"What are you looking for?" demanded Hooker sharply, and then Aragon showed his hand.
"I am looking for the drills and drill-spoon," he said; "the ones you stole when you took my mine!"
"Then get back out of there," cried Bud, seizing his horse by the bit and throwing him back on his haunches; "and stay out!" he added, as he dropped his hand to his gun. "But if the rural wishes to search," he said, turning to that astounded official, "he is welcome to do so."
"Muchas gracias, no!" returned the rural, shaking a finger in front of his face, and then he strode over to where Aragon was muttering and spoke in a low tone.
"No!" dissented Aragon, shaking his head violently. "No—no! I want this man arrested!" he cried, turning vindictively upon Bud. "He has stolen my tools—my mine—my land! He has no business here—no title! This land is mine, and I tell him to go! Pronto!" he shouted, menacing Hooker with his riding-whip, but Bud only shifted his feet and stopped listening to his excited Spanish.
"No, señor," he said, when it was all over, "this claim belongs to my pardner, De Lancey. You have no—"
"Ha! De Lancey!" jeered Aragon, suddenly indulging himself in a sardonic laugh. "De Lancey! Ha, ha!"
"What's the matter?" cried Hooker, as the rural joined in with a derisive smirk. "Say, speak up, hombre!" he threatened, stepping closer as his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "And let me tell you now," he added, "that if any man touches a hair of his head I'll kill him like a dog!"
The rural backed his horse away, as if suddenly discovering that the American was dangerous, and then, saluting respectfully as he took his leave, he said:
"The Señor De Lancey is in jail!"