He stepped quickly over to the corral and turned with his back to the gate, while the commander spat out orders in Spanish and armed men came running.
"Señor," he said, advancing bruskly upon the defiant Hooker, "I must trouble you for that pistol."
"No, señor!" answered the cowboy, keeping his hand upon his gun, "not to you nor no man—and I'll never give it up to a Mexican!"
"Carái!" exclaimed the officer impatiently, "you are an Americano—no?"
"Not only that," rumbled Bud, drawing himself up in his pride, "I am a Tejano also, and if any man touches that horse I'll kill him!"
His voice trembled with anger, but his hand was steady and the Mexicans did not deceive themselves.
"Ha, uno Tejano!" murmured the men who stood about, and one or two who had started to climb the fence thought better of it and dropped back to the ground.
Bud knew the fate of several men who had proclaimed themselves Americans to the insurrectos—boastfully done, it was said to be the quickest way there was of drawing a Mexican bullet. But to be a Texan was different—somehow the very name suggested trouble to their minds and an Alamo fight to the death. Hooker saw that he had made an impression, and he was not slow to follow it up.
"If you need a horse," he said to the general, "let your man go up that arroyo and he will find one hobbled on the flat. Then give me your receipt for two hundred dollars gold and I will contribute a saddle."
It was a reasonable concession, under the circumstances, and, best of all, it saved the general's face. The hideous frown with which he had regarded the American changed suddenly to a look of pompous pride. He jerked an imperious head at his ragged retainer and drew forth his receipt-book with a flourish.