"Good evening, Don Luis!" sounded Harry's voice outside. "Ah,
Dr. Tisco."
"That's our warning to stop talking," whispered Tom in the stranger's ear, then rose and slipped outside the curtain.
"Where is Senor Reade?" inquired Don Luis.
"Any one calling me?" inquired Tom, looking out of the cook tent.
"Ah, good evening, gentlemen."
Tom stepped outside, offering his hand. As this was the first time of late that he had made any such overture to the mine owner, Montez was quick to grasp the hope that it conveyed.
"You are not comfortable here, Senor Reade," said Don Luis, looking about. "I regret it the more when I remember how much room I have under my poor roof. Why don't you move up there, at once. There are several apartments any one of which you may have."
"On the contrary we are very comfortable here," Tom rejoined, seating himself on the ground. "We have lived the open-air life so much that we are really happier in a tent than we could be in any house."
"I cannot understand why you can feel so about it," murmured the Mexican stepping to the entrance of the larger tent and glancing inside. "I will admit, Senor Reade, that you keep a very tidy house under canvas, and your wants may be extremely simple. But a house offers comforts that cannot possibly be found in a tent like this. And the other is still smaller and more cheerless," he added, crossing into the other tent.
Don Luis was now within arm's length of the thin curtain, and was apparently about to push it aside.
"Won't you come outside," suggested Tom, "and tell me the object of your call this evening? It is too warm in here."