“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 his brain over the inconsequential matter something stirred upon the floor close to his feet, and presently he jerked back a booted foot that a rat had commenced to gnaw upon.
“Helluva place to stick a guy,” mused Billy, “in wit a bunch o’ man-eatin’ rats. Hey!” and he turned his face toward the door. “You, Eddie! Come here!”
Eddie approached the door and listened.
“Wot do you want?” he asked. “None o’ your funny business, you know. I’m from Shawnee, Kansas, I am, an’ they don’t come no slicker from nowhere on earth. You can’t fool me.”
Shawnee, Kansas! Eddie Shorter! The whole puzzle was cleared in Billy’s mind in an instant.
“So you’re Eddie Shorter of Shawnee, Kansas, are you?” called Billy. “Well I know your maw, Eddie, an’ ef I had such a maw as you got I wouldn’t be down here wastin’ my time workin’ alongside a lot of Dagos; but that ain’t what I started out to say, which was that I want a light in here. The damned rats are tryin’ to chaw off me kicks an’ when they’re done wit them they’ll climb up after me an’ old man Villa’ll be sore as a pup.”
“You know my maw?” asked Eddie, and there was a wistful note in his voice. “Aw shucks! you don’t know her—that’s jest some o’ your funny, slicker business. You wanna git me in there an’ then you’ll try an’ git aroun’ me some sort o’ way to let you escape; but I’m too slick for that.”
“On the level Eddie, I know your maw,” persisted Billy. “I ben in your maw’s house jest a few weeks ago. ’Member the horsehair sofa between the windows? ’Member the Bible on the little marble-topped table? Eh? An’ Tige? Well, Tige’s croaked; but your maw an’ your paw ain’t an’ they want you back, Eddie. I don’t care ef you believe me, son, or not; but your maw was mighty good to me, an’ you promise me you’ll write her an’ then go back home as fast as you can. It ain’t everybody’s got a swell maw like that, an’ them as has ought to be good to ’em.”
Beyond the closed door Eddie’s jaw was commencing to tremble. Memory was flooding his heart and his eyes with sweet recollections of an ample breast where he used to pillow his head, of a big capable hand that was wont to smooth his brow and stroke back his red hair. Eddie gulped.
“You ain’t joshin’ me?” he asked. Billy Byrne caught the tremor in the voice.
“I ain’t kiddin’ you son,” he said. “Wotinell do you take me fer—one o’ these greasy Dagos? You an’ I’re Americans—I wouldn’t string a home guy down here in this here Godforsaken neck o’ the woods.”
Billy heard the lock turn, and a moment later the door was cautiously opened revealing Eddie safely ensconced behind two six-shooters.
“That’s right, Eddie,” said Billy, with a laugh. “Don’t you take no chances, no matter how much sob stuff I hand you, fer, I’ll give it to you straight, ef I get the chanct I’ll make my getaway; but I can’t do it wit my flippers trussed, an’ you wit a brace of gats sittin’ on me. Let’s have a light, Eddie. That won’t do nobody any harm, an’ it may discourage the rats.”
Eddie backed across the office to a table where stood a small lamp. Keeping an eye through the door on his prisoner he lighted the lamp and carried it into the back room, setting it upon a commode which stood in one corner.
“You really seen maw?” he asked. “Is she well?”
“Looked well when I seen her,” said Billy; “but she wants her boy back a whole lot. I guess she’d look better still ef he walked in on her some day.”
“I’ll do it,” cried Eddie. “The minute they get money for the pay I’ll hike. Tell me your name. I’ll ask her ef she remembers you when I get home. Gee! but I wish I was walkin’ in the front door now.”
“She never knew my name,” said Billy; “but you tell her you seen the bo that mussed up the two yeggmen who rolled her an’ were tryin’ to croak her wit a butcher knife. I guess she ain’t fergot. Me an’ my pal were beatin’ it—he was
