"Are—are you Mr. Pez?" asked Janice timidly.
The old man bowed low again. "Don José Almoreda Tonias Sauceda Pez—at your service, señorita."
"We wish to find Lieutenant Cowan. He is stationed here."
"No longer, señorita," said the old fellow, shaking his head in vigorous denial. "He is gone with his troop a month now. I do not know his present station. At the telegraph office the operator may be able to tell you. To my sorrow I cannot. Lieutenant Cowan is my friend."
"And my father's friend. My father is Mr. Broxton Day," Janice hastened to tell him.
"Señor Broxton Day?" repeated the don. "I am sorrowful, señorita. I do not know heem. But we have a—how do you call it in Eenglish?—Ah! a mutual friend in Lieutenant Cowan. Come in. My poor house and all that I possess is at your service."
"You—do you conduct a hotel here, Señor Pez?" suggested Janice.
"Surely! Surely!" declared the old man with another sweeping gesture.
"We must get rooms here then, Marty," she said to her cousin; "and perhaps the gentleman can tell us how we may get across the river and to San Cristoval."
"You let me do the talking," Marty said rather gruffly. "I'll make the bargain. I've found out that a dollar Mex ain't worth but fifty cents."