His carbine was in its boot at the horse’s side, and the animal was lying upon it. Instantly Bridge rode to his side and covered him with his revolver.
“Don’t move,” he commanded, “or I’ll be under the painful necessity of terminating your earthly endeavors right here and now.”
“Well, for the love o’ Mike!” cried the fallen bandit. “You?”
Bridge was off his horse the instant that the familiar voice sounded in his ears.
“Billy!” he exclaimed. “Why—Billy—was it you who robbed the bank?”
Even as he spoke Bridge was busy easing the weight of the dead pony from Billy’s leg.
“Anything broken?” he asked as the bandit struggled to free himself.
“Not so you could notice it,” replied Billy, and a moment later he was on his feet. “Say, bo,” he added, “it’s a mighty good thing you dropped little pinto here, for I’d a sure got you my next shot. Gee! it makes me sweat to think of it. But about this bank robbin’ business. You can’t exactly say that I robbed a bank. That money was the enemy’s resources, an’ I just nicked their resources. That’s war. That ain’t robbery. I ain’t takin’ it for myself—it’s for the cause—the cause o’ poor, bleedin’ Mexico,” and Billy grinned a large grin.
“You took it for Pesita?” asked Bridge.
“Of course,” replied Billy. “I won’t get a jitney of it. I wouldn’t take none of it, Bridge, honest. I’m on the square now.”
“I know you are, Billy,” replied the other; “but if you’re caught you might find it difficult to convince the authorities of your highmindedness and your disinterestedness.”
“Authorities!” scoffed Billy. “There ain’t no authorities in Mexico. One bandit is just as good as another, and from Pesita to Carranza they’re all bandits at heart. They ain’t a one of ’em that gives two whoops in hell for poor, bleedin’ Mexico—unless they can do the bleedin’ themselves. It’s dog eat dog here. If they caught me they’d shoot me whether I’d robbed their bank or not. What’s that?” Billy was suddenly alert, straining his eyes back in the direction of Cuivaca.
“They’re coming, Billy,” said Bridge. “Take my horse—quick! You must get out of here in a hurry. The whole post is searching for you. I thought that they went toward the south, though. Some of them must have circled.”
“What’ll you do if I take your horse?” asked Billy.
“I can walk back,” said Bridge, “it isn’t far to town. I’ll tell them that I had come only a short distance when my horse threw me and ran away. They’ll believe it for they think I’m a rotten horseman—the two vaqueros who escorted me to town I mean.”
Billy hesitated. “I hate to do it, Bridge,” he said.
“You must, Billy,” urged the other.
“If they find us here together it’ll merely mean that the two of us will get it, for I’ll stick with you, Billy, and we can’t fight off a whole troop of cavalry out here in the open. If you take my horse we can both get out of it, and later I’ll see you in Rio. Goodbye, Billy, I’m off for town,” and Bridge turned and started back along the road on foot.
Billy watched him in silence for a moment. The truth of Bridge’s statement of fact was so apparent that Billy was forced to accept the plan. A moment later he transferred the bags of loot to Bridge’s pony, swung into the saddle, and took a last backward look at the diminishing figure of the man swinging along in the direction of Cuivaca.
“Say,” he muttered to himself; “but you’re a right one, bo,” and wheeling to the north he clapped his spurs to his new mount and loped easily off into the night.
XI
Barbara Releases a Conspirator
It was a week later, yet Grayson still was growling about the loss of “that there Brazos pony.” Grayson, the boss, and the boss’s daughter were sitting upon the veranda of the ranchhouse when the foreman reverted to the subject.
“I knew I didn’t have no business hirin’ a man thet can’t ride,” he said. “Why thet there Brazos pony never did stumble, an’ if he’d of stumbled he’d a-stood aroun’ a year waitin’ to be caught up agin. I jest cain’t figger it out no ways how thet there tenderfoot bookkeeper lost him. He must a-shooed him away with a stick. An’ saddle an’ bridle an’ all gone too. Doggone it!”
“I’m the one who should be peeved,” spoke up the girl with a wry smile. “Brazos was my pony. He’s the one you picked out for me to ride while I am here; but I am sure poor Mr. Bridge feels as badly about it as anyone, and I know that he couldn’t help it. We shouldn’t be too hard on him. We might just as well attempt to hold him responsible for the looting of the bank and the loss of the payroll money.”
“Well,” said Grayson, “I give him thet horse ’cause I knew he couldn’t ride, an’ thet was the safest horse in the cavvy. I wisht I’d given him Santa Anna instid—I wouldn’t a-minded losin’ him. There won’t no one ride him anyhow he’s thet ornery.”
“The thing that surprises me most,” remarked the boss, “is that Brazos doesn’t come back. He was foaled on this range, and he’s never been ridden anywhere else, has he?”
“He was foaled right here on this ranch,” Grayson corrected him, “and he ain’t never been more’n a hundred mile from it. If he ain’t dead or stolen he’d a-ben back afore the bookkeeper was. It’s almighty queer.”
“What sort of bookkeeper is Mr. Bridge?” asked the girl.
“Oh, he’s all right I guess,” replied Grayson grudgingly. “A feller’s got to be some good at something. He’s probably one of these here paper-collar, cracker-fed college dudes thet don’t know nothin’ else ’cept writin’ in books.”
The girl rose, smiled, and moved away.
“I like Mr. Bridge, anyhow,” she called back over her shoulder, “for
