The Mucker

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER VI. "BABY BANDITS"

  IT WAS twenty-four hours before Detective Sergeant Flannagan awoke tothe fact that something had been put over on him, and that a Kansasfarmer's wife had done the putting.

  He managed to piece it out finally from the narratives of the twotramps, and when he had returned to the Shorter home and listened to thecontradictory and whole-souled improvisations of Shorter pere and merehe was convinced.

  Whereupon he immediately telegraphed Chicago headquarters and obtainedthe necessary authority to proceed upon the trail of the fugitive,Byrne.

  And so it was that Sergeant Flannagan landed in El Paso a few dayslater, drawn thither by various pieces of intelligence he had gathereden route, though with much delay and consequent vexation.

  Even after he had quitted the train he was none too sure that he wasupon the right trail though he at once repaired to a telegraph officeand wired his chief that he was hot on the trail of the fugitive.

  As a matter of fact he was much hotter than he imagined, for Billy andBridge were that very minute not two squares from him, debating as tothe future and the best manner of meeting it before it arrived.

  "I think," said Billy, "that I'll duck across the border. I won't neverbe safe in little old U. S., an' with things hoppin' in Mexico the waythey have been for the last few years I orter be able to lose myselfpretty well.

  "Now you're all right, ol' top. You don't have to duck nothin' for youain't did nothin'. I don't know what you're runnin' away from; but Iknow it ain't nothin' the police is worryin' about--I can tell that bythe way you act--so I guess we'll split here. You'd be a boob to crossif you don't have to, fer if Villa don't get you the Carranzistas will,unless the Zapatistas nab you first.

  "Comin' or goin' some greasy-mugged highbinder's bound to croak you ifyou cross, from what little I've heard since we landed in El Paso.

  "We'll feed up together tonight, fer the last time. Then I'll pull myfreight." He was silent for a while, and then: "I hate to do it, bo, feryou're the whitest guy I ever struck," which was a great deal for BillyByrne of Grand Avenue to say.

  Bridge finished rolling a brown paper cigarette before he spoke.

  "Your words are pure and unadulterated wisdom, my friend," he said. "Thechances are scarcely even that two gringo hoboes would last the weekout afoot and broke in Viva Mexico; but it has been many years since Ifollowed the dictates of wisdom. Therefore I am going with you."

  Billy grinned. He could not conceal his pleasure.

  "You're past twenty-one," he said, "an' dry behind the ears. Let's goan' eat. There is still some of that twenty-five left."

  Together they entered a saloon which Bridge remembered as permittinga very large consumption of free lunch upon the purchase of a singleschooner of beer.

  There were round tables scattered about the floor in front of the bar,and after purchasing their beer they carried it to one of these thatstood in a far corner of the room close to a rear door.

  Here Bridge sat on guard over the foaming open sesame to food whileBilly crossed to the free lunch counter and appropriated all that azealous attendant would permit him to carry off.

  When he returned to the table he took a chair with his back to the wallin conformity to a habit of long standing when, as now, it had stood himin good stead to be in a position to see the other fellow at least assoon as the other fellow saw him. The other fellow being more oftenthan not a large gentleman with a bit of shiny metal pinned to his leftsuspender strap.

  "That guy's a tight one," said Billy, jerking his hand in the directionof the guardian of the free lunch. "I scoops up about a good, squaremeal for a canary bird, an' he makes me cough up half of it. Wants toknow if I t'ink I can go into the restaurant business on a fi'-centschooner of suds."

  Bridge laughed.

  "Well, you didn't do so badly at that," he said. "I know places wherethey'd indict you for grand larceny if you took much more than you havehere."

  "Rotten beer," commented Billy.

  "Always is rotten down here," replied Bridge. "I sometimes think theyput moth balls in it so it won't spoil."

  Billy looked up and smiled. Then he raised his tall glass before him.

  "Here's to," he started; but he got no further. His eyes travelingpast his companion fell upon the figure of a large man entering the lowdoorway.

  At the same instant the gentleman's eyes fell upon Billy. Recognitionlit those of each simultaneously. The big man started across the room ona run, straight toward Billy Byrne.

  The latter leaped to his feet. Bridge, guessing what had happened, rosetoo.

  "Flannagan!" he exclaimed.

  The detective was tugging at his revolver, which had stuck in his hippocket. Byrne reached for his own weapon. Bridge laid a hand on his arm.

  "Not that, Billy!" he cried. "There's a door behind you. Here," and hepulled Billy backward toward the doorway in the wall behind them.

  Byrne still clung to his schooner of beer, which he had transferred tohis left hand as he sought to draw his gun. Flannagan was close to them.Bridge opened the door and strove to pull Billy through; but the latterhesitated just an instant, for he saw that it would be impossible toclose and bar the door, provided it had a bar, before Flannagan would beagainst it with his great shoulders.

  The policeman was still struggling to disentangle his revolver from thelining of his pocket. He was bellowing like a bull--yelling at Billythat he was under arrest. Men at the tables were on their feet. Those atthe bar had turned around as Flannagan started to run across the floor.Now some of them were moving in the direction of the detective andhis prey, but whether from curiosity or with sinister intentions it isdifficult to say.

  One thing, however, is certain--if all the love that was felt forpolicemen in general by the men in that room could have been combinedin a single individual it still scarcely would have constituted a grandpassion.

  Flannagan felt rather than saw that others were closing in on him,and then, fortunately for himself, he thought, he managed to draw hisweapon. It was just as Billy was fading through the doorway into theroom beyond. He saw the revolver gleam in the policeman's hand and thenit became evident why Billy had clung so tenaciously to his schoonerof beer. Left-handed and hurriedly he threw it; but even Flannagan musthave been constrained to admit that it was a good shot. It struck thedetective directly in the midst of his features, gave him a nasty cut onthe cheek as it broke and filled his eyes full of beer--and beer neverwas intended as an eye wash.

  Spluttering and cursing, Flannagan came to a sudden stop, and when hehad wiped the beer from his eyes he found that Billy Byrne had passedthrough the doorway and closed the door after him.

  The room in which Billy and Bridge found themselves was a small one inthe center of which was a large round table at which were gathereda half-dozen men at poker. Above the table swung a single arc lamp,casting a garish light upon the players beneath.

  Billy looked quickly about for another exit, only to find that besidesthe doorway through which he had entered there was but a single aperturein the four walls--a small window, heavily barred. The place was averitable trap.

  At their hurried entrance the men had ceased their play, and one or twohad risen in profane questioning and protest. Billy ignored them. He wasstanding with his shoulder against the door trying to secure it againstthe detective without; but there was neither bolt nor bar.

  Flannagan hurtling against the opposite side exerted his noblest effortsto force an entrance to the room; but Billy Byrne's great weight heldfirm as Gibraltar. His mind revolved various wild plans of escape; butnone bade fair to offer the slightest foothold to hope.

  The men at the table were clamoring for an explanation of theinterruption. Two of them were approaching Billy with the avowedintention of "turning him out," when he turned his head suddenly towardthem.

  "Can de beef, you poor boobs," he cried. "Dere's a bunch o' dicks outdere--de joint's been pinched."

  Instantly pandemonium ensued. Cards, chip
s, and money were swept asby magic from the board. A dozen dog-eared and filthy magazines andnewspapers were snatched from a hiding place beneath the table, and inthe fraction of a second the room was transformed from a gambling placeto an innocent reading-room.

  Billy grinned broadly. Flannagan had ceased his efforts to break downthe door, and was endeavoring to persuade Billy that he might as wellcome out quietly and submit to arrest. Byrne had drawn his revolveragain. Now he motioned to Bridge to come to his side.

  "Follow me," he whispered. "Don't move 'til I move--then move sudden."Then, turning to the door again, "You big stiff," he cried, "youcouldn't take a crip to a hospital, let alone takin' Billy Byrne to thestill. Beat it, before I come out an' spread your beezer acrost yourmap."

  If Billy had desired to arouse the ire of Detective Sergeant Flannaganby this little speech he succeeded quite as well as he could have hoped.Flannagan commenced to growl and threaten, and presently again hurledhimself against the door.

  Instantly Byrne wheeled and fired a single shot into the arc lamp, theshattered carbon rattled to the table with fragments of the globe,and Byrne stepped quickly to one side. The door flew open and SergeantFlannagan dove headlong into the darkened room. A foot shot out frombehind the opened door, and Flannagan, striking it, sprawled upon hisface amidst the legs of the literary lights who held dog-eared magazinesrightside up or upside down, as they chanced to have picked them up.

  Simultaneously Billy Byrne and Bridge dodged through the open doorway,banged the door to behind them, and sped across the barroom toward thestreet.

  As Flannagan shot into their midst the men at the table leaped to theirfeet and bolted for the doorway; but the detective was up and after themso quickly that only two succeeded in getting out of the room. One ofthese generously slammed the door in the faces of his fellows, and therethey pulled and hauled at each other until Flannagan was among them.

  In the pitch darkness he could recognize no one; but to be on the safeside he hit out promiscuously until he had driven them all from thedoor, then he stood with his back toward it--the inmates of the room hisprisoners.

  Thus he remained for a moment threatening to shoot at the first soundof movement in the room, and then he opened the door again, and steppingjust outside ordered the prisoners to file out one at a time.

  As each man passed him Flannagan scrutinized his face, and it was notuntil they had all emerged and he had reentered the room with a lightthat he discovered that once again his quarry had eluded him. DetectiveSergeant Flannagan was peeved.

  The sun smote down upon a dusty road. A heat-haze lay upon the arid landthat stretched away upon either hand toward gray-brown hills. A littleadobe hut, backed by a few squalid outbuildings, stood out, a screaminghigh-light in its coat of whitewash, against a background that wasgarish with light.

  Two men plodded along the road. Their coats were off, the brims of theirtattered hats were pulled down over eyes closed to mere slits againstsun and dust.

  One of the men, glancing up at the distant hut, broke into verse:

  Yet then the sun was shining down, a-blazing on the little town, A mile or so 'way down the track a-dancing in the sun. But somehow, as I waited there, there came a shiver in the air, "The birds are flying south," he said. "The winter has begun."

  His companion looked up at him who quoted.

  "There ain't no track," he said, "an' that 'dobe shack don't look muchlike a town; but otherwise his Knibbs has got our number all right, allright. We are the birds a-flyin' south, and Flannagan was the shiverin the air. Flannagan is a reg'lar frost. Gee! but I betcha dat guy'ssore."

  "Why is it, Billy," asked Bridge, after a moment's silence, "that uponoccasion you speak king's English after the manner of the boulevard, andagain after that of the back alley? Sometimes you say 'that' and 'dat'in the same sentence. Your conversational clashes are numerous. Surelysomething or someone has cramped your original style."

  "I was born and brought up on 'dat,'" explained Billy. "SHE taught methe other line of talk. Sometimes I forget. I had about twenty years ofthe other and only one of hers, and twenty to one is a long shot--moreapt to lose than win."

  "'She,' I take it, is PENELOPE," mused Bridge, half to himself. "Shemust have been a fine girl."

  "'Fine' isn't the right word," Billy corrected him. "If a thing's finethere may be something finer, and then something else finest. She wasbetter than finest. She--she was--why, Bridge, I'd have to be a walkingdictionary to tell you what she was."

  Bridge made no reply, and the two trudged on toward the whitewashed hutin silence for several minutes. Then Bridge broke it:

  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.

  Billy sighed and shook his head.

  "There ain't no such luck for me," he said. "She's married to anothergink now."

  They came at last to the hut, upon the shady side of which they found aMexican squatting puffing upon a cigarette, while upon the doorstep sata woman, evidently his wife, busily engaged in the preparation of somemanner of foodstuff contained in a large, shallow vessel. About themplayed a couple of half-naked children. A baby sprawled upon a blanketjust within the doorway.

  The man looked up, suspiciously, as the two approached. Bridge salutedhim in fairly understandable Spanish, asking for food, and telling theman that they had money with which to pay for a little--not much, just alittle.

  The Mexican slowly unfolded himself and arose, motioning the strangersto follow him into the interior of the hut. The woman, at a word fromher lord and master, followed them, and at his further dictation broughtthem frijoles and tortillas.

  The price he asked was nominal; but his eyes never left Bridge's handsas the latter brought forth the money and handed it over. He appearedjust a trifle disappointed when no more money than the stipulatedpurchase price was revealed to sight.

  "Where you going?" he asked.

  "We're looking for work," explained Bridge. "We want to get jobs on oneof the American ranches or mines."

  "You better go back," warned the Mexican. "I, myself, have nothingagainst the Americans, senor; but there are many of my countrymen whodo not like you. The Americans are all leaving. Some already have beenkilled by bandits. It is not safe to go farther. Pesita's men are allabout here. Even Mexicans are not safe from him. No one knows whetherhe is for Villa or Carranza. If he finds a Villa ranchero, then Pesitacries Viva Carranza! and his men kill and rob. If, on the other hand, aneighbor of the last victim hears of it in time, and later Pesita comesto him, he assures Pesita that he is for Carranza, whereupon Pesitacries Viva Villa! and falls upon the poor unfortunate, who is luckyif he escapes with his life. But Americans! Ah, Pesita asks them noquestions. He hates them all, and kills them all, whenever he can layhis hands upon them. He has sworn to rid Mexico of the gringos."

  "Wot's the Dago talkin' about?" asked Billy.

  Bridge gave his companion a brief synopsis of the Mexican'sconversation.

  "Only the gentleman is not an Italian, Billy," he concluded. "He's aMexican."

  "Who said he was an Eyetalian?" demanded Byrne.

  As the two Americans and the Mexican conversed within the hut thereapproached across the dusty flat, from the direction of the nearerhills, a party of five horsemen.

  They rode rapidly, coming toward the hut from the side which had neitherdoor nor window, so that those within had no warning of their coming.They were swarthy, ragged ruffians, fully armed, and with an equipmentwhich suggested that they might be a part of a quasi-militaryorganization.

  Close behind the hut four of them dismounted while the fifth, remainingin his saddle, held the bridle reins of the horses of his companions.The latter crept stealthily around the outside of the building, towardthe door--their carbines ready in their hands.

  It was one of the little children who first discovered the presence ofthe newcomers. With a piercing scream she bolted into the interior andran to cling to her m
other's skirts.

  Billy, Bridge, and the Mexican wheeled toward the doorway simultaneouslyto learn the cause of the girl's fright, and as they did so foundthemselves covered by four carbines in the hands of as many men.

  As his eyes fell upon the faces of the intruders the countenance ofthe Mexican fell, while his wife dropped to the floor and embraced hisknees, weeping.

  "Wotinell?" ejaculated Billy Byrne. "What's doin'?"

  "We seem to have been made prisoners," suggested Bridge; "but whether byVillistas or Carranzistas I do not know."

  Their host understood his words and turned toward the two Americans.

  "These are Pesita's men," he said.

  "Yes," spoke up one of the bandits, "we are Pesita's men, and Pesitawill be delighted, Miguel, to greet you, especially when he sees thesort of company you have been keeping. You know how much Pesita lovesthe gringos!"

  "But this man does not even know us," spoke up Bridge. "We stopped hereto get a meal. He never saw us before. We are on our way to the El OroboRancho in search of work. We have no money and have broken no laws. Letus go our way in peace. You can gain nothing by detaining us, and as forMiguel here--that is what you called him, I believe--I think from whathe said to us that he loves a gringo about as much as your revered chiefseems to."

  Miguel looked his appreciation of Bridge's defense of him; but it wasevident that he did not expect it to bear fruit. Nor did it. The brigandspokesman only grinned sardonically.

  "You may tell all this to Pesita himself, senor," he said. "Nowcome--get a move on--beat it!" The fellow had once worked in El Paso andtook great pride in his "higher English" education.

  As he started to herd them from the hut Billy demurred. He turned towardBridge.

  "Most of this talk gets by me," he said. "I ain't jerry to all the Dagojabber yet, though I've copped off a little of it in the past two weeks.Put me wise to the gink's lay."

  "Elementary, Watson, elementary," replied Bridge. "We are captured bybandits, and they are going to take us to their delightful chief whowill doubtless have us shot at sunrise."

  "Bandits?" snapped Billy, with a sneer. "Youse don't call dese littlerunts bandits?"

  "Baby bandits, Billy, baby bandits," replied Bridge.

  "An' you're goin' to stan' fer lettin' 'em pull off this rough stuffwithout handin' 'em a come-back?" demanded Byrne.

  "We seem to be up against just that very thing," said Bridge. "There arefour carbines quite ready for us. It would mean sudden death to resistnow. Later we may find an opportunity--I think we'd better act simpleand wait." He spoke in a quick, low whisper, for the spokesman of thebrigands evidently understood a little English and was on the alert forany trickery.

  Billy shrugged, and when their captors again urged them forward hewent quietly; but the expression on his face might have perturbed theMexicans had they known Billy Byrne of Grand Avenue better--he wassmiling happily.

  Miguel had two ponies in his corral. These the brigands appropriated,placing Billy upon one and Miguel and Bridge upon the other. Billy'sgreat weight rendered it inadvisable to double him up with anotherrider.

  As they were mounting Billy leaned toward Bridge and whispered:

  "I'll get these guys, pal--watch me," he said.

  "I am with thee, William!--horse, foot, and artillery," laughed Bridge.

  "Which reminds me," said Billy, "that I have an ace-in-the-hole--theboobs never frisked me."

  "And I am reminded," returned Bridge, as the horses started off to theyank of hackamore ropes in the hands of the brigands who were leadingthem, "of a touching little thing of Service's:

  Just think! Some night the stars will gleam Upon a cold gray stone, And trace a name with silver beam, And lo! 'twill be your own."

  "You're a cheerful guy," was Billy's only comment.