So he swung up on his horse and followed slowly, and as soon as it was dark he rode secretly through Old Fortuna and on till he came to the jail. It was a square stone structure, built across the street from the cantina in order to be convenient for the drunks, and as Bud rode up close and stared at it, some one hailed him through the bars.
"Hello there, pardner," called Hooker, swinging down and striding over to the black window, "how long have they had you in here?"
"Two days," answered Phil from the inner darkness; "but it seems like a lifetime to me. Say, Bud, there's a Mexican in here that's got the jim-jams—regular tequila jag—can't you get me out?"
"Well, I sure will!" answered Bud. "What have they got you in for? Where's our friend, Don Juan? Why didn't he let me know?"
"You can search me!" railed De Lancey. "Seems like everybody quits you down here the minute you get into trouble. I got arrested night before last by those damned rurales—Manuel Del Rey was behind it, you can bet your life on that—and I've been here ever since!"
"Well, what are you pinched for? Who do I go and see?"
"Pinched for nothing!" cried De Lancey bitterly. "Pinched because I'm a Mexican citizen and can't protect myself! I'm incomunicado for three days!"
"Well, I'll get you out, all right," said Hooker, leaning closer against the bars. "Here, have a smoke—did they frisk you of your makings?"
"No," snapped De Lancey crossly, "but I'm out of everything by this time. Bud, I tell you I've had a time of it! They threw me in here with this crazy, murdering Mexican and I haven't had a wink of sleep for two days. He's quiet now, but I don't want any more."
"Well, say," began Bud again, "what are you charged with? Maybe I can grease somebody's paw and get you out tonight!"