their own case was so
urgent that he decided to take a chance. At least he could find out when
Hardenberg would be at leisure.

Pushing through the swinging door, they found themselves in a single, long
room, excessively dingy and rather dark, the only light coming from two
unshuttered windows on the north side. To Buck's surprise at least a score
of Mexicans were seated around five or six bare wooden tables eating and
drinking. Certainly if a raid was on they were taking it very calmly. The
next moment he was struck by two things; the sudden hush which greeted
their appearance, and the absence of any one who could possibly be the man
they sought.

"Looks like that fellow must have given us the wrong tip," he said,
glancing at Jessup. "I don't see any one here who--"

He paused as a wizened, middle-aged Mexican got up from the other end of
the room and came toward them.

"Yo' wish zee table, senors?" he inquired. "P'raps like zee _chile con
carne_, or zee--"

"We don't want anything to eat," interrupted Stratton. "I understand
Sheriff Hardenberg is here. Could I see him a minute?"

"Oh, zee shereef!" shrugged the Mexican, with a characteristic gesture of
his hands. "He in zee back room with Jose Maria. Yo' please come zis
way."

He turned and walked toward a door at the further end of the long room,
the two men following him between the tables. But Buck had not taken more
than half a dozen steps before he stopped abruptly. That curious silence
seemed to him too long continued to be natural; there was a hint of
tension, of suspense in it. And something about the attitude of the seated
Mexicans--a vague sense of watchful, stealthy scrutiny, of tense,
quivering muscles--confirmed his sudden suspicion.

"Hold up, Bud!" he warned impulsively. "There's something wrong here."

As if the words were a signal, the crowd about them surged up suddenly,
with the harsh scrape of many chair-legs and an odd, sibilant sound,
caused by a multitude of quick-drawn breaths. Like a flash Buck pulled his
gun and leveled it on the nearest greaser.

"Get out of the way," he ordered, taking a step toward the outer door.

The fellow shrank back instinctively, but to Buck's surprise--the average
Mexican is not noted for daredevil bravery--several others behind pushed
themselves forward. Suddenly Jessup's voice rose in shrill warning.

"Look out, Buck! Behind yuh--quick! That guy's got a knife."

Stratton whirled swiftly to catch a f