A lone Mexican teacher, poor and of uncertain temper apparently, sat reading at the school desk as they entered. With an annoyed exclamation in Spanish he put down his book and came toward them during the time that their eyes were becoming accustomed to the dim light of the interior of the building. “And what can I do for the señores?” inquired the man suspiciously, after the usual polite Spanish greetings had been exchanged. Sid had already sized him up with a sense of misgiving, even then, before a word of their object had been disclosed. The Mexican--his nationality oozed out all over him--was a little weazened man, dirty, old, with one eye drooping nearly shut from some violent slash gotten during his past history. His face bore a sardonic, cynical, rascally expression, even under the smooth suavity of the crooked smile that now leered upon them. Sid felt like taking Scotty’s arm and leading him away, right then and there! Surely this man was no one to trust with such a mining secret as might be written on the Red Mesa tablet. But Scotty had already guilelessly begun explaining their visit. His simple, “We have a Latin inscription here, señor, that we would like you to translate for us,” had settled it, for the man was already holding out his hand for the plaque which Scotty bore. “You understand Latin, señor?” put in Sid, hoping that he didn’t. “Vasquez,” supplied the Mexican, “ees my name. For the Latin, _si!_--indifferently,” he shrugged. “Anything that my poor efforts can do to help you, though--” Once more he held out his hand for the plaque. Again Sid felt that queer inner warning not to let the matter go further. He disliked any man who depreciated his own worth with every other word. Due modesty was admirable, but this groveling disdain of one’s self was in truth but the inevitable expression of a fundamental lack of esteem for one’s own integrity--and that usually came from a guilty conscience. But it was too late now. Before Sid could obey a mad impulse to snatch the tablet away--no matter what explanations might be needed--no matter how absurd and incomprehensible and rude it might seem--the Mexican had begun reading the script on the pottery.