Something like a thunder-cloud seemed to be gathering on Murray's face, and the deep furrows grew deeper, in great rigid lines and curves, while his steel-blue eyes lighted up with a fire that made them unpleasant to look upon.
"You lived in Mexico once?"
"Did I? Did I ever tell you that?"
"Not exactly. I only guessed it from things you've dropped."
"I'll tell you now, then. I did live in Mexico. Down yonder in Chi-hua-hua."
"She-waw-waw?" said Steve, trying to follow the old man's rapid pronunciation of the strange musical name.
"Down there, more than a hundred miles south of the border. I thought we were safe. The mine was a good one. The hacienda was the prettiest place I could make of it. I thought I should never leave it. But the Apaches came one day—"
He stopped a moment, and seemed to be looking at the tops of the western mountains.
"Did you have a fight with them?" asked Steve.