Further on the houses were closer together, and at length Bud announced that they were nearing the main street, one end of which crossed the road they were on at right angles. "That rickety old shack there is just on the corner," he explained. "It's a Mexican eating-house, as I remember. Most of the stores an' decent places are up further." "Wonder where Hardenberg hangs out?" remarked Stratton. "Yuh got me. I never had no professional use for him before. Reckon most anybody can tell us, though. That looks like a cow-man over there. Let's ask him." A moment or two later they stopped before the dingy, weather-beaten building on the corner. Two horses fretted at the hitching-rack, and on the steps lounged a man in regulation cow-boy garb. A cigarette dangled from one corner of his mouth, and as the two halted he glanced up from the newspaper he was reading. "Hardenberg?" he repeated in answer to the question. "Yuh mean the sheriff? Why, he's inside there." Bud looked surprised and somewhat incredulous. "What the devil's he doin' in that greaser eatin'-house?" The stranger squinted one eye as the cigarette smoke curled up into his face. "Oh, he ain't patronizin' the joint," he explained with a touch of dry amusement. "He's after old Jose Maria for sellin' licker, I reckon. Him an' one of his deputies rode up about five minutes ago." After a momentary hesitation Stratton and Jessup dismounted and tied their horses to the rack. Buck realized that the sheriff might not care to be interrupted while on business of this sort, but their own case was so urgent that he decided to take a chance. At least he could find out when Hardenberg would be at leisure. Pushing through the swinging door, they found themselves in a single, long room, excessively dingy and rather dark, the only light coming from two unshuttered windows on the north side. To Buck's surprise at least a score of Mexicans were seated around five or six bare wooden tables eating and drinking. Certainly if a raid was on they were taking it very calmly. The next moment he was struck by two things; the sudden hush which greeted their appearance, and the absence of any one who could possibly be the man they sought. "Looks like that fellow must have given us the wrong tip," he said, glancing at Jessup. "I don't see any one here who--" He paused as a wizened, middle-aged Mexican got up from the other end of the room and came toward them. "Yo' wish zee table, senors?" he inquired. "P'raps like zee _chile con carne_, or zee--" "We don't want anything to eat," interrupted Stratton. "I understand Sheriff Hardenberg is here. Could I see him a minute?" "Oh, zee shereef!" shrugged the Mexican, with a characteristic gesture of his hands. "He in zee back room with Jose Maria. Yo' please come zis way."