"Hey, fellows, see that funny Mexican on the burro there," laughed
Chunky. "Guess he never saw an outfit like ours before."

The lads could not repress a laugh as they glanced at the figure
pointed out by Stacy.

The man was sitting on the burro, his feet extended on the ground
before him, hands thrust deep into trousers pockets. He was observing
the work of the boys curiously. The fellow's high, conical head was
crowned by a peaked Mexican hat, much the worse for wear, while his
coarse, black hair was combed straight down over a pair of small,
piercing, dark eyes. The complexion, or such of it as was visible
through the mask of wiry hair, was swarthy, his form thin and
insignificant.

Stacy Brown strode over to him somewhat pompously.

"You speak English?" questioned the boy.

"Si, señor."

The Mexican's lips curled back, revealing two rows of gleaming, white
teeth.

"I'm glad to hear it. I didn't think you could. We are looking for a
guide who was to have met us here to conduct us over the mountains.
His name is Juan. It'll be something else when he does show up. Do you
know him?"

"Si, señor."