The Silver Bar Mystery by W. C. Tuttle

The little village of Piñon was one of the most picturesque places in Mexico, but little known. Too far from the border and beaten trails, it had kept its identity. One main street, about three blocks long, no building more than two stories high, no sidewalks; dusty streets, every feature typical of Old Mexico. It was a village of little commerce, but much siesta. Looking white at a distance in the sunlight, a closer inspection showed the many coloured walls of ancient adobe, old hand-made tile roofs, quaint architecture.

Such was the town of Piñon, which Porfiro Mendez ruled as _alcalde_. His was the supreme word, and he had enough personal followers to enforce any order he might give. The rest of Mexico seemed to have forgotten Piñon; and Porfiro was glad. He collected the taxes in the name of the government, and spent them in his own name. No one cared, it seemed. And if any one did, and aired his grievances, he simply paid more -- in the name of the government.