"Just the same, I'll bet he'd sleep better if the Lewis outfit was cleaned up," Dave ventured, and Blaze agreed.
Guzman caught his enemy's name and nodded.
"Ah! That sin verguenza! He sells arms to the Candeleristas and horses to the Potosistas. Perhaps he steals my calves. Who knows?"
"Señor Lewis doesn't need to steal. He has money," Jones argued.
"True! But who is so rich that he would not be richer? Lewis employs men who are poor, and he himself is above nothing. I, too, am a friend of the Rebels. Panchito, the Liberator, was a saint, and I give money to the patriots who fight for his memory. But I do not aid the tyrant Potosi with my other hand. Yes, and who is richer, for instance, than Señor Eduardo Austin?"
"You surely don't accuse him of double-dealing with the Rebels?" Blaze inquired, curiously.
"I don't know. He is a friend of Tad Lewis, and there are strange stories afloat."
Just what these stories were, however, Ricardo would not say, feeling, perhaps, that he had already said too much.
The three men spent that evening together, and in the morning Blaze rode home, leaving the Ranger behind for the time being as Guzman's guest.
Dave put in the next two days riding the pastures, familiarizing himself with the country, and talking with the few men he met. About all he discovered, however, was the fact that the Guzman range not only adjoined some of Lewis's leased land, but also was bounded for several miles by the Las Palmas fence.