“Can’t make it out myself,” confessed Sid, after reading it a little farther. He found that he had forgotten his Latin so much that merely to pronounce the words was an effort. “Here’s a few that I do know, though, John: ‘Aurum et Argentum,’ that’s gold and silver; ‘Pinacate,’ ‘Sonoyta,’ those are places; ‘Papagoii’, the Papagoes; ‘Mesa Rubra’ that’s Red Mesa——”
“Never heard tell of it,” declared Big John, promptly. “Thar’s a red mesa up Zuñi way, but there’s no gold or silver thar; an’ Pinacate is a long thirsty ride down over the lava country into Mexico. Ain’t no mesas in that country nohow. She’s all red lava saw-teeth an’ spiny choyas—if you asks me.”
“It’s an old Spanish mine—that’s what the plaque’s all about!” shouted Sid, excitedly. “Some of the Papagoes must have told this old fra about a gold and silver mine, located in Red Mesa down Pinacate way—say, Scotty will have to hear of this John!” whooped Sid, carried away by the enthusiasm of the moment.
Big John shook his head solemnly: “Son, folks has died of thirst in thousands, chasing lost Spanish mines in that country! Santa Fé’s full of old priest reports like this-yer. The Indians shore did stuff ’em with gauzy tales! Thar’s mineral down thar, I’ll ’low; but after ye find it, what ye got? Reminds me of the recipe for cookin’ a fish-duck. Ye take an’ soaks him in three kinds of soup; bile him four days; stuff him with an apple an’ a onion; tie a bunch of celery ’round his neck, wrap him in a couple of slabs of bacon; stick in a hunk of garlic; add salt, pepper, and a bottle of wine; bake him three hours—an’ presto, the gosh-darn fish-duck is gone! That’s how a feller feels when he finds a mine in that country, Sid; ye cayn’t git the miner’l out nohow!”
Sid’s laughter pealed out. “Well, we’ll hunt up old Scotty just the same and then go get some one to translate this Latin. Scotty’ll just go crazy over this tablet, and he needs the money, John. We can come back here for the Indian relics some other time. Scotty and Niltci are prospecting down in the Santa Catalinas for mineral, right now, you know——”
“An’ they won’t find nawthin’ down thar thet ain’t been found long ago, jest as I told him,” interjected Big John.
“Sure! We’ll ride down there and give him this tablet. It will be a life-saver for old Scotty! Red Mesa or bust! John—how’s that for a new motto?”
“Looks handsome, but she ain’t edible,” said Big John, enigmatically.
But Sid just couldn’t get over his enthusiasm for his chum Scotty’s sake about this Latin tablet. What a find for good old Les! That mine would be his big chance! Friendship was sweet; to be able to do something for a chum was keen pleasure. He sat down and went on studying over the tablet, balking at strange Latin words, digging up more of them out of his memories of his school Cæsar. The old pottery plaque fascinated him. He kept speculating about it, how it came to be made, where the old fra had got his information about the mine. What an ancient old story this was!
“This fra used to live with the cavate dwellers here, John, I tell you! He made this plaque and had them fire it when they baked their own pottery. Imperishable record, you see. It’s a real find, I tell you! One of those lost Spanish mines that really is so! ‘In regione Papagoii’ that’s the Papago country of Pinacate, all right. ‘XXI milia S-O ab Pinacate’ plain as shootin’, twenty-one miles northeast from Pinacate, ‘Mesa Rubra’—there’s a hill that looks like a red mesa down there—that’s the dope! Gee! What a start for good old Scotty! Le’s go! We’ll ride straight for his camp in the Catalinas!”