He had not gone far into the forest when he came to a rude shack, in front of which a campfire was smoldering. By the side of the campfire two men were talking earnestly. The men were tough characters, as Si could see at a glance. Each wore a pistol in his belt and was attired in a Mexican costume, with cloak and broad-brimmed hat. "Mexican gold hunters," thought Si, and he was right. He slipped behind the trees and drew closer. The men were conversing in Spanish, so he did not understand a word of what was said. But once in a while one would point to the shack and tap his pistol significantly. Had the men appeared more agreeable, the youth might have shown himself. But their looks were against them and Si had no desire to meet them face to face. He surmised that they could speak little English, and would therefore be unable to answer any question he might put concerning Maybe Dixon. The Mexicans continued to talk for fully five minutes. Then one slipped into the shack. He came out immediately, and a moment later the two men walked away, up the mountain-side. Si could not tell why he felt that way, but he had a strong desire to look into the shack, although he was half inclined to believe it was empty. He waited until the two Mexicans were out of sight and then crossed the little opening and peered into the rude building. At first he could see little or nothing, it was so dark inside. But then he made out the form of a man, lying on his side and breathing heavily. "Maybe Dixon!" he gasped and bent over the form. "What does this mean?" The old miner tried to straighten out, and gave a groan. Si then saw that blood was flowing from a cut on the man's forehead and that he had his hands bound behind him and his ankles also fastened together. He got out his jackknife and lost no time in setting Maybe Dixon free. "Did those Mexicans do this?" he asked. "Yes," came from Maybe Dixon, in a hoarse whisper. "Si, for the love of heaven, give me some water! I am dying of thirst!" The boy understood, and running outside he made for the nearest mountain stream and came back with a cup of water. He made three trips before Maybe Dixon's thirst was satisfied. Then he got more water, washed the cut on the forehead, and bound it up with a handkerchief. "What does this mean?" he asked. "Are they gone?" asked the old miner. "Yes." "How did you get here?" "I came up on the mountain, looking for you." "Good boy, Si! Have you a pistol?" "Yes." "Let me have it." "What for?" "I want to shoot them skunks on sight! They ain't fit to live." "I don't think they will be back just yet. They went up into the mountain. But what is it all about?" "I've struck a gold mine about five miles from here--a regular bonanza. Those fellows suspected it and followed me. Then they made me a prisoner and did all they could think of to get my secret away from me," answered Maybe Dixon. CHAPTER XXVIII