“Like takin’ candy from a baby,” said Billy, when the flickering lights of Cuivaca shone to the south of them, and the road ahead lay clear to the rendezvous of the brigands.
“Yes,” agreed Bridge; “but what I’d like to know, Billy, is how you found out I was there.”
“Penelope,” said Byrne, laughing.
“Penelope!” queried Bridge. “I’m not at all sure that I follow you, Billy.”
“Well, seein’ as you’re sittin’ on behind you can’t be leadin’ me,” returned Billy; “but cuttin’ the kid it was a skirt tipped it off to me where you was—the beautiful señorita of El Orobo Rancho, I think José called her. Now are you hep?”
Bridge gave an exclamation of astonishment. “God bless her!” he said. “She did that for me?”
“She sure did,” Billy assured him, “an’ I’ll bet an iron case she’s a-waitin’ for you there with buds o’ roses in her hair an’ kisses on her mouth, you old son-of-a-gun, you.” Billy laughed happily. He was happy anyway at having rescued Bridge, and the knowledge that his friend was in love and that the girl reciprocated his affection—all of which Billy assumed as the only explanation of her interest in Bridge—only added to his joy. “She ain’t a greaser is she?” he asked presently.
“I should say not,” replied Bridge. “She’s a perfect queen from New York City; but, Billy, she’s not for me. What she did was prompted by a generous heart. She couldn’t care for me, Billy. Her father is a wealthy man—he could have the pick of the land—of many lands—if she cared to marry. You don’t think for a minute she’d want a hobo, do you?”
“You can’t most always tell,” replied Billy, a trifle sadly. “I knew such a queen once who would have chosen a mucker, if he’d a-let her. You’re stuck on her, ol’ man?”
“I’m afraid I am, Billy,” Bridge admitted; “but what’s the use? Let’s forget it. Oh, say, is this the horse I let you take the night you robbed the bank?”
“Yes,” said Billy; “same little pony, an’ a mighty well-behaved one, too. Why?”
“It’s hers,” said Bridge.
“An’ she wants it back?”
“She didn’t say so; but I’d like to get it to her some way,” said Bridge.
“You ride it back when you go,” suggested Billy.
“But I can’t go back,” said Bridge; “it was Grayson, the foreman, who made it so hot for me I had to leave. He tried to arrest me and send me to Villa.”
“What for?” asked Billy.
“He didn’t like me, and wanted to get rid of me.” Bridge wouldn’t say that his relations with Billy had brought him into trouble.
“Oh, well, I’ll take it back myself then, and at the same time I’ll tell Penelope what a regular fellow you are, and punch in the foreman’s face for good luck.”
“No, you mustn’t go there. They know you now. It was some of El Orobo’s men you shot up day before yesterday when you took their steers from them. They recognized the pony, and one of them had seen you in Cuivaca the night of the robbery. They would be sure to get you, Billy.”
Shortly the two came in touch with the retreating Pesitistas who were riding slowly toward their mountain camp. Their pursuers had long since given up the chase, fearing that they might be being lured into the midst of a greatly superior force, and had returned to Cuivaca.
It was nearly morning when Bridge and Billy threw themselves down upon the latter’s blankets, fagged.
“Well, well,” murmured Billy Byrne; “li’l ol’ Bridgie’s found his Penelope,” and fell asleep.
XIII
Barbara Again
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 José’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 José’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 José’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 José’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.
“José 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 José. Who could the man be? Billy did not recognize him; but presently José answered the question.
“It shall be done as you wish, Señor 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
