CAPTAIN BILLY BYRNE rode out of the hills the following afternoon upon a pinto pony that showed the whites of its eyes in a wicked rim about the iris and kept its ears perpetually flattened backward.
At the end of a lariat trailed the Brazos pony, for Billy, laughing aside Bridge\'s pleas, was on his way to El Orobo Rancho to return the stolen horse to its fair owner.
At the moment of departure Pesita had asked Billy to ride by way of Jose\'s to instruct the old Indian that he should bear word to one Esteban that Pesita required his presence.
It is a long ride from the retreat of the Pesitistas to Jose\'s squalid hut, especially if one be leading an extra horse, and so it was that darkness had fallen long before Billy arrived in sight of Jose\'s. Dismounting some distance from the hut, Billy approached cautiously, since the world is filled with dangers for those who are beyond the law, and one may not be too careful.
Billy could see a light showing through a small window, and toward this he made his way. A short distance from Jose\'s is another, larger structure from which the former inhabitants had fled the wrath of Pesita. It was dark and apparently tenantless; but as a matter of fact a pair of eyes chanced at the very moment of Billy\'s coming to be looking out through the open doorway.
The owner turned and spoke to someone behind him.
“Jose has another visitor,” he said. “Possibly this one is less harmless than the other. He comes with great caution. Let us investigate.”
Three other men rose from their blankets upon the floor and joined the speaker. They were all armed, and clothed in the nondescript uniforms of Villistas. Billy\'s back was toward them as they sneaked from the hut in which they were intending to spend the night and crept quietly toward him.
Billy was busily engaged in peering through the little window into the interior of the old Indian\'s hovel. He saw an American in earnest conversation with Jose. Who could the man be? Billy did not recognize him; but presently Jose answered the question.
“It shall be done as you wish, Senor Grayson,” he said.
“Ah!” thought Billy; “the foreman of El Orobo. I wonder what business he has with this old scoundrel—and at night.”
What other thoughts Billy might have had upon the subject were rudely interrupted by four energetic gentlemen in his rear, who leaped upon him simultaneously and dragged him to the ground. Billy made no outcry; but he fought none the less strenuously for his freedom, and he fought after the manner of Grand Avenue, which is not a pretty, however effective, way it may be.
But four against one when all the advantages lie with the four are heavy odds, and when Grayson and Jose ran out to investigate, and the ranch foreman added his weight to that of the others Billy was finally subdued. That each of his antagonists would carry mementos of the battle for many days was slight compensation for the loss of liberty. However, it was some.
After disarming their captive and tying his hands at his back they jerked him to his feet and examined him.
“Who are you?” asked Grayson. “What you doin\' sneakin\' \'round spyin\' on me, eh?”
“If you wanna know who I am, bo,” replied Billy, “go ask de Harlem Hurricane, an\' as fer spyin\' on youse, I wasn\'t; but from de looks I guess youse need spyin, yuh tinhorn.”
A pony whinnied a short distance from the hut.
“That must be his horse,” said one of the Villistas, and walked away to investigate, returning shortly after with the pinto pony and Brazos.
The moment Grayson saw the latter he gave an exclamation of understanding.
“I know him now,” he said. “You\'ve made a good catch, Sergeant. This is the fellow who robbed the bank at Cuivaca. I recognize him from the descriptions I\'ve had of him, and the fact that he\'s got the Brazos pony makes it a cinch. Villa oughter promote you for this.”
“Yep,” interjected Billy, “he orter make youse an admiral at least; but youse ain\'t got me home yet, an\' it\'ll take more\'n four Dagos an\' a tin-horn to do it.”
“They\'ll get you there all right, my friend,” Grayson assured him. “Now come along.”
They bundled Billy into his own saddle, and shortly after the little party was winding southward along the river in the direction of El Orobo Rancho, with the intention of putting up there for the balance of the night where their prisoner could be properly secured and guarded. As they rode away from the dilapidated hut of the Indian the old man stood silhouetted against the rectangle of dim light which marked the open doorway, and shook his fist at the back of the departing ranch foreman.
“El cochino!” he cackled, and turned back into his hut.
At El Orobo Rancho Barbara walked to and fro outside the ranchhouse. Within her father sat reading beneath the rays of an oil lamp. From the quarters of the men came the strains of guitar music, and an occasional loud laugh indicated the climax of some of Eddie Shorter\'s famous Kansas farmer stories.
Barbara was upon the point of returning indoors when her attention was attracted by the approach of a half-dozen horsemen. They reined into the ranchyard and dismounted before the office building. Wondering a little who came so late, Barbara entered the house, mentioning casually to her father that which she had just seen.
The ranch owner, now always fearful of attack, was upon the point of investigating when Grayson rode up to the veranda and dismounted. Barbara and her father were at the door as he ascended the steps.
“Good news!” exclaimed the foreman. “I\'ve got the bank robber, and Brazos, too. Caught the sneakin\' coyote up to—up the river a bit.” He had almost said “Jose\'s;” but caught himself in time. “Someone\'s been cuttin\' the wire at the north side of the north pasture, an\' I was ridin\' up to see ef I could catch \'em at it,” he explained.
“He is an American?” asked the boss.
“Looks like it; but he\'s got the heart of a greaser,” replied Grayson. “Some of Villa\'s men are with me, and they\'re a-goin\' to take him to Cuivaca tomorrow.”
Neither Barbara nor her father seemed to enthuse much. To them an American was an American here in Mexico, where every hand was against their race. That at home they might have looked with disgust upon this same man did not alter their attitude here, that no American should take sides against his own people. Barbara said as much to Grayson.
“Why this fellow\'s one of Pesita\'s officers,” exclaimed Grayson. “He don\'t deserve no sympathy from us nor from no other Americans. Pesita has sworn to kill every American that falls into his hands, and this fellow\'s with him to help him do it. He\'s a bad un.”
“I can\'t help what he may do,” insisted Barbara. “He\'s an American, and I for one would never be a party to his death at the hands of a Mexican, and it will mean death to him to be taken to Cuivaca.”
“Well, miss,” said Grayson, “you won\'t hev to be responsible—I\'ll take all the responsibility there is and welcome. I just thought you\'d like to know we had him.” He was addressing his employer. The latter nodded, and Grayson turned and left the room. Outside he cast a sneering laugh back over his shoulder and swung into his saddle.
In front of the men\'s quarters he drew rein again and shouted Eddie\'s name. Shorter came to the door.
“Get your six-shooter an\' a rifle, an\' come on over to the office. I want to see you a minute.”
Eddie did as he was bid, and when he entered the little room he saw four Mexicans lolling about smoking cigarettes while Grayson stood before a chair in which sat a man with his arms tied behind his back. Grayson turned to Eddie.
“This party here is the slick un that robbed the bank, and got away on thet there Brazos pony thet miserable bookkeepin\' dude giv him. The sergeant here an\' his men are a-goin\' to take him to Cuivaca in the mornin\'. You stand guard over him \'til midnight, then they\'ll relieve you. They gotta get a little sleep first, though, an\' I gotta get some supper. Don\'t stand fer no funny business now, Eddie,” Grayson admonished him, and was on the point of leaving the office when a thought occurred to him. “Say, Shorter,” he said, “they ain\'t no way of gettin\' out of the little bedroom in back there except through this room. The windows are too small fer a big man to get through. I\'ll tell you what, we\'ll lock him up in there an\' then you won\'t hev to worry none an\' neither will we. You can jest spread out them Navajos there and go to sleep right plump ag\'in the door, an\' there won\'t nobody hev to relieve you all night.”
“Sure,” said Eddie, “leave it to me—I\'ll watch the slicker.”
Satisfied that their prisoner was safe for the night the Villistas and Grayson departed, after seeing him safely locked in the back room.
At the mention by the foreman of his guard\'s names—Eddie and Shorter—Billy had studied the face of the young American cowpuncher, for the two names had aroused within his memory a tantalizing suggestion that they should be very familiar. Yet he could connect them in no way with anyone he had known in the past and he was quite sure that he never before had set eyes upon this man.
Sitting in the dark with nothing to occupy him Billy let his mind dwell upon the identity of his jailer, until, as may have happened to you, nothing in the whole world seemed equally as important as the solution of the mystery. Even his impending fate faded into nothingness by comparison with the momentous question as to where he had heard the name Eddie Shorter before.
As he sat puzzling h............