“Senor—­you!”

“Yes, Jose,” and Westcott dropped on to a bench.  “Anything wrong?  You seem nervous.”

“No, senor.  I expected you not to-night; there was a man there by the big tree at sunset.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes, but not his face, senor.  He think me gone at first, but when I walk out on the edge of the cliff then he go—­quick, like that.  When the door creak I say maybe he come back.”

“One of the La Rosita gang likely.  Don’t fight them, Jose.  Let them poke around inside if they want to; they won’t find anything but rock.  There is no better way to fool that bunch than let them investigate to their heart’s content.  Got a bite there for me?”

“Si, senor, aplenty.”

“All right then; I’m hungry and have a bit of work ahead.  Put it on the table here, and sit down yourself, Jose.”

The Mexican did as ordered, glancing across at the other between each mouthful of food, as though not exactly at ease.  Westcott ate heartily, without pausing to talk.

“You hear yet Senor Cavendish?” Jose asked at last.

“No.”  Westcott hesitated an instant, but decided not to explain further.  “He must be away, I think.”

“What you do if you no hear at all?”

“We’ll go on with the digging ourselves, Jose.  It’ll pay wages until I can interest capital somewhere to come in on shares.”

“You no sell Lacy then?”

“Sell Lacy!  Not in a thousand years.  What put that in your head?”

The Mexican rubbed the back of his pate.

“You know Senor Moore—­no hair so?” an expressive gesture.

“Sure; what about him?”

“He meet me at the spring; he come up the trail from Haskell on horseback with another man not belong ’round here.”

“What did he look like—­big, red-faced fellow, with checked suit and round hat?”

“Si, senor; he say to Moore, ’Why the hell you talk that damn greaser,’ an’ Moore laugh, an’ say because I work for Senor Westcott.”

“But what was it Moore said to you, Jose?”

“He cussed me first, an’ when I wouldn’t move, he swore that Lacy would own this whole hill before thirty days.”

“Was that all?  Didn’t the other fellow say anything?”

“No, senor; but he swung his horse against me as they went by—­he mighty poor rider.”

“No doubt; that is not one of the amusements of the Bowery.  Where did they go?  Up to La Rosita?”

“Si, senor; I watched, they were there two hour.”

Westcott stared into the fireplace; then the gravity of his face relaxed into a smile.

“Things are growing interesting, Jose,” he said cheerfully.  “If I only knew just which way the cat was about to jump I’d be somewhat happier.  There seemed to be more light than usual across the gulch as I came up—­what’s going on?”