"Where is this Mexican?" inquired the _rural_, his professional instincts aroused, and while Bud was explaining that he was out in the hills somewhere, Aragon spurred his horse up closer and peered curiously into his tent. "What are you looking for?" demanded Hooker sharply, and then Aragon showed his hand. "I am looking for the drills and drill-spoon," he said; "the ones you stole when you took my mine!" "Then get back out of there," cried Bud, seizing his horse by the bit and throwing him back on his haunches; "and stay out!" he added, as he dropped his hand to his gun. "But if the _rural_ wishes to search," he said, turning to that astounded official, "he is welcome to do so." "_Muchas gracias_, no!" returned the _rural_, shaking a finger in front of his face, and then he strode over to where Aragon was muttering and spoke in a low tone. "No!" dissented Aragon, shaking his head violently. "No--no! I want this man arrested!" he cried, turning vindictively upon Bud. "He has stolen my tools--my mine--my land! He has no business here--no title! This land is mine, and I tell him to go! _Pronto!_" he shouted, menacing Hooker with his riding-whip, but Bud only shifted his feet and stopped listening to his excited Spanish. "No, _señor_," he said, when it was all over, "this claim belongs to my pardner, De Lancey. You have no--" "Ha! De Lancey!" jeered Aragon, suddenly indulging himself in a sardonic laugh. "De Lancey! Ha, ha!" "What's the matter?" cried Hooker, as the _rural_ joined in with a derisive smirk. "Say, speak up, _hombre_!" he threatened, stepping closer as his eyes took on a dangerous gleam. "And let me tell you now," he added, "that if any man touches a hair of his head I'll kill him like a dog!" The _rural_ backed his horse away, as if suddenly discovering that the American was dangerous, and then, saluting respectfully as he took his leave, he said: "The Señor De Lancey is in jail!" They whirled their horses at that and galloped off down the cañon, and as Bud gazed after them he burst into a frenzy of curses. Then, with the one thought of setting Phil free, he ran out to the corral and hurled the saddle on his horse. It was through some chicanery, he knew--some low-down trick on the part of Aragon--that his pardner had been imprisoned, and he swore to have him out or know the reason why. Either that or he would go after Aragon and take it out of his hide. It was outside Bud's simple code even to question his pardner's innocence; but, innocent or guilty, he would have him out if he had to tear down the jail. So he slapped his saddle-gun into the sling, reached for his quirt, and went dashing down the cañon. At a turn in the road he came suddenly upon Aragon and the _rural_, split a way between them, and leaned forward as Copper Bottom burned up the trail.