“That’s what the ethnologists proved when they finally got up on Enchanted Mesa,” agreed Sid. “The Indian legend persisted that a tribe had once been marooned up on that sheer-walled stronghold. No one believed it was more than a legend until the mesa was visited by an aeroplane or something and then they found the ruins of an old pueblo. Did you ever think, John, that this cave of ours is the _only_ gate to Red Mesa? If Vasquez blows _that_ up with dynamite we’re all doomed to starve here--another Enchanted Mesa!” “Yaas,” sighed Big John, wearily. “But Vasquez shuts hisself out’n his own mine, that way, though. An’ whar’s yore dynamite?” “He’ll have some. Sure about that,” said Sid, confidently. “A man doesn’t go mining without it nowadays. And then, here’s the dickens of it: he can’t do anything about this mine with us around, see? But, if he can shut us up here, all he’s got to do then is to hang around--and let Nature do the rest! We’ll all starve. See? Diabolical idea, eh? But that’s the cold, cruel, Spanish logic of it, see?” “Nice hombre!” growled Big John. “Take me out thar, boys, whar I kin see thet cave mouth, and lay the old meat gun beside me--he won’t do no sech thing.” “You lie still!” Sid soothed him. “Honanta knows about it. He’s got scouts outlying all around the cave mouth.” “Take me out thar!” insisted Big John. “I ain’t trustin’ no Injuns whar you boys is concerned! Hyar! Put me under a brush shade at the top of that lava dam, whar I can see the cave mouth. ’Twill do me good and give me a job of work!” he urged. Sid quieted him. “You couldn’t even lift a six-gun, now, old settler! Lie still. Just as soon as you can be moved we’ll set you out there, if it will ease your mind.” Big John sank back, satisfied, as most sick men are, with a promise. After a time he raised his head again. “Whar’s Scotty, Sid?” “I don’t know,” replied Sid, shortly. He shrugged his shoulders and remained silent, his eyes averted. Big John regarded him keenly for some time. “You boys been quarrelin’, without yore old unkel to go settin’ in the game?” he asked, trenchantly. “Yes. You see it’s this way,” broke out Sid impulsively. “Scotty’s all for staking out this mine and filing a government claim on it. I couldn’t get him to see it my way, so we--well, we had a row over it,” said Sid. His voice told Big John how it hurt him to have anything come up between himself and such an old chum as Scotty. “What’s yore idee, son?” asked Big John curiously. “Haven’t these Indians any rights?” burst out Sid impetuously. “Whose mine is it if not theirs? It’s common property with them, though, just as are the beans they raise and the game they shoot. Along comes Scotty and thinks because he’s a white man he has a right to stake a claim and take the whole thing for himself. And our government will give it to him, too--that’s the pity of it! Did _he_ find it? I guess not! And it’s their home, too! Are we going to turn them out?”