But four against one when all the advantages lie with the four are heavy odds, and when Grayson and José 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 tin-horn.”
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 “José’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
