The men were tough characters, as Si could see at a glance. Each wore a pistol in his belt and was attired in a Mexican costume, with cloak and broad-brimmed hat.
"Mexican gold hunters," thought Si, and he was right.
He slipped behind the trees and drew closer. The men were conversing in Spanish, so he did not understand a word of what was said. But once in a while one would point to the shack and tap his pistol significantly.
Had the men appeared more agreeable, the youth might have shown himself. But their looks were against them and Si had no desire to meet them face to face. He surmised that they could speak little English, and would therefore be unable to answer any question he might put concerning Maybe Dixon.
The Mexicans continued to talk for fully five minutes. Then one slipped into the shack. He came out immediately, and a moment later the two men walked away, up the mountain-side.
Si could not tell why he felt that way, but he had a strong desire to look into the shack, although he was half inclined to believe it was empty. He waited until the two Mexicans were out of sight and then crossed the little opening and peered into the rude building.
At first he could see little or nothing, it was so dark inside. But then he made out the form of a man, lying on his side and breathing heavily.
"Maybe Dixon!" he gasped and bent over the form. "What does this mean?"
The old miner tried to straighten out, and gave a groan. Si then saw that blood was flowing from a cut on the man's forehead and that he had his hands bound behind him and his ankles also fastened together. He got out his jackknife and lost no time in setting Maybe Dixon free.
"Did those Mexicans do this?" he asked.