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."