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 Mexican _insurrecto_ on 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 a _rural_!"
"Why a _rural_?" 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--a _rural_ and Aragon!
Now in Mexico a _rural_, 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 the _rural's_ salute, and then he
stood silent before his tent, looking them over shrewdly. The _rural_
was 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."
The _rural_, 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 the _rural_, 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 the _rural_ wishes to search," he
said, turning to that astounded official, "he is welcome to do so."
"_Muchas gracias_, no!" returned the _rural_, 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 the _rural_ joined 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!"
The _rural_ backed 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 the _rural_, 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 the _rural_ were 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 the _rural_ jumped, 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 the _rural_ looked
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!