Gadsden (Ariz.) -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction; Western stories
"_Buenos días señores!_" returned Aragon, striding forward to intercept
them; but as neither of the Americans looked back, he was left standing
in the middle of the street.
"That's the way to handle 'im," observed Hooker, as they trotted
briskly down the lane. "Leave 'im to me."
"It'll only make him mad," objected De Lancey crossly. "What do you
want to do that for?"
"He's mad already," answered Bud. "I _want_ to quarrel with him, so he
can't ask us any questions. Get him so mad he won't talk--then it'll be
a fair fight and none of this snake-in-the-grass business."
"Yes, but don't put it on him," protested De Lancey. "Let him be
friendly for a while, if he wants to."
"Can't be friends," said Bud laconically; "we jumped his claim."
"Maybe he doesn't want it," suggested Phil hopefully. "He's dropped a
lot of money on it."
"You bet he wants it," returned Hooker, with conviction. "I'm going to
camp out there--the old boy is liable to jump us."
"Aw, you're crazy, Bud!" cried Phil; but Hooker only smiled.
"You know what happened to Kruger," he answered. "I'll tell you what,
we got to keep our eye open around here."
They rode on to their mine, which was only about five miles from
Fortuna, without discussing the matter further; for, while Phil had
generally been the leader, in this particular case Kruger had put Bud
in charge, and he seemed determined to have his way so far as Aragon
was concerned. In the ordering of supplies and the laying out of
development work he deferred to Phil in everything, but for tactics he
preferred his own judgment.
It was by instinct rather than reason that he chose to fight, and
people who follow their instincts are hard to change. So they put in
the day in making careful measurements, according to the memoranda
that Kruger had given them; and, having satisfied themselves as to the
approximate locality of the lost vein, they turned back again toward
town with their heads full of cunning schemes.
Since it was the pleasure of the Señor Aragon to make war on all who
entered his preserves, they checkmated any attempt on his part to
locate the lead by driving stakes to the north of their ledge; and,
still further to throw him off, they decided to mark time for a while
by doing dead work on a cut. Such an approach would be needed to reach
the mouth of their tunnel.
At the same time it would give steady employment to Mendez and keep him
under their eye, and as soon as Aragon showed his hand they could make
out their final papers in peace and send them to the City of Mexico.
And not until those final papers were recorded and the transfer duly
made would they so much as stick a pick into the hillside or show a
lump of quartz.
But for a Spanish gentleman, supposed to be all supple curves and
sinuous advance, Don Cipriano turned out somewhat of a surprise,
for when they rode back through his narrow street again he met them
squarely in the road and called them to a halt.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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