysteries, and when he saw the big American laughing he crept up and looked at it wistfully.
"Mira," said Bud, laying his finger upon the smirking visage of one of the comic characters, "look, and I will tell you the story."
And so, with laborious care, he translated the colored fun, while the little Mendezes squirmed with excitement and leaped with joy. Even the simple souls of El Tuerto and Maria were moved the by comicas, and Mendez became so interested that he learned the words by heart, the better to explain them to others.
But as for Mexican treachery, Bud could find none of it. In fact, finding them so simple-hearted and good-natured, he became half ashamed of his early suspicions and waited for the return of Phil to explain Don Cipriano's complacency.
But the next Sunday, as Bud lay reading in his tent, the mystery solved itself. Cruz Mendez came up from the house, hat in hand and an apologetic smile on his face, and after the customary roundabout remarks he asked the boss as a favor if he would lend him the page of comic pictures.
"Seguro!" assented Bud, rolling over and fumbling for the funny sheet; then, failing to find it instantly, he inquired: "What do you want it for?"
"Ah, to show to my boy!" explained El Tuerto, his one eye lighting up with pride.
"Who – Pancho?"
"Ah, no, señor," answered Mendez simply, "my boy in La Fortuna, the one you have not seen."
Bud stopped fumbling for the paper and sat up suddenly. Here was a new light on their faithful servitor, and one that might easily take away from his value as a dummy locator.
"Oh!" he said, and then: "How many children have you, Cruz?"
Cruz smiled deprecatingly, as parents will, and turned away.
"By which woman?" he inquired, and Bud became suddenly very calm, fearing the worst. For if Cruz was not legally married to Maria, he could not transfer the mining claim.
"By all of them," he said quietly.
"Five in all," returned Cruz – "three by Maria, as you know – two by my first woman – and one other. I do not count him."
"Well, you one-eyed old reprobate!" muttered Bud in his throat, but he passed it off and returned smiling to the charge.
"Where does your boy live now?" he asked with flattering solicitude, the better to make him talk, "and is he old enough to understand the pictures?"
"Ah, yes!" beamed Mendez, "he is twelve years old. He lives with his mother now – and my little daughter, too. Their mama is the woman of the mayordomo of the Señor Aragon – a bad man, very ugly – she is not married to him."
"But with you – " suggested Bud, regarding him with a steely stare.
"Only by the judge!" explained Mendez virtuously. "It was a love-match and the priest did not come – so we were married by the judge. Then this bad mayordomo stole her away from me – the pig – and I married Maria instead. Maria is a good woman and I married her before the priest – but I love my other children too, even though they are not lawful."
"So you married your first wife before the judge," observed Bud cynically, "and this one before the priest. But how could you do that, unless you had been divorced?"
"Ah, señor," protested Mendez, holding out his hands, "you do not understand. It is only the church that can really marry – the judge does it only for the money. Maria is my true wife – and we have three nice children – but as I am going through La Fortuna I should like to show the picture paper to my boy."
Bud regarded him in meditative silence, then he rose up and began a determined search for the funny sheet.
"All right," he said, handing it over, "and here is a panoche of sugar for your little girl – the one in La Fortuna. It is nothing," he added, as Mendez began his thanks.
"But oh, you marrying Mexican," he continued, relapsing into his mother tongue as El Tuerto disappeared; "you certainly have dished us right!"