The Young Engineers in Mexico | Page 9

car rolled around to the entrance.
"You will come with us, Carlos?" inquired Don Luis.
"Assuredly, Don Luis," replied the secretary, in the tone of a man who was saying that he would not for worlds miss an expected treat.
It was a seven-passenger car of late design. Into the tonneau stepped the two Mexicans and the two young engineers.
"To the mines," ordered Don Luis.
"Do you wish speed, excellency?" inquired the chauffeur.
"No; we will go slowly. We may wish to talk."
Gravely, in military fashion, the chauffeur saluted, then allowed the automobile to roll slowly away.
"It is not an attractive road, after we leave the hacienda," explained Don Luis Montez to Tom. "It is a dusty road, and a somewhat hard one. The mining country is not a beautiful place in which to live."
"It is at least more beautiful than the country in which our mine is located," Tom replied.
"Are you gentlemen, then, mine owners as well as mine experts?" inquired their host.
Tom told Don Luis briefly about their mine, the Ambition, in the Indian Smoke Range, Nevada.
"And is your mine a profitable one?" inquired the Mexican.
"It hasn't made us millionaires," Tom rejoined, modestly, "but it pays us more money, every month, than we really need."
Don Luis glanced covertly at his secretary, with a look that conveyed:
"If these young Gringos have all the money they want, and more, then we may find it difficult to appeal to their avarice."
Dr. Tisco's return glance as much as said:
"I am all the more certain that we shall find them difficult."
Don Luis commented to the two young men on the country through which they were passing. Finally the car drew up before the entrance to El Sombrero Mine. There was the shaft entrance and near it a goodly-sized dump for ore. Not far from the entrance was a small but very neat looking office building, and a second, still smaller, which might have been a timekeeper's office.
"Hello, Pedro!" called Don Luis.
Out of the office building sprang a dark-featured Mexican, perhaps forty years of age. He was truly a large man--more than six feet in height, broad of shoulder and deep of chest, a splendid type of manhood.
"My good Gato," purred Don Luis, "pay your respects to Los Caballeros Reade and Hazelton."
Gato approached, without offering his hand. His big, wolfish eyes looked over the young American pair keenly.
"So Don Luis has brought you here to show whether you are any good?" said the mine manager, in a voice as big as his frame. "I shall soon know."
Before the big, formidable manager Harry Hazelton remained silent, while Don Luis and his secretary slid softly into the office building.
"Gato, just what do you mean by your remark?" asked Tom Reade, very quietly.
"I mean that I shall put you at work and find out what you can do," leered the mine manager.
"Mistake number one!" rejoined Tom coolly. "I do not understand that you have any authority to give us orders."
"You shall soon learn, then!" growled the man. "I am the mine manager here."
"And we are the engineers about to be placed in charge," Tom continued. "If we stay, Gato, you will assist us in all ways that you can. Then, when you have received our instructions you will carry them out according to the best of your ability."
The two looked each other sternly in the eyes, Pedro Gato appearing as though he enjoyed young Americans better than any other food in the world. Indeed, he might have been expected to eat one of them right then and there.
Behind a shade in the office building Dr. Tisco stirred uneasily.
"What did I say to you, Don Luis?" inquired the secretary. "Did I not suggest that these Gringos would not be easily controlled?"
"Wait!" advised Don Luis Montez. "Wait! You have not yet seen what my Gato will do. He is not a baby."
"These Gringos will balk at every hour of the day and night," predicted Dr. Tisco.
"Wait until you have seen my good Gato tame them!" chuckled Don Luis, softly.

CHAPTER III
GATO STRIKES THE UP TRAIL
"When you speak to me, Gringo," bellowed Pedro Gato, "you will--"
"Stop, Greaser!" shot back Tom, sternly, though he did not even stir or raise his hands.
"Greaser?" bellowed Pedro Gato. "That is foul insult!"
"Not more so than to call me a Gringo," Tom Reade went on coolly. "So we are even, though I feel rather debased to have used such a word. Gato, if you make the mistake, again, of using an offensive term when addressing me, I shall--well, I may show a somewhat violent streak."
"You?" sneered Gato. Then something in the humor of the situation appealed to him. He threw back his head and laughed loudly.
"Gringo," he began, "you will--"
"Stop that line of talk, fellow," commanded Tom quietly. "When you address me, be good enough to say either 'senor' or 'sir.'