"Lost your tongue, Mex?" the Kid broke in. "Take my advice, and answer when you're spoken to." The Kid touched his gun suggestively. Not that he would have thought of enforcing his half-uttered threat, but he simply wanted to show the Mexican they meant business. 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." "What do you mean--stupid?" "No--can't talk. At least he says he can't--I mean he wants us to understand that he can't." Bud corrected himself. "I've got to be getting back," interrupted the deputy. "I suppose you men will settle here, now that you've got a cook and food. That is, if he'll cook for you and you want to take a chance that he won't poison you. Hey, you--cook for _hombres_?" Again that vigorous nod. "Seems agreeable enough. Now if you want anything, you know where to reach me. If it's at night, you'll find me down the street 'bout half a mile from the office, on the same side. Anyone will tell you where Joe Hawkins's place is. So long, boys. Again, good luck." "Good-bye, Mr. Hawkins. We're much obliged to you for riding over with us." "Glad to do it, Bud. Any time at all. Git along there, bronc. _Adios_!" "So-long!" "'Bye!" "At last we're here," Nort declared. "No trace of anyone around; hey Bud? Wonder what became of them. I wouldn't mind seeing our little friend with the sawed-off shot-gun again."