But as his gaze swept the length of the vine-covered _corredor_ it halted for a moment and a slow smile came over his face. In the green depths of a passion-flower vine he had detected a quick, birdlike motion; and then suddenly, like a transformation scene, he beheld a merry face, framed and illuminated by soft, golden locks, peering out at him from among the blossoms. Except for that brief smile he made no sign that he saw her, and when he looked up again the face had disappeared. Don Cipriano showed them about his _mescal_ plant, where his men kept a continual stream of liquid fire running from the copper worm, and gave each a raw drink; but though De Lancey gazed admiringly at the house and praised the orange-trees that hung over the garden wall, Spanish hospitality could go no farther, and the visit ended in a series of _adioses_ and _muchas graciases_. "Quick work!" commented Phil, as they rode toward the mine. "The old man has got over his grouch." "Um," mused Bud, with a quiet, brooding smile; and the next time he rode into town he looked for the masked face among the flowers and smiled again. That was the way Gracia Aragon affected them all. He did not point out the place to Phil, nor betray her by any sign. All he did was to glance at her once and then ride on his way, but somehow his heart stood still when he met her eyes, and his days became filled with a pensive, brooding melancholy. "What's the matter, Bud?" rallied Phil, after he had jollied him for a week. "You're getting mighty quiet lately. Got another hunch--like that one you had up at Agua Negra?" "Nope," grinned Bud; "but I'll tell you one thing--if old Aragon don't spring something pretty soon I'm going to get uneasy. He's too dog-goned good-natured about this." "Maybe he thinks we're stuck," suggested De Lancey. "Well, he's awful happy about something," said Bud. "I can see by the way he droops that game eye of his--and smiles that way--that he knows we're working for him. If we don't get a title to this mine, every tap of work we do on it is all to the good for him, that's a cinch. So sit down now and think it out--where's the joker?" "Well," mused Phil, "the gold is here somewhere. He knows we're not fooled there. And he knows we're right after it, the way we're driving this cut in. Our permit is good--he hasn't tried to buffalo Mendez--and it's a cinch he can't denounce the claim himself." "Maybe he figures on letting us do all the work and pay all the denouncement fees and then spring something big on old One-Eye," propounded Bud. "Scare 'im up or buy 'im off, and have him transfer the title to _him_. That's the way he worked Kruger." "Well, say," urged Phil, "let's go ahead with our denouncement before he starts something. Besides, the warm weather is coming on now, and if we don't get a move on we're likely to get run out by the _revoltosos_."