"_Muchas gracias, señor_," said the leader, dismounting and laying his rifle against a log, "we are not hungry." "Then have some coffee," invited Hooker, who made it a point to feed everyone who stopped, regardless of their merit; and once more the Mexican declined. At this Bud looked at him sharply, for his refusal did not augur well, and it struck him the man's face was familiar. He was tall for a Mexican and heavily built, but with a rather sinister cast of countenance. "Where have I seen you before?" asked Bud, after trying in vain to place him. "In Fortuna?" "No, _señor_," answered the Mexican politely. "I have never been in that city. Is it far?" "Ten miles by the trail," responded Hooker, by no means reassured, and under pretext of inviting them to eat, he took a look at the other men. If they had not stopped to eat, what then was their errand while the sun was sinking so low? And why this sullen refusal of the coffee which every Mexican drinks? Bud stepped into the house, as if on some errand, and watched them unseen from the interior. Seeing them exchange glances then, he leaned his rifle just inside the door and went about his cooking. It was one of the chances he took, living out in the brush, but he had come to know this low-browed type of semi-bandit all too well and had small respect for their courage. In case of trouble Amigo was close by in the rocks somewhere, probably with his gun in his hand--but with a little patience and circumspection the unwelcome visitors would doubtless move on. So he thought, but instead they lingered, and when supper was cooked he decided to go to a show-down--and if they again refused to eat he would send them on their way. "_Ven amigos_," he said, spreading out the tin plates for them, "come and eat!" The three low-brows glanced at their leader, who had done what little talking there was so far, and, seized with a sudden animation, he immediately rose to his feet. "Many thanks, _señor_," he said with a cringing and specious politeness. "We have come far and the trail is long, so we will eat. The times are hard for poor men now--this traitor, Madero, has made us all hungry. It is by him that we poor working men are driven to insurrection--but we know that the Americans are our friends. Yes, _señor_, I will take some of your beans, and thank you." He filled a plate as he spoke and lifted a biscuit from the oven, continuing with his false patter while the others fell to in silence. "Perhaps you have heard, _señor_," he went on, "the saying which is in the land:" "_Mucho trabajo, Poco dinero; No hay frijoles, Viva Madero!_" (Much work, Little money; No beans, Long live Madero!) "That, in truth, is no jest to the Mexican people. This man has betrayed us all; he has ruined the country and set brother against brother. And now, while we starve because the mines are shut down, he gathers his family about him in the city and lives fat on the money he has stolen."