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]
[Footnote 1: A shortening of está bueno--it is good--a common
expression in cowboy Spanish.]
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.