The Mucker

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER XVI. EDDIE MAKES GOOD

  BILLY BYRNE and Eddie Shorter rode steadily in the direction of thehills. Upon either side and at intervals of a mile or more stretched theothers of their party, occasionally visible; but for the most part not.Once in the hills the two could no longer see their friends or be seenby them.

  Both Byrne and Eddie felt that chance had placed them upon the righttrail for a well-marked and long-used path wound upward through a canyonalong which they rode. It was an excellent location for an ambush, andboth men breathed more freely when they had passed out of it into moreopen country upon a narrow tableland between the first foothills and themain range of mountains.

  Here again was the trail well marked, and when Eddie, looking ahead, sawthat it appeared to lead in the direction of a vivid green spot close tothe base of the gray brown hills he gave an exclamation of assurance.

  "We're on the right trail all right, old man," he said. "They's waterthere," and he pointed ahead at the green splotch upon the gray. "That'swhere they'd be havin' their village. I ain't never been up here so Iain't familiar with the country. You see we don't run no cattle thisside the river--the Pimans won't let us. They don't care to have nowhite men pokin' round in their country; but I'll bet a hat we find acamp there."

  Onward they rode toward the little spot of green. Sometimes it wasin sight and again as they approached higher ground, or wound throughgullies and ravines it was lost to their sight; but always they kept itas their goal. The trail they were upon led to it--of that therecould be no longer the slightest doubt. And as they rode with theirdestination in view black, beady eyes looked down upon them from thevery green oasis toward which they urged their ponies--tiring now fromthe climb.

  A lithe, brown body lay stretched comfortably upon a bed of grasses atthe edge of a little rise of ground beneath which the riders must passbefore they came to the cluster of huts which squatted in a tiny naturalpark at the foot of the main peak. Far above the watcher a spring ofclear, pure water bubbled out of the mountain-side, and running downwardformed little pools among the rocks which held it. And with this waterthe Pimans irrigated their small fields before it sank from sight againinto the earth just below their village. Beside the brown body lay along rifle. The man's eyes watched, unblinking, the two specks far belowhim whom he knew and had known for an hour were gringos.

  Another brown body wormed itself forward to his side and peered over theedge of the declivity down upon the white men. He spoke a few words ina whisper to him who watched with the rifle, and then crawled back againand disappeared. And all the while, onward and upward came Billy Byrneand Eddie Shorter, each knowing in his heart that if not already, thenat any moment a watcher would discover them and a little later a bulletwould fly that would find one of them, and they took the chance for thesake of the American girl who lay hidden somewhere in these hills, forin no other way could they locate her hiding place more quickly. Any oneof the other eight Americans who rode in pairs into the hills at otherpoints to the left and right of Billy Byrne and his companion wouldhave and was even then cheerfully taking the same chances that Eddie andBilly took, only the latter were now assured that to one of them wouldfall the sacrifice, for as they had come closer Eddie had seen a thinwreath of smoke rising from among the trees of the oasis. Now, indeed,were they sure that they had chanced upon the trail to the Pimanvillage.

  "We gotta keep our eyes peeled," said Eddie, as they wound into a ravinewhich from its location evidently led directly up to the village. "Weain't far from 'em now, an' if they get us they'll get us about here."

  As though to punctuate his speech with the final period a rifle crackedabove them. Eddie jumped spasmodically and clutched his breast.

  "I'm hit," he said, quite unemotionally.

  Billy Byrne's revolver had answered the shot from above them, the bulletstriking where Billy had seen a puff of smoke following the rifle shot.Then Billy turned toward Eddie.

  "Hit bad?" he asked.

  "Yep, I guess so," said Eddie. "What'll we do? Hide up here, or rideback after the others?"

  Another shot rang out above them, although Billy had been watching fora target at which to shoot again--a target which he had been positive hewould get when the man rose to fire again. And Billy did see the fellowat last--a few paces from where he had first fired; but not until theother had dropped Eddie's horse beneath him. Byrne fired again, and thistime he had the satisfaction of seeing a brown body rise, struggle amoment, and then roll over once upon the grass before it came to rest.

  "I reckon we'll stay here," said Billy, looking ruefully at Eddie'shorse.

  Eddie rose and as he did so he staggered and grew very white. Billydismounted and ran forward, putting an arm about him. Another shot camefrom above and Billy Byrne's pony grunted and collapsed.

  "Hell!" exclaimed Byrne. "We gotta get out of this," and lifting hiswounded comrade in his arms he ran for the shelter of the bluff from thesummit of which the snipers had fired upon them. Close in, hugging theface of the perpendicular wall of tumbled rock and earth, they wereout of range of the Indians; but Billy did not stop when he had reachedtemporary safety. Farther up toward the direction in which lay thevillage, and halfway up the side of the bluff Billy saw what he took tobe excellent shelter. Here the face of the bluff was less steep andupon it lay a number of large bowlders, while others protruded from theground about them.

  Toward these Billy made his way. The wounded man across his shoulderwas suffering indescribable agonies; but he bit his lip and stifled thecries that each step his comrade took seemed to wrench from him, lest heattract the enemy to their position.

  Above them all was silence, yet Billy knew that alert, red foemen werecreeping to the edge of the bluff in search of their prey. If he couldbut reach the shelter of the bowlders before the Pimans discovered them!

  The minutes that were consumed in covering the hundred yards seemed asmany hours to Billy Byrne; but at last he dragged the fainting cowboybetween two large bowlders close under the edge of the bluff and foundhimself in a little, natural fortress, well adapted to defense.

  From above they were protected from the fire of the Indians upon thebluff by the height of the bowlder at the foot of which they lay, whileanother just in front hid them from possible marksmen across the canyon.Smaller rocks scattered about gave promise of shelter from flank fire,and as soon as he had deposited Eddie in the comparative safety of theirretreat Byrne commenced forming a low breastwork upon the side facingthe village--the direction from which they might naturally expectattack. This done he turned his attention to the opening upon theopposite side and soon had a similar defense constructed there, then heturned his attention to Eddie, though keeping a watchful eye upon bothapproaches to their stronghold.

  The Kansan lay upon his side, moaning. Blood stained his lips andnostrils, and when Billy Byrne opened his shirt and found a gaping woundin his right breast he knew how serious was his companion's injury. Ashe felt Billy working over him the boy opened his eyes.

  "Do you think I'm done for?" he asked in a tortured whisper.

  "Nothin' doin'," lied Billy cheerfully. "Just a scratch. You'll be allright in a day or two."

  Eddie shook his head wearily. "I wish I could believe you," he said. "Iben figgerin' on goin' back to see maw. I ain't thought o' nothin' elsesince you told me 'bout how she missed me. I ken see her right now justlike I was there. I'll bet she's scrubbin' the kitchen floor. Maw wasalways a-scrubbin' somethin'. Gee! but it's tough to cash in like thisjust when I was figgerin' on goin' home."

  Billy couldn't think of anything to say. He turned to look up and downthe canyon in search of the enemy.

  "Home!" whispered Eddie. "Home!"

  "Aw, shucks!" said Billy kindly. "You'll get home all right, kid. Theboys must a-heard the shootin' an' they'll be along in no time now. Thenwe'll clean up this bunch o' coons an' have you back to El Orobo an'nursed into shape in no time."

  Eddie tried to smile as he looked up into the other's face
. He reached ahand out and laid it on Billy's arm.

  "You're all right, old man," he whispered. "I know you're lyin' an' sodo you; but it makes me feel better anyway to have you say them things."

  Billy felt as one who has been caught stealing from a blind man. Theonly adequate reply of which he could think was, "Aw, shucks!"

  "Say," said Eddie after a moment's silence, "if you get out o' here an'ever go back to the States promise me you'll look up maw and paw an'tell 'em I was comin' home--to stay. Tell 'em I died decent, too, willyou--died like paw was always a-tellin' me my granddad died, fightin'Injuns 'round Fort Dodge somewheres."

  "Sure," said Billy; "I'll tell 'em. Gee! Look who's comin' here," andas he spoke he flattened himself to the ground just as a bullet pingedagainst the rock above his head and the report of a rifle soundedfrom up the canyon. "That guy most got me. I'll have to be 'tendin' tobusiness better'n this."

  He drew himself slowly up upon his elbows, his carbine ready in hishand, and peered through a small aperture between two of the rocks whichcomposed his breastwork. Then he stuck the muzzle of the weapon through,took aim and pulled the trigger.

  "Didje get him?" asked Eddie.

  "Yep," said Billy, and fired again. "Got that one too. Say, they'retough-lookin' guys; but I guess they won't come so fast next time. Thosetwo were right in the open, workin' up to us on their bellies. They musta-thought we was sleepin'."

  For an hour Billy neither saw nor heard any sign of the enemy, thoughseveral times he raised his hat above the breastwork upon the muzzle ofhis carbine to draw their fire.

  It was midafternoon when the sound of distant rifle fire came faintly tothe ears of the two men from somewhere far below them.

  "The boys must be comin'," whispered Eddie Shorter hopefully.

  For half an hour the firing continued and then silence again fell uponthe mountains. Eddie began to wander mentally. He talked much of Kansasand his old home, and many times he begged for water.

  "Buck up, kid," said Billy; "the boys'll be along in a minute now an'then we'll get you all the water you want."

  But the boys did not come. Billy was standing up now, stretching hislegs, and searching up and down the canyon for Indians. He was wonderingif he could chance making a break for the valley where they stoodsome slight chance of meeting with their companions, and even as heconsidered the matter seriously there came a staccato report and BillyByrne fell forward in a heap.

  "God!" cried Eddie. "They got him now, they got him."

  Byrne stirred and struggled to rise.

  "Like'll they got me," he said, and staggered to his knees.

  Over the breastwork he saw a half-dozen Indians running rapidly towardthe shelter--he saw them in a haze of red that was caused not by bloodbut by anger. With an oath Billy Byrne leaped to his feet. From hisknees up his whole body was exposed to the enemy; but Billy cared not.He was in a berserker rage. Whipping his carbine to his shoulder he letdrive at the advancing Indians who were now beyond hope of cover. Theymust come on or be shot down where they were, so they came on, yellinglike devils and stopping momentarily to fire upon the rash white man whostood so perfect a target before them.

  But their haste spoiled their marksmanship. The bullets zinged andzipped against the rocky little fortress, they nicked Billy's shirt andtrousers and hat, and all the while he stood there pumping lead intohis assailants--not hysterically; but with the cool deliberation of abutcher slaughtering beeves.

  One by one the Pimans dropped until but a single Indian rushedfrantically upon the white man, and then the last of the assailantslunged forward across the breastwork with a bullet from Billy's carbinethrough his forehead.

  Eddie Shorter had raised himself painfully upon an elbow that he mightwitness the battle, and when it was over he sank back, the blood wellingfrom between his set teeth.

  Billy turned to look at him when the last of the Pimans was disposedof, and seeing his condition kneeled beside him and took his head in thehollow of an arm.

  "You orter lie still," he cautioned the Kansan. "Tain't good for you tomove around much."

  "It was worth it," whispered Eddie. "Say, but that was some scrap. Yougot your nerve standin' up there against the bunch of 'em; but if youhadn't they'd have rushed us and some of 'em would a-got in."

  "Funny the boys don't come," said Billy.

  "Yes," replied Eddie, with a sigh; "it's milkin' time now, an' Ifiggered on goin' to Shawnee this evenin'. Them's nice cookies, maw.I--"

  Billy Byrne was bending low to catch his feeble words, and when thevoice trailed out into nothingness he lowered the tousled red head tothe hard earth and turned away.

  Could it be that the thing which glistened on the eyelid of the toughestguy on the West Side was a tear?

  The afternoon waned and night came, but it brought to Billy Byrneneither renewed attack nor succor. The bullet which had dropped himmomentarily had but creased his forehead. Aside from the fact that hewas blood covered from the wound it had inconvenienced him in no way,and now that darkness had fallen he commenced to plan upon leaving theshelter.

  First he transferred Eddie's ammunition to his own person, and suchvaluables and trinkets as he thought "maw" might be glad to have, thenhe removed the breechblock from Eddie's carbine and stuck it in hispocket that the weapon might be valueless to the Indians when they foundit.

  "Sorry I can't bury you old man," was Billy's parting comment, as heclimbed over the breastwork and melted into the night.

  Billy Byrne moved cautiously through the darkness, and he moved not inthe direction of escape and safety but directly up the canyon in the waythat the village of the Pimans lay.

  Soon he heard the sound of voices and shortly after saw the light ofcook fires playing upon bronzed faces and upon the fronts of low huts.Some women were moaning and wailing. Billy guessed that they mourned forthose whom his bullets had found earlier in the day. In the darkness ofthe night, far up among the rough, forbidding mountains it was all veryweird and uncanny.

  Billy crept closer to the village. Shelter was abundant. He saw no signof sentry and wondered why they should be so lax in the face of almostcertain attack. Then it occurred to him that possibly the firing he andEddie had heard earlier in the day far down among the foothills mighthave meant the extermination of the Americans from El Orobo.

  "Well, I'll be next then," mused Billy, and wormed closer to the huts.His eyes were on the alert every instant, as were his ears; but no signof that which he sought rewarded his keenest observation.

  Until midnight he lay in concealment and all that time the mournerscontinued their dismal wailing. Then, one by one, they entered theirhuts, and silence reigned within the village.

  Billy crept closer. He eyed each hut with longing, wondering gaze. Whichcould it be? How could he determine? One seemed little more promisingthan the others. He had noted those to which Indians had retired. Therewere three into which he had seen none go. These, then, should be thefirst to undergo his scrutiny.

  The night was dark. The moon had not yet risen. Only a few dying firescast a wavering and uncertain light upon the scene. Through the shadowsBilly Byrne crept closer and closer. At last he lay close beside one ofthe huts which was to be the first to claim his attention.

  For several moments he lay listening intently for any sound which mightcome from within; but there was none. He crawled to the doorway andpeered within. Utter darkness shrouded and hid the interior.

  Billy rose and walked boldly inside. If he could see no one within, thenno one could see him once he was inside the door. Therefore, so reasonedBilly Byrne, he would have as good a chance as the occupants of the hut,should they prove to be enemies.

  He crossed the floor carefully, stopping often to listen. At last heheard a rustling sound just ahead of him. His fingers tightened upon therevolver he carried in his right hand, by the barrel, clublike. Billyhad no intention of making any more noise than necessary.

  Again he heard a sound from the same direction. It was not at
all unlikethe frightened gasp of a woman. Billy emitted a low growl, in fairimitation of a prowling dog that has been disturbed.

  Again the gasp, and a low: "Go away!" in liquid feminine tones--and inEnglish!

  Billy uttered a low: "S-s-sh!" and tiptoed closer. Extending his handsthey presently came in contact with a human body which shrank from himwith another smothered cry.

  "Barbara!" whispered Billy, bending closer.

  A hand reached out through the darkness, found him, and closed upon hissleeve.

  "Who are you?" asked a low voice.

  "Billy," he replied. "Are you alone in here?"

  "No, an old woman guards me," replied the girl, and at the same timethey both heard a movement close at hand, and something scurriedpast them to be silhouetted for an instant against the path of lesserdarkness which marked the location of the doorway.

  "There she goes!" cried Barbara. "She heard you and she has gone forhelp."

  "Then come!" said Billy, seizing the girl's arm and dragging her to herfeet; but they had scarce crossed half the distance to the doorway whenthe cries of the old woman without warned them that the camp was beingaroused.

  Billy thrust a revolver into Barbara's hand. "We gotta make a fight ofit, little girl," he said. "But you'd better die than be here alone."

  As they emerged from the hut they saw warriors running from everydoorway. The old woman stood screaming in Piman at the top of her lungs.Billy, keeping Barbara in front of him that he might shield her bodywith his own, turned directly out of the village. He did not fire atfirst hoping that they might elude detection and thus not draw the fireof the Indians upon them; but he was doomed to disappointment, and theyhad taken scarcely a dozen steps when a rifle spoke above the noise ofhuman voices and a bullet whizzed past them.

  Then Billy replied, and Barbara, too, from just behind his shoulder.Together they backed away toward the shadow of the trees beyond thevillage and as they went they poured shot after shot into the village.

  The Indians, but just awakened and still half stupid from sleep, did notknow but that they were attacked by a vastly superior force, and thisfear held them in check for several minutes--long enough for Billy andBarbara to reach the summit of the bluff from which Billy and Eddie hadfirst been fired upon.

  Here they were hidden from the view of the Indians, and Billy brokeat once into a run, half carrying the girl with a strong arm about herwaist.

  "If we can reach the foothills," he said, "I think we can dodge 'em, an'by goin' all night we may reach the river and El Orobo by morning. It'sa long hike, Barbara, but we gotta make it--we gotta, for if daylightfinds us in the Piman country we won't never make it. Anyway," heconcluded optimistically, "it's all down hill."

  "We'll make it, Billy," she replied, "if we can get past the sentry."

  "What sentry?" asked Billy. "I didn't see no sentry when I come in."

  "They keep a sentry way down the trail all night," replied the girl. "Inthe daytime he is nearer the village--on the top of this bluff, for fromhere he can see the whole valley; but at night they station him fartheraway in a narrow part of the trail."

  "It's a mighty good thing you tipped me off," said Billy; "for I'd a-runright into him. I thought they was all behind us now."

  After that they went more cautiously, and when they reached the part ofthe trail where the sentry might be expected to be found, Barbara warnedBilly of the fact. Like two thieves they crept along in the shadow ofthe canyon wall. Inwardly Billy cursed the darkness of the night whichhid from view everything more than a few paces from them; yet it mayhave been this very darkness which saved them, since it hid them aseffectually from an enemy as it hid the enemy from them. They hadreached the point where Barbara was positive the sentry should be.The girl was clinging tightly to Billy's left arm. He could feel thepressure of her fingers as they sunk into his muscles, sending littletremors and thrills through his giant frame. Even in the face of deathBilly Byrne could sense the ecstasies of personal contact with thisgirl--the only woman he ever had loved or ever would.

  And then a black shadow loomed before them, and a rifle flashed in theirfaces without a word or a sign of warning.

  CHAPTER XVII. "YOU ARE MY GIRL!"

  MR. ANTHONY HARDING was pacing back and forth the length of the verandaof the ranchhouse at El Orobo waiting for some word of hope from thosewho had ridden out in search of his daughter, Barbara. Each swirlingdust devil that eddied across the dry flat on either side of the riverroused hopes within his breast that it might have been spurred intoactivity by the hoofs of a pony bearing a messenger of good tidings; butalways his hopes were dashed, for no horseman emerged from the heat hazeof the distance where the little dust devils raced playfully among thecacti and the greasewood.

  But at last, in the northwest, a horseman, unheralded by gyrating dustcolumn, came into sight. Mr. Harding shook his head sorrowfully. It hadnot been from this direction that he had expected word of Barbara, yethe kept his eyes fastened upon the rider until the latter reined in atthe ranchyard and loped a tired and sweating pony to the foot of theveranda steps. Then Mr. Harding saw who the newcomer was.

  "Bridge!" he exclaimed. "What brings you back here? Don't you know thatyou endanger us as well as yourself by being seen here? General Villawill think that we have been harboring you."

  Bridge swung from the saddle and ran up onto the veranda. He paid notthe slightest attention to Anthony Harding's protest.

  "How many men you got here that you can depend on?" he asked.

  "None," replied the Easterner. "What do you mean?"

  "None!" cried Bridge, incredulity and hopelessness showing upon hiscountenance. "Isn't there a Chinaman and a couple of faithful Mexicans?"

  "Oh, yes, of course," assented Mr. Harding; "but what are you drivingat?"

  "Pesita is on his way here to clean up El Orobo. He can't be very farbehind me. Call the men you got, and we'll get together all the guns andammunition on the ranch, and barricade the ranchhouse. We may be able tostand 'em off. Have you heard anything of Miss Barbara?"

  Anthony Harding shook his head sadly.

  "Then we'll have to stay right here and do the best we can," saidBridge. "I was thinking we might make a run for it if Miss Barbara washere; but as she's not we must wait for those who went out after her."

  Mr. Harding summoned the two Mexicans while Bridge ran to the cookhouseand ordered the Chinaman to the ranchhouse. Then the erstwhilebookkeeper ransacked the bunkhouse for arms and ammunition. What littlehe found he carried to the ranchhouse, and with the help of the othersbarricaded the doors and windows of the first floor.

  "We'll have to make our fight from the upper windows," he explained tothe ranch owner. "If Pesita doesn't bring too large a force we may beable to stand them off until you can get help from Cuivaca. Call upthere now and see if you can get Villa to send help--he ought to protectyou from Pesita. I understand that there is no love lost between thetwo."

  Anthony Harding went at once to the telephone and rang for the centralat Cuivaca.

  "Tell it to the operator," shouted Bridge who stood peering through anopening in the barricade before a front window; "they are coming now,and the chances are that the first thing they'll do is cut the telephonewires."

  The Easterner poured his story and appeal for help into the ears of thegirl at the other end of the line, and then for a few moments there wassilence in the room as he listened to her reply.

  "Impossible!" and "My God! it can't be true," Bridge heard the older manejaculate, and then he saw him hang up the receiver and turn from theinstrument, his face drawn and pinched with an expression of utterhopelessness.

  "What's wrong?" asked Bridge.

  "Villa has turned against the Americans," replied Harding, dully. "Theoperator evidently feels friendly toward us, for she warned me not toappeal to Villa and told me why. Even now, this minute, the man has aforce of twenty-five hundred ready to march on Columbus, New Mexico.Three Americans were hanged in Cuivaca this afternoon. It's h
orrible,sir! It's horrible! We are as good as dead this very minute. Even ifwe stand off Pesita we can never escape to the border through Villa'sforces."

  "It looks bad," admitted Bridge. "In fact it couldn't look much worse;but here we are, and while our ammunition holds out about all we cando is stay here and use it. Will you men stand by us?" he addressed theChinaman and the two Mexicans, who assured him that they had no love forPesita and would fight for Anthony Harding in preference to going overto the enemy.

  "Good!" exclaimed Bridge, "and now for upstairs. They'll be howlingaround here in about five minutes, and we want to give them a receptionthey won't forget."

  He led the way to the second floor, where the five took up positionsnear the front windows. A short distance from the ranchhouse they couldsee the enemy, consisting of a detachment of some twenty of Pesita'stroopers riding at a brisk trot in their direction.

  "Pesita's with them," announced Bridge, presently. "He's the littlefellow on the sorrel. Wait until they are close up, then give them a fewrounds; but go easy on the ammunition--we haven't any too much."

  Pesita, expecting no resistance, rode boldly into the ranchyard. At thebunkhouse and the office his little force halted while three or fourtroopers dismounted and entered the buildings in search of victims.Disappointed there they moved toward the ranchhouse.

  "Lie low!" Bridge cautioned his companions. "Don't let them see you, andwait till I give the word before you fire."

  On came the horsemen at a slow walk. Bridge waited until they werewithin a few yards of the house, then he cried: "Now! Let 'em have it!"A rattle of rifle fire broke from the upper windows into the ranks ofthe Pesitistas. Three troopers reeled and slipped from their saddles.Two horses dropped in their tracks. Cursing and yelling, the balance ofthe horsemen wheeled and galloped away in the direction of the officebuilding, followed by the fire of the defenders.

  "That wasn't so bad," cried Bridge. "I'll venture a guess that Mr.Pesita is some surprised--and sore. There they go behind the office.They'll stay there a few minutes talking it over and getting up theircourage to try it again. Next time they'll come from another direction.You two," he continued, turning to the Mexicans, "take positions onthe east and south sides of the house. Sing can remain here with Mr.Harding. I'll take the north side facing the office. Shoot at the firstman who shows his head. If we can hold them off until dark we may beable to get away. Whatever happens don't let one of them get closeenough to fire the house. That's what they'll try for."

  It was fifteen minutes before the second attack came. Five dismountedtroopers made a dash for the north side of the house; but when Bridgedropped the first of them before he had taken ten steps from the officebuilding and wounded a second the others retreated for shelter.

  Time and again as the afternoon wore away Pesita made attempts to getmen close up to the house; but in each instance they were driven back,until at last they desisted from their efforts to fire the house or rushit, and contented themselves with firing an occasional shot through thewindows opposite them.

  "They're waiting for dark," said Bridge to Mr. Harding during atemporary lull in the hostilities, "and then we're goners, unless theboys come back from across the river in time."

  "Couldn't we get away after dark?" asked the Easterner.

  "It's our only hope if help don't reach us," replied Bridge.

  But when night finally fell and the five men made an attempt to leavethe house upon the side away from the office building they were metwith the flash of carbines and the ping of bullets. One of the Mexicandefenders fell, mortally wounded, and the others were barely able todrag him within and replace the barricade before the door when fiveof Pesita's men charged close up to their defenses. These were finallydriven off and again there came a lull; but all hope of escape was gone,and Bridge reposted the defenders at the upper windows where they mightwatch every approach to the house.

  As the hours dragged on the hopelessness of their position grew upon theminds of all. Their ammunition was almost gone--each man had but a fewrounds remaining--and it was evident that Pesita, through an inordinatedesire for revenge, would persist until he had reduced their fortressand claimed the last of them as his victim.

  It was with such cheerful expectations that they awaited the finalassault which would see them without ammunition and defenseless in theface of a cruel and implacable foe.

  It was just before daylight that the anticipated rush occurred. Fromevery side rang the reports of carbines and the yells of the bandits.There were scarcely more than a dozen of the original twenty left; butthey made up for their depleted numbers by the rapidity with which theyworked their firearms and the loudness and ferocity of their savagecries.

  And this time they reached the shelter of the veranda and commencedbattering at the door.

  At the report of the rifle so close to them Billy Byrne shoved Barbaraquickly to one side and leaped forward to close with the man who barredtheir way to liberty.

  That they had surprised him even more than he had them was evidenced bythe wildness of his shot which passed harmlessly above their heads aswell as by the fact that he had permitted them to come so close beforeengaging them.

  To the latter event was attributable his undoing, for it permitted BillyByrne to close with him before the Indian could reload his antiquatedweapon. Down the two men went, the American on top, each striving fora death-hold; but in weight and strength and skill the Piman was faroutclassed by the trained fighter, a part of whose daily workouts hadconsisted in wrestling with proficient artists of the mat.

  Barbara Harding ran forward to assist her champion but as the men rolledand tumbled over the ground she could find no opening for a blow thatmight not endanger Billy Byrne quite as much as it endangered hisantagonist; but presently she discovered that the American required noassistance. She saw the Indian's head bending slowly forward beneath theresistless force of the other's huge muscles, she heard the crack thatannounced the parting of the vertebrae and saw the limp thing whichhad but a moment before been a man, pulsing with life and vigor, rollhelplessly aside--a harmless and inanimate lump of clay.

  Billy Byrne leaped to his feet, shaking himself as a great mastiff mightwhose coat had been ruffled in a fight.

  "Come!" he whispered. "We gotta beat it now for sure. That guy's shot'lllead 'em right down to us," and once more they took up their flight downtoward the valley, along an unknown trail through the darkness of thenight.

  For the most part they moved in silence, Billy holding the girl's armor hand to steady her over the rough and dangerous portions of the path.And as they went there grew in Billy's breast a love so deep and soresistless that he found himself wondering that he had ever imaginedthat his former passion for this girl was love.

  This new thing surged through him and over him with all the blind,brutal, compelling force of a mighty tidal wave. It battered down andswept away the frail barriers of his new-found gentleness. Again he wasthe Mucker--hating the artificial wall of social caste which separatedhim from this girl; but now he was ready to climb the wall, or, betterstill, to batter it down with his huge fists. But the time was notyet--first he must get Barbara to a place of safety.

  On and on they went. The night grew cold. Far ahead there sounded theoccasional pop of a rifle. Billy wondered what it could mean and as theyapproached the ranch and he discovered that it came from that directionhe hastened their steps to even greater speed than before.

  "Somebody's shootin' up the ranch," he volunteered. "Wonder who it couldbe."

  "Suppose it is your friend and general?" asked the girl.

  Billy made no reply. They reached the river and as Billy knew not wherethe fords lay he plunged in at the point at which the water first barredtheir progress and dragging the girl after him, plowed bull-like forthe opposite shore. Where the water was above his depth he swam whileBarbara clung to his shoulders. Thus they made the passage quickly andsafely.

  Billy stopped long enough to shake the water out of his carbine, which
the girl had carried across, and then forged ahead toward the ranchhousefrom which the sounds of battle came now in increased volume.

  And at the ranchhouse "hell was popping." The moment Bridge realizedthat some of the attackers had reached the veranda he called thesurviving Mexican and the Chinaman to follow him to the lower floorwhere they might stand a better chance to repel this new attack. Mr.Harding he persuaded to remain upstairs.

  Outside a dozen men were battering to force an entrance. Already onepanel had splintered, and as Bridge entered the room he could see thefigures of the bandits through the hole they had made. Raising hisrifle he fired through the aperture. There was a scream as one of theattackers dropped; but the others only increased their efforts, theiroaths, and their threats of vengeance.

  The three defenders poured a few rounds through the sagging door, thenBridge noted that the Chinaman ceased firing.

  "What's the matter?" he asked.

  "Allee gonee," replied Sing, pointing to his ammunition belt.

  At the same instant the Mexican threw down his carbine and rushed fora window on the opposite side of the room. His ammunition was exhaustedand with it had departed his courage. Flight seemed the only courseremaining. Bridge made no effort to stop him. He would have been glad tofly, too; but he could not leave Anthony Harding, and he was sure thatthe older man would prove unequal to any sustained flight on foot.

  "You better go, too, Sing," he said to the Chinaman, placing anotherbullet through the door; "there's nothing more that you can do, and itmay be that they are all on this side now--I think they are. You fellowshave fought splendidly. Wish I could give you something more substantialthan thanks; but that's all I have now and shortly Pesita won't evenleave me that much."

  "Allee light," replied Sing cheerfully, and a second later he wasclambering through the window in the wake of the loyal Mexican.

  And then the door crashed in and half a dozen troopers followed byPesita himself burst into the room.

  Bridge was standing at the foot of the stairs, his carbine clubbed, forhe had just spent his last bullet. He knew that he must die; but he wasdetermined to make them purchase his life as dearly as he could, and todie in defense of Anthony Harding, the father of the girl he loved, eventhough hopelessly.

  Pesita saw from the American's attitude that he had no more ammunition.He struck up the carbine of a trooper who was about to shoot Bridgedown.

  "Wait!" commanded the bandit. "Cease firing! His ammunition is gone.Will you surrender?" he asked of Bridge.

  "Not until I have beaten from the heads of one or two of your friends,"he replied, "that which their egotism leads them to imagine are brains.No, if you take me alive, Pesita, you will have to kill me to do it."

  Pesita shrugged. "Very well," he said, indifferently, "it makes littledifference to me--that stairway is as good as a wall. These bravedefenders of the liberty of poor, bleeding Mexico will make an excellentfiring squad. Attention, my children! Ready! Aim!"

  Eleven carbines were leveled at Bridge. In the ghastly light of earlydawn the sallow complexions of the Mexicans took on a weird hue. TheAmerican made a wry face, a slight shudder shook his slender frame, andthen he squared his shoulders and looked Pesita smilingly in the face.

  The figure of a man appeared at the window through which the Chinamanand the loyal Mexican had escaped. Quick eyes took in the scene withinthe room.

  "Hey!" he yelled. "Cut the rough stuff!" and leaped into the room.

  Pesita, surprised by the interruption, turned toward the intruder beforehe had given the command to fire. A smile lit his features when he sawwho it was.

  "Ah!" he exclaimed, "my dear Captain Byrne. Just in time to see atraitor and a spy pay the penalty for his crimes."

  "Nothin' doin'," growled Billy Byrne, and then he threw his carbine tohis shoulder and took careful aim at Pesita's face.

  How easy it would have been to have hesitated a moment in the windowbefore he made his presence known--just long enough for Pesita to speakthe single word that would have sent eleven bullets speeding into thebody of the man who loved Barbara and whom Billy believed the girlloved. But did such a thought occur to Billy Byrne of Grand Avenue? Itdid not. He forgot every other consideration beyond his loyalty to afriend. Bridge and Pesita were looking at him in wide-eyed astonishment.

  "Lay down your carbines!" Billy shot his command at the firing squad."Lay 'em down or I'll bore Pesita. Tell 'em to lay 'em down, Pesita. Igotta bead on your beezer."

  Pesita did as he was bid, his yellow face pasty with rage.

  "Now their cartridge belts!" snapped Billy, and when these had beendeposited upon the floor he told Bridge to disarm the bandit chief.

  "Is Mr. Harding safe?" he asked of Bridge, and receiving an affirmativehe called upstairs for the older man to descend.

  As Mr. Harding reached the foot of the stairs Barbara entered the roomby the window through which Billy had come--a window which opened uponthe side veranda.

  "Now we gotta hike," announced Billy. "It won't never be safe fornone of you here after this, not even if you do think Villa's yourfriend--which he ain't the friend of no American."

  "We know that now," said Mr. Harding, and repeated to Billy that whichthe telephone operator had told him earlier in the day.

  Marching Pesita and his men ahead of them Billy and the others madetheir way to the rear of the office building where the horses of thebandits were tethered. They were each armed now from the discardedweapons of the raiders, and well supplied with ammunition. The Chinamanand the loyal Mexican also discovered themselves when they learned thatthe tables had been turned upon Pesita. They, too, were armed and allwere mounted, and when Billy had loaded the remaining weapons upon thebalance of the horses the party rode away, driving Pesita's live stockand arms ahead of them.

  "I imagine," remarked Bridge, "that you've rather discouragedpursuit for a while at least," but pursuit came sooner than they hadanticipated.

  They had reached a point on the river not far from Jose's when a bandof horsemen appeared approaching from the west. Billy urged his party togreater speed that they might avoid a meeting if possible; but it soonbecame evident that the strangers had no intention of permitting them togo unchallenged, for they altered their course and increased theirspeed so that they were soon bearing down upon the fugitives at a rapidgallop.

  "I guess," said Billy, "that we'd better open up on 'em. It's a cinchthey ain't no friends of ours anywhere in these parts."

  "Hadn't we better wait a moment," said Mr. Harding; "we do not want tochance making any mistake."

  "It ain't never a mistake to shoot a Dago," replied Billy. His eyeswere fastened upon the approaching horsemen, and he presently gave anexclamation of recognition. "There's Rozales," he said. "I couldn'tmistake that beanpole nowheres. We're safe enough in takin' a shotat 'em if Rosie's with 'em. He's Pesita's head guy," and he drew hisrevolver and took a single shot in the direction of his former comrades.Bridge followed his example. The oncoming Pesitistas reined in. Billyreturned his revolver to its holster and drew his carbine.

  "You ride on ahead," he said to Mr. Harding and Barbara. "Bridge andI'll bring up the rear."

  Then he stopped his pony and turning took deliberate aim at the knot ofhorsemen to their left. A bandit tumbled from his saddle and the fightwas on.

  Fortunately for the Americans Rozales had but a handful of men with himand Rozales himself was never keen for a fight in the open.

  All morning he hovered around the rear of the escaping Americans; butneither side did much damage to the other, and during the afternoonBilly noticed that Rozales merely followed within sight of them, afterhaving dispatched one of his men back in the direction from which theyhad come.

  "After reinforcements," commented Byrne.

  All day they rode without meeting with any roving bands of soldiers orbandits, and the explanation was all too sinister to the Americans whencoupled with the knowledge that Villa was to attack an American townthat night.

 
"I wish we could reach the border in time to warn 'em," said Billy; "butthey ain't no chance. If we cross before sunup tomorrow morning we'll bedoin' well."

  He had scarcely spoken to Barbara Harding all day, for his duties asrear guard had kept him busy; nor had he conversed much with Bridge,though he had often eyed the latter whose gaze wandered many times tothe slender, graceful figure of the girl ahead of them.

  Billy was thinking as he never had thought before. It seemed to him acruel fate that had so shaped their destinies that his best friend lovedthe girl Billy loved. That Bridge was ignorant of Billy's infatuationfor her the latter well knew. He could not blame Bridge, nor could he,upon the other hand, quite reconcile himself to the more than apparentadoration which marked his friend's attitude toward Barbara.

  As daylight waned the fugitives realized from the shuffling gaitof their mounts, from drooping heads and dull eyes that rest wasimperative. They themselves were fagged, too, and when a ranchhouseloomed in front of them they decided to halt for much-neededrecuperation.

  Here they found three Americans who were totally unaware of Villa'scontemplated raid across the border, and who when they were informed ofit were doubly glad to welcome six extra carbines, for Barbara notonly was armed but was eminently qualified to expend ammunition withoutwasting it.

  Rozales and his small band halted out of range of the ranch; but theywent hungry while their quarry fed themselves and their tired mounts.

  The Clark brothers and their cousin, a man by the name of Mason, whowere the sole inhabitants of the ranch counseled a long rest--two hoursat least, for the border was still ten miles away and speed at the lastmoment might be their sole means of salvation.

  Billy was for moving on at once before the reinforcements, for which hewas sure Rozales had dispatched his messenger, could overtake them. Butthe others were tired and argued, too, that upon jaded ponies they couldnot hope to escape and so they waited, until, just as they were ready tocontinue their flight, flight became impossible.

  Darkness had fallen when the little party commenced to resaddletheir ponies and in the midst of their labors there came a rude anddisheartening interruption. Billy had kept either the Chinaman or Bridgeconstantly upon watch toward the direction in which Rozales' men lolledsmoking in the dark, and it was the crack of Bridge's carbine whichawoke the Americans to the fact that though the border lay but a fewmiles away they were still far from safety.

  As he fired Bridge turned in his saddle and shouted to the others tomake for the shelter of the ranchhouse.

  "There are two hundred of them," he cried. "Run for cover!"

  Billy and the Clark brothers leaped to their saddles and spurred towardthe point where Bridge sat pumping lead into the advancing enemy.Mason and Mr. Harding hurried Barbara to the questionable safety of theranchhouse. The Mexican followed them, and Bridge ordered Sing back toassist in barricading the doors and windows, while he and Billy and theClark boys held the bandits in momentary check.

  Falling back slowly and firing constantly as they came the fourapproached the house while Pesita and his full band advanced cautiouslyafter them. They had almost reached the house when Bridge lunged forwardfrom his saddle. The Clark boys had dismounted and were leading theirponies inside the house. Billy alone noted the wounding of his friend.Without an instant's hesitation he slipped from his saddle, ran backto where Bridge lay and lifted him in his arms. Bullets were patteringthick about them. A horseman far in advance of his fellows gallopedforward with drawn saber to cut down the gringos.

  Billy, casting an occasional glance behind, saw the danger in time tomeet it--just, in fact, as the weapon was cutting through the air towardhis head. Dropping Bridge and dodging to one side he managed to escapethe cut, and before the swordsman could recover Billy had leaped to hispony's side and seizing the rider about the waist dragged him to theground.

  "Rozales!" he exclaimed, and struck the man as he had never struckanother in all his life, with the full force of his mighty musclesbacked by his great weight, with clenched fist full in the face.

  There was a spurting of blood and a splintering of bone, and CaptainGuillermo Rozales sank senseless to the ground, his career of crime andrapine ended forever.

  Again Billy lifted Bridge in his arms and this time he succeeded inreaching the ranchhouse without opposition though a little crimsonstream trickled down his left arm to drop upon the face of his friend ashe deposited Bridge upon the floor of the house.

  All night the Pesitistas circled the lone ranchhouse. All night theypoured their volleys into the adobe walls and through the barricadedwindows. All night the little band of defenders fought gallantly fortheir lives; but as day approached the futility of their endeavors wasborne in upon them, for of the nine one was dead and three wounded, andthe numbers of their assailants seemed undiminished.

  Billy Byrne had been lying all night upon his stomach before a windowfiring out into the darkness at the dim forms which occasionally showedagainst the dull, dead background of the moonless desert.

  Presently he leaped to his feet and crossed the floor to the room inwhich the horses had been placed.

  "Everybody fire toward the rear of the house as fast as they can," saidBilly. "I want a clear space for my getaway."

  "Where you goin?" asked one of the Clark brothers.

  "North," replied Billy, "after some of Funston's men on the border."

  "But they won't cross," said Mr. Harding. "Washington won't let them."

  "They gotta," snapped Billy Byrne, "an' they will when they know there'san American girl here with a bunch of Dagos yappin' around."

  "You'll be killed," said Price Clark. "You can't never get through."

  "Leave it to me," replied Billy. "Just get ready an' open that back doorwhen I give the word, an' then shut it again in a hurry when I've gonethrough."

  He led a horse from the side room, and mounted it.

  "Open her up, boes!" he shouted, and "S'long everybody!"

  Price Clark swung the door open. Billy put spurs to his mount and threwhimself forward flat against the animal's neck. Another moment he wasthrough and a rattling fusillade of shots proclaimed the fact that hisbold feat had not gone unnoted by the foe.

  The little Mexican pony shot like a bolt from a crossbow out across thelevel desert. The rattling of carbines only served to add speed to itsfrightened feet. Billy sat erect in the saddle, guiding the horse withhis left hand and working his revolver methodically with his right.

  At a window behind him Barbara Harding stood breathless and spellbounduntil he had disappeared into the gloom of the early morning darknessto the north, then she turned with a weary sigh and resumed her placebeside the wounded Bridge whose head she bathed with cool water, whilehe tossed in the delirium of fever.

  The first streaks of daylight were piercing the heavens, the Pesitistaswere rallying for a decisive charge, the hopes of the little band ofbesieged were at low ebb when from the west there sounded the poundingof many hoofs.

  "Villa," moaned Westcott Clark, hopelessly. "We're done for now, sureenough. He must be comin' back from his raid on the border."

  In the faint light of dawn they saw a column of horsemen deploy suddenlyinto a long, thin line which galloped forward over the flat earth,coming toward them like a huge, relentless engine of destruction.

  The Pesitistas were watching too. They had ceased firing and sat intheir saddles forgetful of their contemplated charge.

  The occupants of the ranchhouse were gathered at the small windows.

  "What's them?" cried Mason--"them things floating over 'em."

  "They're guidons!" exclaimed Price Clark "--the guidons of the UnitedStates cavalry regiment. See 'em! See 'em? God! but don't they lookgood?"

  There was a wild whoop from the lungs of the advancing cavalrymen.Pesita's troops answered it with a scattering volley, and a moment laterthe Americans were among them in that famous revolver charge which isnow history.

  Daylight had come revealing to the watchers in the r
anchhouse thefigures of the combatants. In the thick of the fight loomed the giantfigure of a man in nondescript garb which more closely resembled theapparel of the Pesitistas than it did the uniforms of the Americansoldiery, yet it was with them he fought. Barbara's eyes were the firstto detect him.

  "There's Mr. Byrne," she cried. "It must have been he who brought thetroops."

  "Why, he hasn't had time to reach the border yet," remonstrated one ofthe Clark boys, "much less get back here with help."

  "There he is though," said Mr. Harding. "It's certainly strange. I can'tunderstand what American troops are doing across the border--especiallyunder the present administration."

  The Pesitistas held their ground for but a moment then they wheeled andfled; but not before Pesita himself had forced his pony close to that ofBilly Byrne.

  "Traitor!" screamed the bandit. "You shall die for this," and firedpoint-blank at the American.

  Billy felt a burning sensation in his already wounded left arm; but hisright was still good.

  "For poor, bleeding Mexico!" he cried, and put a bullet through Pesita'sforehead.

  Under escort of the men of the Thirteenth Cavalry who had pursuedVilla's raiders into Mexico and upon whom Billy Byrne had stumbled bychance, the little party of fugitives came safely to United States soil,where all but one breathed sighs of heartfelt relief.

  Bridge was given first aid by members of the hospital corps, who assuredBilly that his friend would not die. Mr. Harding and Barbara were takenin by the wife of an officer, and it was at the quarters of the latterthat Billy Byrne found her alone in the sitting-room.

  The girl looked up as he entered, a sad smile upon her face. She wasabout to ask him of his wound; but he gave her no opportunity.

  "I've come for you," he said. "I gave you up once when I thought it wasbetter for you to marry a man in your own class. I won't give you upagain. You're mine--you're my girl, and I'm goin' to take you with me.Were goin' to Galveston as fast as we can, and from there we're goin' toRio. You belonged to me long before Bridge saw you. He can't have you.Nobody can have you but me, and if anyone tries to keep me from takingyou they'll get killed."

  He took a step nearer that brought him close to her. She did notshrink--only looked up into his face with wide eyes filled with wonder.He seized her roughly in his arms.

  "You are my girl!" he cried hoarsely. "Kiss me!"

  "Wait!" she said. "First tell me what you meant by saying that Bridgecouldn't have me. I never knew that Bridge wanted me, and I certainlyhave never wanted Bridge. O Billy! Why didn't you do this long ago?Months ago in New York I wanted you to take me; but you left me toanother man whom I didn't love. I thought you had ceased to care, Billy,and since we have been together here--since that night in the room backof the office--you have made me feel that I was nothing to you. Take me,Billy! Take me anywhere in the world that you go. I love you and I'llslave for you--anything just to be with you."

  "Barbara!" cried Billy Byrne, and then his voice was smothered by thepressure of warm, red lips against his own.

  A half hour later Billy stepped out into the street to make his way tothe railroad station that he might procure transportation for threeto Galveston. Anthony Harding was going with them. He had listenedto Barbara's pleas, and had finally volunteered to back Billy Byrne'sflight from the jurisdiction of the law, or at least to a place where,under a new name, he could start life over again and live it as theson-in-law of old Anthony Harding should live.

  Among the crowd viewing the havoc wrought by the raiders the previousnight was a large man with a red face. It happened that he turnedsuddenly about as Billy Byrne was on the point of passing behind him.Both men started as recognition lighted their faces and he of the redface found himself looking down the barrel of a six-shooter.

  "Put it up, Byrne," he admonished the other coolly. "I didn't know youwere so good on the draw."

  "I'm good on the draw all right, Flannagan," said Billy, "and I ain'tdrawin' for amusement neither. I gotta chance to get away and livestraight, and have a little happiness in life, and, Flannagan, the manwho tries to crab my game is goin' to get himself croaked. I'll never goback to stir alive. See?"

  "Yep," said Flannagan, "I see; but I ain't tryin' to crab your game. Iain't down here after you this trip. Where you been, anyway, that youdon't know the war's over? Why Coke Sheehan confessed a month ago thatit was him that croaked Schneider, and the governor pardoned you aboutten days ago."

  "You stringin' me?" asked Billy, a vicious glint in his eyes.

  "On the level," Flannagan assured him. "Wait, I gotta clippin' from theTrib in my clothes somewheres that gives all the dope."

  He drew some papers from his coat pocket and handed one to Billy.

  "Turn your back and hold up your hands while I read," said Byrne, and asFlannagan did as he was bid Billy unfolded the soiled bit of newspaperand read that which set him a-trembling with nervous excitement.

  A moment later Detective Sergeant Flannagan ventured a rearward glanceto note how Byrne was receiving the joyful tidings which the newspaperarticle contained.

  "Well, I'll be!" ejaculated the sleuth, for Billy Byrne was alreadya hundred yards away and breaking all records in his dash for thesitting-room he had quitted but a few minutes before.

  It was a happy and contented trio who took the train the following dayon their way back to New York City after bidding Bridge good-bye in theimprovised hospital and exacting his promise that he would visit them inNew York in the near future.

  It was a month later; spring was filling the southland with new, sweetlife. The joy of living was reflected in the song of birds and theopening of buds. Beside a slow-moving stream a man squatted before atiny fire. A battered tin can, half filled with water stood close to theburning embers. Upon a sharpened stick the man roasted a bit of meat,and as he watched it curling at the edges as the flame licked it hespoke aloud though there was none to hear:

  Just for a con I'd like to know (yes, he crossed over long ago; And he was right, believe me, bo!) if somewhere in the South, Down where the clouds lie on the sea, he found his sweet Penelope With buds of roses in her hair and kisses on her mouth.

  "Which is what they will be singing about me one of these days," hecommented.