At this the man gesticulated toward his throat, and a guttural sound came from his lips.
"Why the pore cuss means he's dumb!" exclaimed Billee Dobb, who had ridden in. "Can't speak! Hey you! No spik? No habla?"
The Mexican shook his head forcibly.
"A dumb Greaser!" cried the Kid. "Well, he's not much of a find. He's the only one left of this outfit, though. Hey, Mex! Where's the boss? Gone?"
With a widespread gesture of his arms the man indicated his lack of knowledge of the subject. At least he seemed to understand a little English.
"Can't get much out of him," Hawkins commented. "Well, boys, seems like you'll have no more trouble takin' possession of the Shootin' Star. It's yours. Say—" and he turned to their captive. "What's your job? Vaquero? Herder? Cook?" At the last word the Mexican nodded vigorously. "You're in luck, boys. Here's a cook all ready for you. Got any food inside? Eats?" the deputy asked the Mexican. He was answered with another affirmative shake of the head.
"Now you're all fixed up for the night. Might as well call in the other two. What's their name again? Shannon, isn't it? Kid, you give 'em a yell. You seem to be able to do that particularly well."
Nort and Dick came riding over in response to the Kid's summons.
"Who's this you got, Kid?" asked Nort. "Some friend of yours? Why, he's the Mexican we saw in Herb's!"
"No he isn't—that's what I thought too," Bud said. "Mr. Hawkins says it's another—though it sure looks like him. This one's dumb."