Though he laughed the thought away, a great burden seemed to be lifted from his heart, and he found himself happy again.
X
To an American, accustomed to getting things done first and talking about it afterward, there is nothing so subtly irritating as the Old World formalism, the polite evasiveness of the Mexicans; and yet, at times, they can speak to the point with the best of us.
For sixty days Don Cipriano Aragon had smiled and smiled and then, suddenly, as the last day of their mining permit passed by and there was no record of a denouncement by Cruz Mendez, he appeared at the Eagle Tail mine with a pistol in his belt and a triumphant sneer on his lips.
Behind him rode four Mexicans, fully armed, and they made no reply to De Lancey's polite "Buenos días!"
"Take your poor things," burst out Aragon, pointing contemptuously at their tent and beds, "and your low, pelado Mexican—and go! This mine no longer stands in the name of Cruz Mendez, and I want it for myself! No, not a word!" he cried, as De Lancey opened his mouth to explain. "Nothing! Only go!"
"No, señor," said Hooker, dropping his hand to his six-shooter which hung low by his leg and stepping forward, "we will not go!"
"What?" stormed Aragon. "You—"
"Be careful there!" warned Bud, suddenly fixing his eyes on one of the four retainers. "If you touch that gun I'll kill you!"