The old Mexican shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly. "I do not know, _señor_," he answered; "but if you wish to dig I will denounce the claim for you." "For how much?" inquired De Lancey guardedly. "For one hundred dollars," answered Mendez, and to his delight the American seemed to be considering it. He walked back and forth across the slide, picking up rocks and looking at them, dropping down into the futile trenches of Aragon, and frowning with studious thought. His pardner, however, sat listlessly on a boulder and tested the action of his six-shooter. "Listen, my friend," said De Lancey, coming back and poising his finger impressively. "If I should find the ledge the one hundred dollars would be nothing to me, _sabe_? And if I should spend all my money for nothing it would be but one hundred dollars more. But listen! I have known some false Mexicans who, when an American paid them to denounce a mine, took advantage of his kindness and refused to give it over. Or, if it turned out to be rich, they pulled a long face and claimed that they ought to be paid more. Now if--" "Ah, no, no, _señor_!" clamored Mendez, holding up his hand in protest. "I am a poor man, but I am honest. Only give me the hundred dollars--" "Not a dollar do you get!" cried De Lancey sternly; "not a dollar--until you turn over the concession to the mine. And if you play us false--" he paused impressively--"_cuidado, hombre_--look out!" Once more Cruz Mendez protested his honesty and his fidelity to any trust, but De Lancey silenced him impatiently. "Enough, _hombre_!" he said. "Words are nothing to us. Do you see my friend over there?" He pointed to Bud who, huge and dominating against the sky-line, sat toying with his pistol. "_Buen'!_ He is a cowboy, _sabe_? A Texan! You know the _Tejanos_, eh? They do not like Mexicans. But my friend there, he likes Mexicans--when they are honest. If not--no! Hey, Bud," he called in English, "what would you do to this fellow if he beat us out of the mine?" Bud turned upon them with a slow, good-natured smile. "Oh, nothing much," he answered, putting up his gun; and the deep rumble of his voice struck fear into the old man's heart. Phil laughed and looked grimly at Mendez while he delivered his ultimatum. "Very well, my friend," he said. "We will stay and look at this mine. If we think it is good we will take you to the mining agent and get a permit to dig. For sixty days we will dig, and if we find nothing we will pay you fifty dollars, anyway. If we find the ledge we will give you a hundred dollars. All right?" "_Sí, señor--sí, señor!_" cried Mendez, "one hundred dollars!" "When you give us the papers!" warned Phil. "But remember--be careful! The Americans do not like men who talk. And come to the hotel at Fortuna to-morrow--then we will let you know." "And you will buy the mine?" begged Mendez, backing off with his hat in his hand. "Perhaps," answered De Lancey. "We will tell you to-morrow."