"Señors," he said courteously, in very fair English, "you have, I understand, just arrived here, having accompanied a waggon-train across the deserts from Texas."
"It is perfectly true, señor," Hugh replied. "Is there anything unusual in our doing so?"
"By no means," the Mexican said. "The matter that concerns me is that one of you is riding a horse which belonged to my son, Don Estafan Perales."
"You mean the bay?"
The Mexican made a gesture of assent.
"I purchased that horse at M'Kinney, a small town in the north-east of Texas."
"May I ask who you purchased it from?"
"Certainly, señor. It must have passed from the hands of your son before it was offered for sale to me. I bought it from two men whom I had never seen before."
A little crowd had gathered behind the Mexican, and at this answer there were exclamations of "A likely story that!" and "Death to the horse-thieves!" Two men in mining costume, the one a tall, powerfully-built man some fifty years old, the other small and of slight figure, with snow-white hair, who had just strolled up, separated themselves from the rest and ranged themselves by Hugh's side, the big man saying in Mexican:
"Softly, señores, softly. You ain't neither judges nor jury on this case, and me and my mate is going to see fair-play."