"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.