The Desert Trail. Coolidge Dane

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.