"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, señors?" 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 José 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 flashing vision of a tall Mexican creeping toward him, a long, slim knife glittering in his upraised hand. The fellow was so close that another step would bring him within striking distance, and without hesitation Buck's finger pressed the trigger.
The hammer fell with an ominous, metallic click. Amazed, Buck hastily pulled the trigger twice again without results. As he realized that in some mysterious manner the weapon had been tampered with, his teeth grated, but with no perceptible pause in the swiftness of his action he drew back his arm and hurled the pistol straight into the greaser's face.