"THE MUCKER\n\nBy Edgar Rice Burroughs\n\n\n\nTHE MUCKER: Originally published serially in All-Story Cavalier Weekly.\nCopyright (c) 1914, by The Frank A. Munsey Co.\n\nTHE RETURN OF THE MUCKER: Sequel to THE MUCKER. Originally published\nserially in All-Story Weekly. Copyright (c) 1916, by The Frank A. Munsey\nCo.\n\nFirst Ballantine Edition: January, 1966\n\nManufactured in the United States of America\n\nBALLANTINE BOOKS, INC. 101 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10003\n\n\n\n\nPART I.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. BILLY BYRNE\n\n\nBILLY BYRNE was a product of the streets and alleys of Chicago's great\nWest Side. From Halsted to Robey, and from Grand Avenue to Lake Street\nthere was scarce a bartender whom Billy knew not by his first name. And,\nin proportion to their number which was considerably less, he knew the\npatrolmen and plain clothes men equally as well, but not so pleasantly.\n\nHis kindergarten education had commenced in an alley back of a\nfeed-store. Here a gang of older boys and men were wont to congregate\nat such times as they had naught else to occupy their time, and as the\nbridewell was the only place in which they ever held a job for more than\na day or two, they had considerable time to devote to congregating.\n\nThey were pickpockets and second-story men, made and in the making, and\nall were muckers, ready to insult the first woman who passed, or pick\na quarrel with any stranger who did not appear too burly. By night they\nplied their real vocations. By day they sat in the alley behind the\nfeedstore and drank beer from a battered tin pail.\n\nThe question of labor involved in transporting the pail, empty, to the\nsaloon across the street, and returning it, full, to the alley back of\nthe feed-store was solved by the presence of admiring and envious little\nboys of the neighborhood who hung, wide-eyed and thrilled, about these\nheroes of their childish lives.\n\nBilly Byrne, at six, was rushing the can for this noble band, and\nincidentally picking up his knowledge of life and the rudiments of his\neducation. He gloried in the fact that he was personally acquainted with\n\"Eddie\" Welch, and that with his own ears he had heard \"Eddie\" tell the\ngang how he stuck up a guy on West Lake Street within fifty yards of the\nTwenty-eighth Precinct Police Station.\n\nThe kindergarten period lasted until Billy was ten; then he commenced\n\"swiping\" brass faucets from vacant buildings and selling them to a\nfence who ran a junkshop on Lincoln Street near Kinzie.\n\nFrom this man he obtained the hint that graduated him to a higher grade,\nso that at twelve he was robbing freight cars in the yards along Kinzie\nStreet, and it was about this same time that he commenced to find\npleasure in the feel of his fist against the jaw of a fellow-man.\n\nHe had had his boyish scraps with his fellows off and on ever since he\ncould remember; but his first real fight came when he was twelve. He\nhad had an altercation with an erstwhile pal over the division of the\nreturns from some freight-car booty. The gang was all present, and as\nwords quickly gave place to blows, as they have a habit of doing in\ncertain sections of the West Side, the men and boys formed a rough ring\nabout the contestants.\n\nThe battle was a long one. The two were rolling about in the dust of\nthe alley quite as often as they were upon their feet exchanging blows.\nThere was nothing fair, nor decent, nor scientific about their methods.\nThey gouged and bit and tore. They used knees and elbows and feet, and\nbut for the timely presence of a brickbat beneath his fingers at the\npsychological moment Billy Byrne would have gone down to humiliating\ndefeat. As it was the other boy went down, and for a week Billy remained\nhidden by one of the gang pending the report from the hospital.\n\nWhen word came that the patient would live, Billy felt an immense load\nlifted from his shoulders, for he dreaded arrest and experience with\nthe law that he had learned from childhood to deride and hate. Of course\nthere was the loss of prestige that would naturally have accrued to him\ncould he have been pointed out as the \"guy that croaked Sheehan\"; but\nthere is always a fly in the ointment, and Billy only sighed and came\nout of his temporary retirement.\n\nThat battle started Billy to thinking, and the result of that\nmental activity was a determination to learn to handle his mitts\nscientifically--people of the West Side do not have hands; they are\nequipped by Nature with mitts and dukes. A few have paws and flippers.\n\nHe had no opportunity to realize his new dream for several years; but\nwhen he was about seventeen a neighbor's son surprised his little world\nby suddenly developing from an unknown teamster into a locally famous\nlight-weight.\n\nThe young man never had been affiliated with the gang, as his escutcheon\nwas defiled with a record of steady employment. So Billy had known\nnothing of the sparring lessons his young neighbor had taken, or of the\nwork he had done at the down-town gymnasium of Larry Hilmore.\n\nNow it happened that while the new light-weight was unknown to the\ncharmed circle of the gang, Billy knew him fairly well by reason of\nthe proximity of their respective parental back yards, and so when the\nglamour of pugilistic success haloed the young man Billy lost no time in\nbasking in the light of reflected glory.\n\nHe saw much of his new hero all the following winter. He accompanied him\nto many mills, and on one glorious occasion occupied a position in the\ncoming champion's corner. When the prize fighter toured, Billy continued\nto hang around Hilmore's place, running errands and doing odd jobs, the\nwhile he picked up pugilistic lore, and absorbed the spirit of the\ngame along with the rudiments and finer points of its science, almost\nunconsciously. Then his ambition changed. Once he had longed to shine as\na gunman; now he was determined to become a prize fighter; but the\nold gang still saw much of him, and he was a familiar figure about the\nsaloon corners along Grand Avenue and Lake Street.\n\nDuring this period Billy neglected the box cars on Kinzie Street,\npartially because he felt that he was fitted for more dignified\nemployment, and as well for the fact that the railroad company had\ndoubled the number of watchmen in the yards; but there were times when\nhe felt the old yearning for excitement and adventure. These times were\nusually coincident with an acute financial depression in Billy's change\npocket, and then he would fare forth in the still watches of the night,\nwith a couple of boon companions and roll a souse, or stick up a saloon.\n\nIt was upon an occasion of this nature that an event occurred which was\nfated later to change the entire course of Billy Byrne's life. Upon\nthe West Side the older gangs are jealous of the sanctity of their own\nterritory. Outsiders do not trespass with impunity. From Halsted to\nRobey, and from Lake to Grand lay the broad hunting preserve of Kelly's\ngang, to which Billy had been almost born, one might say. Kelly owned\nthe feed-store back of which the gang had loafed for years, and though\nhimself a respectable businessman his name had been attached to the\npack of hoodlums who held forth at his back door as the easiest means of\nlocating and identifying its motley members.\n\nThe police and citizenry of this great territory were the natural\nenemies and prey of Kelly's gang, but as the kings of old protected\nthe deer of their great forests from poachers, so Kelly's gang felt\nit incumbent upon them to safeguard the lives and property which they\nconsidered theirs by divine right. It is doubtful that they thought of\nthe matter in just this way, but the effect was the same.\n\nAnd so it was that as Billy Byrne wended homeward alone in the wee hours\nof the morning after emptying the cash drawer of old Schneider's saloon\nand locking the weeping Schneider in his own ice box, he was deeply\ngrieved and angered to see three rank outsiders from Twelfth Street\nbeating Patrolman Stanley Lasky with his own baton, the while they\nsimultaneously strove to kick in his ribs with their heavy boots.\n\nNow Lasky was no friend of Billy Byrne; but the officer had been\nborn and raised in the district and was attached to the Twenty-eighth\nPrecinct Station on Lake Street near Ashland Avenue, and so was part\nand parcel of the natural possession of the gang. Billy felt that it was\nentirely ethical to beat up a cop, provided you confined your efforts\nto those of your own district; but for a bunch of yaps from south\nof Twelfth Street to attempt to pull off any such coarse work in his\nbailiwick--why it was unthinkable.\n\nA hero and rescuer of lesser experience than Billy Byrne would\nhave rushed melodramatically into the midst of the fray, and in all\nprobability have had his face pushed completely through the back of his\nhead, for the guys from Twelfth Street were not of the rah-rah-boy type\nof hoodlum--they were bad men, with an upper case B. So Billy crept\nstealthily along in the shadows until he was quite close to them, and\nbehind them. On the way he had gathered up a cute little granite paving\nblock, than which there is nothing in the world harder, not even a\nTwelfth Street skull. He was quite close now to one of the men--he who\nwas wielding the officer's club to such excellent disadvantage to the\nofficer--and then he raised the paving block only to lower it silently\nand suddenly upon the back of that unsuspecting head--\"and then there\nwere two.\"\n\nBefore the man's companions realized what had happened Billy had\npossessed himself of the fallen club and struck one of them a blinding,\nstaggering blow across the eyes. Then number three pulled his gun and\nfired point-blank at Billy. The bullet tore through the mucker's left\nshoulder. It would have sent a more highly organized and nervously\ninclined man to the pavement; but Billy was neither highly organized nor\nnervously inclined, so that about the only immediate effect it had upon\nhim was to make him mad--before he had been but peeved--peeved at the\nrank crust that had permitted these cheap-skates from south of Twelfth\nStreet to work his territory.\n\nThoroughly aroused, Billy was a wonder. From a long line of burly\nancestors he had inherited the physique of a prize bull. From earliest\nchildhood he had fought, always unfairly, so that he knew all the tricks\nof street fighting. During the past year there had been added to Billy's\nnatural fighting ability and instinct a knowledge of the scientific\nend of the sport. The result was something appalling--to the gink from\nTwelfth Street.\n\nBefore he knew whether his shot had killed Billy his gun had been\nwrenched from his hand and flung across the street; he was down on the\ngranite with a hand as hard as the paving block scrambling his facial\nattractions beyond hope of recall.\n\nBy this time Patrolman Lasky had staggered to his feet, and most\nopportunely at that, for the man whom Billy had dazed with the club was\nrecovering. Lasky promptly put him to sleep with the butt of the gun\nthat he had been unable to draw when first attacked, then he turned to\nassist Billy. But it was not Billy who needed assistance--it was the\ngentleman from Bohemia. With difficulty Lasky dragged Billy from his\nprey.\n\n\"Leave enough of him for the inquest,\" pleaded Lasky.\n\nWhen the wagon arrived Billy had disappeared, but Lasky had recognized\nhim and thereafter the two had nodded pleasantly to each other upon such\noccasions as they chanced to meet upon the street.\n\nTwo years elapsed before the event transpired which proved a crisis in\nBilly's life. During this period his existence had been much the same as\nbefore. He had collected what was coming to him from careless and less\nmuscular citizens. He had helped to stick up a half-dozen saloons. He\nhad robbed the night men in two elevated stations, and for a while had\nbeen upon the pay-roll of a certain union and done strong arm work in\nall parts of the city for twenty-five dollars a week.\n\nBy day he was a general utility man about Larry Hilmore's boxing\nacademy, and time and time again Hilmore urged him to quit drinking\nand live straight, for he saw in the young giant the makings of a great\nheavy-weight; but Billy couldn't leave the booze alone, and so the best\nthat he got was an occasional five spot for appearing in preliminary\nbouts with third- and fourth-rate heavies and has-beens; but during the\nthree years that he had hung about Hilmore's he had acquired an enviable\nknowledge of the manly art of self-defense.\n\nOn the night that things really began to happen in the life of Billy\nByrne that estimable gentleman was lolling in front of a saloon at the\ncorner of Lake and Robey. The dips that congregated nightly there under\nthe protection of the powerful politician who owned the place were\ncommencing to assemble. Billy knew them all, and nodded to them as they\npassed him. He noted surprise in the faces of several as they saw him\nstanding there. He wondered what it was all about, and determined to ask\nthe next man who evinced even mute wonderment at his presence what was\neating him.\n\nThen Billy saw a harness bull strolling toward him from the east. It was\nLasky. When Lasky saw Billy he too opened his eyes in surprise, and when\nhe came quite close to the mucker he whispered something to him, though\nhe kept his eyes straight ahead as though he had not seen Billy at all.\n\nIn deference to the whispered request Billy presently strolled around\nthe corner toward Walnut Street, but at the alley back of the saloon he\nturned suddenly in. A hundred yards up the alley he found Lasky in the\nshadow of a telephone pole.\n\n\"Wotinell are you doin' around here?\" asked the patrolman. \"Didn't you\nknow that Sheehan had peached?\"\n\nTwo nights before old man Schneider, goaded to desperation by the\nrepeated raids upon his cash drawer, had shown fight when he again\nhad been invited to elevate his hands, and the holdup men had shot him\nthrough the heart. Sheehan had been arrested on suspicion.\n\nBilly had not been with Sheehan that night. As a matter of fact he never\nhad trained with him, for, since the boyish battle that the two had\nwaged, there had always been ill feeling between them; but with Lasky's\nwords Billy knew what had happened.\n\n\"Sheehan says I done it, eh?\" he questioned.\n\n\"That's what he says.\"\n\n\"I wasn't within a mile of Schneider's that night,\" protested Billy.\n\n\"The Lieut thinks different,\" said Lasky. \"He'd be only too glad to soak\nyou; for you've always been too slick to get nicked before. Orders is\nout to get you, and if I were you I'd beat it and beat it quick. I don't\nhave to tell you why I'm handing you this, but it's all I can do for\nyou. Now take my advice and make yourself scarce, though you'll have\nto go some to make your get-away now--every man on the force has your\ndescription by this time.\"\n\nBilly turned without a word and walked east in the alley toward Lincoln\nStreet. Lasky returned to Robey Street. In Lincoln Street Billy walked\nnorth to Kinzie. Here he entered the railroad yards. An hour later he\nwas bumping out of town toward the West on a fast freight. Three weeks\nlater he found himself in San Francisco. He had no money, but the\nmethods that had so often replenished his depleted exchequer at home he\nfelt would serve the same purpose here.\n\nBeing unfamiliar with San Francisco, Billy did not know where best to\nwork, but when by accident he stumbled upon a street where there were\nmany saloons whose patrons were obviously seafaring men Billy was\ndistinctly elated. What could be better for his purpose than a drunken\nsailor?\n\nHe entered one of the saloons and stood watching a game of cards,\nor thus he seemed to be occupied. As a matter of fact his eyes were\nconstantly upon the alert, roving about the room to wherever a man was\nin the act of paying for a round of drinks that a fat wallet might be\nlocated.\n\nPresently one that filled him with longing rewarded his careful watch.\nThe man was sitting at a table a short distance from Billy. Two other\nmen were with him. As he paid the waiter from a well-filled pocketbook\nhe looked up to meet Billy's eyes upon him.\n\nWith a drunken smile he beckoned to the mucker to join them. Billy felt\nthat Fate was overkind to him, and he lost no time in heeding her call.\nA moment later he was sitting at the table with the three sailors, and\nhad ordered a drop of red-eye.\n\nThe stranger was very lavish in his entertainment. He scarcely waited\nfor Billy to drain one glass before he ordered another, and once after\nBilly had left the table for a moment he found a fresh drink awaiting\nhim when he returned--his host had already poured it for him.\n\nIt was this last drink that did the business.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. SHANGHAIED\n\nWHEN Billy opened his eyes again he could not recall, for the instant,\nvery much of his recent past. At last he remembered with painful regret\nthe drunken sailor it had been his intention to roll. He felt deeply\nchagrined that his rightful prey should have escaped him. He couldn't\nunderstand how it had happened.\n\n\"This Frisco booze must be something fierce,\" thought Billy.\n\nHis head ached frightfully and he was very sick. So sick that the room\nin which he lay seemed to be rising and falling in a horribly realistic\nmanner. Every time it dropped it brought Billy's stomach nearly to his\nmouth.\n\nBilly shut his eyes. Still the awful sensation. Billy groaned. He never\nhad been so sick in all his life before, and, my, how his poor head did\nhurt. Finding that it only seemed to make matters worse when he closed\nhis eyes Billy opened them again.\n\nHe looked about the room in which he lay. He found it a stuffy hole\nfilled with bunks in tiers three deep around the sides. In the center of\nthe room was a table. Above the table a lamp hung suspended from one of\nthe wooden beams of the ceiling.\n\nThe lamp arrested Billy's attention. It was swinging back and forth\nrather violently. This could not be a hallucination. The room might seem\nto be rising and falling, but that lamp could not seem to be swinging\naround in any such manner if it were not really and truly swinging. He\ncouldn't account for it. Again he shut his eyes for a moment. When he\nopened them to look again at the lamp he found it still swung as before.\n\nCautiously he slid from his bunk to the floor. It was with difficulty\nthat he kept his feet. Still that might be but the effects of the\nliquor. At last he reached the table to which he clung for support while\nhe extended one hand toward the lamp.\n\nThere was no longer any doubt! The lamp was beating back and forth like\nthe clapper of a great bell. Where was he? Billy sought a window. He\nfound some little round, glass-covered holes near the low ceiling at one\nside of the room. It was only at the greatest risk to life and limb that\nhe managed to crawl on all fours to one of them.\n\nAs he straightened up and glanced through he was appalled at the\nsight that met his eyes. As far as he could see there was naught but a\ntumbling waste of water. And then the truth of what had happened to him\nbroke upon his understanding.\n\n\"An' I was goin' to roll that guy!\" he muttered in helpless\nbewilderment. \"I was a-goin' to roll him, and now look here wot he has\ndone to me!\"\n\nAt that moment a light appeared above as the hatch was raised, and Billy\nsaw the feet and legs of a large man descending the ladder from above.\nWhen the newcomer reached the floor and turned to look about his eyes\nmet Billy's, and Billy saw that it was his host of the previous evening.\n\n\"Well, my hearty, how goes it?\" asked the stranger.\n\n\"You pulled it off pretty slick,\" said Billy.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the other with a frown.\n\n\"Come off,\" said Billy; \"you know what I mean.\"\n\n\"Look here,\" replied the other coldly. \"Don't you forget that I'm mate\nof this ship, an' that you want to speak respectful to me if you ain't\nlookin' for trouble. My name's MR. Ward, an' when you speak to me say\nSIR. Understand?\"\n\nBilly scratched his head, and blinked his eyes. He never before had\nbeen spoken to in any such fashion--at least not since he had put on the\navoirdupois of manhood. His head ached horribly and he was sick to his\nstomach--frightfully sick. His mind was more upon his physical suffering\nthan upon what the mate was saying, so that quite a perceptible interval\nof time elapsed before the true dimensions of the affront to his dignity\ncommenced to percolate into the befogged and pain-racked convolutions of\nhis brain.\n\nThe mate thought that his bluster had bluffed the new hand. That was\nwhat he had come below to accomplish. Experience had taught him that an\nearly lesson in discipline and subordination saved unpleasant encounters\nin the future. He also had learned that there is no better time to put\na bluff of this nature across than when the victim is suffering from the\nafter-effects of whiskey and a drug--mentality, vitality, and courage\nare then at their lowest ebb. A brave man often is reduced to the\npitiful condition of a yellow dog when nausea sits astride his stomach.\n\nBut the mate was not acquainted with Billy Byrne of Kelly's gang.\nBilly's brain was befuddled, so that it took some time for an idea to\nwriggle its way through, but his courage was all there, and all to the\ngood. Billy was a mucker, a hoodlum, a gangster, a thug, a tough. When\nhe fought, his methods would have brought a flush of shame to the face\nof His Satanic Majesty. He had hit oftener from behind than from before.\nHe had always taken every advantage of size and weight and numbers that\nhe could call to his assistance. He was an insulter of girls and women.\nHe was a bar-room brawler, and a saloon-corner loafer. He was all that\nwas dirty, and mean, and contemptible, and cowardly in the eyes of a\nbrave man, and yet, notwithstanding all this, Billy Byrne was no coward.\nHe was what he was because of training and environment. He knew no other\nmethods; no other code. Whatever the meager ethics of his kind he would\nhave lived up to them to the death. He never had squealed on a pal,\nand he never had left a wounded friend to fall into the hands of the\nenemy--the police.\n\nNor had he ever let a man speak to him, as the mate had spoken, and get\naway with it, and so, while he did not act as quickly as would have been\nhis wont had his brain been clear, he did act; but the interval of time\nhad led the mate into an erroneous conception of its cause, and into\na further rash show of authority, and had thrown him off his guard as\nwell.\n\n\"What you need,\" said the mate, advancing toward Billy, \"is a bash on\nthe beezer. It'll help you remember that you ain't nothin' but a dirty\ndamn landlubber, an' when your betters come around you'll--\"\n\nBut what Billy would have done in the presence of his betters remained\nstillborn in the mate's imagination in the face of what Billy really\ndid do to his better as that worthy swung a sudden, vicious blow at the\nmucker's face.\n\nBilly Byrne had not been scrapping with third- and fourth-rate heavies,\nand sparring with real, live ones for nothing. The mate's fist whistled\nthrough empty air; the blear-eyed hunk of clay that had seemed such\neasy prey to him was metamorphosed on the instant into an alert, catlike\nbundle of steel sinews, and Billy Byrne swung that awful right with the\npile-driver weight, that even The Big Smoke himself had acknowledged\nrespect for, straight to the short ribs of his antagonist.\n\nWith a screech of surprise and pain the mate crumpled in the far corner\nof the forecastle, rammed halfway beneath a bunk by the force of the\nterrific blow. Like a tiger Billy Byrne was after him, and dragging the\nman out into the center of the floor space he beat and mauled him until\nhis victim's blood-curdling shrieks echoed through the ship from stem to\nstern.\n\nWhen the captain, followed by a half-dozen seamen rushed down the\ncompanionway, he found Billy sitting astride the prostrate form of the\nmate. His great fingers circled the man's throat, and with mighty blows\nhe was dashing the fellow's head against the hard floor. Another moment\nand murder would have been complete.\n\n\"Avast there!\" cried the captain, and as though to punctuate his remark\nhe swung the heavy stick he usually carried full upon the back of\nBilly's head. It was that blow that saved the mate's life, for when\nBilly came to he found himself in a dark and smelly hole, chained and\npadlocked to a heavy stanchion.\n\nThey kept Billy there for a week; but every day the captain visited him\nin an attempt to show him the error of his way. The medium used by the\nskipper for impressing his ideas of discipline upon Billy was a large,\nhard stick. At the end of the week it was necessary to carry Billy above\nto keep the rats from devouring him, for the continued beatings and\nstarvation had reduced him to little more than an unconscious mass of\nraw and bleeding meat.\n\n\"There,\" remarked the skipper, as he viewed his work by the light of\nday, \"I guess that fellow'll know his place next time an officer an' a\ngentleman speaks to him.\"\n\nThat Billy survived is one of the hitherto unrecorded miracles of the\npower of matter over mind. A man of intellect, of imagination, a being\nof nerves, would have succumbed to the shock alone; but Billy was not as\nthese. He simply lay still and thoughtless, except for half-formed ideas\nof revenge, until Nature, unaided, built up what the captain had so\nruthlessly torn down.\n\nTen days after they brought him up from the hold Billy was limping\nabout the deck of the Halfmoon doing light manual labor. From the other\nsailors aboard he learned that he was not the only member of the crew\nwho had been shanghaied. Aside from a half-dozen reckless men from the\ncriminal classes who had signed voluntarily, either because they could\nnot get a berth upon a decent ship, or desired to flit as quietly from\nthe law zone of the United States as possible, not a man was there who\nhad been signed regularly.\n\nThey were as tough and vicious a lot as Fate ever had foregathered in\none forecastle, and with them Billy Byrne felt perfectly at home. His\nearly threats of awful vengeance to be wreaked upon the mate and skipper\nhad subsided with the rough but sensible advice of his messmates. The\nmate, for his part, gave no indication of harboring the assault that\nBilly had made upon him other than to assign the most dangerous or\ndisagreeable duties of the ship to the mucker whenever it was possible\nto do so; but the result of this was to hasten Billy's nautical\neducation, and keep him in excellent physical trim.\n\nAll traces of alcohol had long since vanished from the young man's\nsystem. His face showed the effects of his enforced abstemiousness in\na marked degree. The red, puffy, blotchy complexion had given way to a\nclear, tanned skin; bright eyes supplanted the bleary, bloodshot things\nthat had given the bestial expression to his face in the past. His\nfeatures, always regular and strong, had taken on a peculiarly refined\ndignity from the salt air, the clean life, and the dangerous occupation\nof the deep-sea sailor, that would have put Kelly's gang to a pinch to\nhave recognized their erstwhile crony had he suddenly appeared in their\nmidst in the alley back of the feed-store on Grand Avenue.\n\nWith the new life Billy found himself taking on a new character. He\nsurprised himself singing at his work--he whose whole life up to now had\nbeen devoted to dodging honest labor--whose motto had been: The\nworld owes me a living, and it's up to me to collect it. Also, he was\nsurprised to discover that he liked to work, that he took keen pride in\nstriving to outdo the men who worked with him, and this spirit, despite\nthe suspicion which the captain entertained of Billy since the episode\nof the forecastle, went far to making his life more endurable on board\nthe Halfmoon, for workers such as the mucker developed into are not to\nbe sneezed at, and though he had little idea of subordination it was\nworth putting up with something to keep him in condition to work. It was\nthis line of reasoning that saved Billy's skull on one or two occasions\nwhen his impudence had been sufficient to have provoked the skipper to\na personal assault upon him under ordinary conditions; and Mr. Ward,\nhaving tasted of Billy's medicine once, had no craving for another\nencounter with him that would entail personal conflict.\n\nThe entire crew was made up of ruffians and unhung murderers, but\nSkipper Simms had had little experience with seamen of any other ilk,\nso he handled them roughshod, using his horny fist, and the short, heavy\nstick that he habitually carried, in lieu of argument; but with the\nexception of Billy the men all had served before the mast in the past,\nso that ship's discipline was to some extent ingrained in them all.\n\nEnjoying his work, the life was not an unpleasant one for the mucker.\nThe men of the forecastle were of the kind he had always known--there\nwas no honor among them, no virtue, no kindliness, no decency. With them\nBilly was at home--he scarcely missed the old gang. He made his friends\namong them, and his enemies. He picked quarrels, as had been his way\nsince childhood. His science and his great strength, together with his\nendless stock of underhand tricks brought him out of each encounter\nwith fresh laurels. Presently he found it difficult to pick a fight--his\nmessmates had had enough of him. They left him severely alone.\n\nThese ofttimes bloody battles engendered no deep-seated hatred in the\nhearts of the defeated. They were part of the day's work and play of the\nhalf-brutes that Skipper Simms had gathered together. There was only one\nman aboard whom Billy really hated. That was the passenger, and Billy\nhated him, not because of anything that the man had said or done to\nBilly, for he had never even so much as spoken to the mucker, but\nbecause of the fine clothes and superior air which marked him plainly to\nBilly as one of that loathed element of society--a gentleman.\n\nBilly hated everything that was respectable. He had hated the smug,\nself-satisfied merchants of Grand Avenue. He had writhed in torture at\nthe sight of every shiny, purring automobile that had ever passed him\nwith its load of well-groomed men and women. A clean, stiff collar\nwas to Billy as a red rag to a bull. Cleanliness, success, opulence,\ndecency, spelled but one thing to Billy--physical weakness; and he hated\nphysical weakness. His idea of indicating strength and manliness lay in\ndisplaying as much of brutality and uncouthness as possible. To assist\na woman over a mud hole would have seemed to Billy an acknowledgement of\npusillanimity--to stick out his foot and trip her so that she sprawled\nfull length in it, the hall-mark of bluff manliness. And so he hated,\nwith all the strength of a strong nature, the immaculate, courteous,\nwell-bred man who paced the deck each day smoking a fragrant cigar after\nhis meals.\n\nInwardly he wondered what the dude was doing on board such a vessel as\nthe Halfmoon, and marveled that so weak a thing dared venture among real\nmen. Billy's contempt caused him to notice the passenger more than he\nwould have been ready to admit. He saw that the man's face was handsome,\nbut there was an unpleasant shiftiness to his brown eyes; and then,\nentirely outside of his former reasons for hating him, Billy came to\nloathe him intuitively, as one who was not to be trusted. Finally his\ndislike for the man became an obsession. He haunted, when discipline\npermitted, that part of the vessel where he would be most likely to\nencounter the object of his wrath, hoping, always hoping, that the\n\"dude\" would give him some slight pretext for \"pushing in his mush,\" as\nBilly would so picturesquely have worded it.\n\nHe was loitering about the deck for this purpose one evening when he\noverheard part of a low-voiced conversation between the object of his\nwrath and Skipper Simms--just enough to set him to wondering what was\ndoing, and to show him that whatever it might be it was crooked and that\nthe immaculate passenger and Skipper Simms were both \"in on it.\"\n\nHe questioned \"Bony\" Sawyer and \"Red\" Sanders, but neither had nearly as\nmuch information as Billy himself, and so the Halfmoon came to Honolulu\nand lay at anchor some hundred yards from a stanch, trim, white yacht,\nand none knew, other than the Halfmoon's officers and her single\npassenger, the real mission of the harmless-looking little brigantine.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. THE CONSPIRACY\n\nNO SHORE leave was granted the crew of the Halfmoon while the vessel lay\noff Honolulu, and deep and ominous were the grumblings of the men. Only\nFirst Officer Ward and the second mate went ashore. Skipper Simms kept\nthe men busy painting and holystoning as a vent for their pent emotions.\n\nBilly Byrne noticed that the passenger had abandoned his daylight\nstrolls on deck. In fact he never once left his cabin while the Halfmoon\nlay at anchor until darkness had fallen; then he would come on deck,\noften standing for an hour at a time with eyes fastened steadily\nupon the brave little yacht from the canopied upper deck of which gay\nlaughter and soft music came floating across the still water.\n\nWhen Mr. Ward and the second mate came to shore a strange thing\nhappened. They entered a third-rate hotel near the water front, engaged\na room for a week, paid in advance, were in their room for half an hour\nand emerged clothed in civilian raiment.\n\nThen they hastened to another hostelry--a first-class one this time, and\nthe second mate walked ahead in frock coat and silk hat while Mr. Ward\ntrailed behind in a neat, blue serge sack suit, carrying both bags.\n\nAt the second hotel the second mate registered as Henri Theriere, Count\nde Cadenet, and servant, France. His first act thereafter was to hand a\nnote to the clerk asking that it be dispatched immediately. The note was\naddressed to Anthony Harding, Esq., On Board Yacht Lotus.\n\nCount de Cadenet and his servant repaired immediately to the count's\nrooms, there to await an answer to the note. Henri Theriere, the second\nofficer of the Halfmoon, in frock coat and silk hat looked every inch a\nnobleman and a gentleman. What his past had been only he knew, but his\npolished manners, his knowledge of navigation and seamanship, and his\nleaning toward the ways of the martinet in his dealings with the men\nbeneath him had led Skipper Simms to assume that he had once held\na commission in the French Navy, from which he doubtless had been\nkicked--in disgrace.\n\nThe man was cold, cruel, of a moody disposition, and quick to anger.\nHe had been signed as second officer for this cruise through the\nintervention of Divine and Clinker. He had sailed with Simms before, but\nthe skipper had found him too hard a customer to deal with, and had\nbeen on the point of seeking another second when Divine and Clinker\ndiscovered him on board the Halfmoon and after ten minutes' conversation\nwith him found that he fitted so perfectly into their scheme of action\nthat they would not hear of Simms' releasing him.\n\nWard had little use for the Frenchman, whose haughty manner and\ncondescending airs grated on the sensibilities of the uncouth and\nboorish first officer. The duty which necessitated him acting in the\ncapacity of Theriere's servant was about as distasteful to him as\nanything could be, and only served to add to his hatred for the\ninferior, who, in the bottom of his heart, he knew to be in every way,\nexcept upon the roster of the Halfmoon, his superior; but money can work\nwonders, and Divine's promise that the officers and crew of the Halfmoon\nwould have a cool million United States dollars to divide among them in\ncase of the success of the venture had quite effectually overcome any\ndislike which Mr. Ward had felt for this particular phase of his duty.\n\nThe two officers sat in silence in their room at the hotel awaiting\nan answer to the note they had dispatched to Anthony Harding, Esq.\nThe parts they were to act had been carefully rehearsed on board the\nHalfmoon many times. Each was occupied with his own thoughts, and\nas they had nothing in common outside the present rascality that had\nbrought them together, and as that subject was one not well to discuss\nmore than necessary, there seemed no call for conversation.\n\nOn board the yacht in the harbor preparations were being made to land a\nsmall party that contemplated a motor trip up the Nuuanu Valley when\na small boat drew alongside, and a messenger from the hotel handed a\nsealed note to one of the sailors.\n\nFrom the deck of the Halfmoon Skipper Simms witnessed the transaction,\nsmiling inwardly. Billy Byrne also saw it, but it meant nothing to him.\nHe had been lolling upon the deck of the brigantine glaring at the yacht\nLotus, hating her and the gay, well-dressed men and women he could\nsee laughing and chatting upon her deck. They represented to him\nthe concentrated essence of all that was pusillanimous, disgusting,\nloathsome in that other world that was as far separated from him as\nthough he had been a grubworm in the manure pile back of Brady's livery\nstable.\n\nHe saw the note handed by the sailor to a gray-haired, smooth-faced\nman--a large, sleek, well-groomed man. Billy could imagine the white\nhands and polished nails of him. The thought was nauseating.\n\nThe man who took and opened the note was Anthony Harding, Esq. He read\nit, and then passed it to a young woman who stood near-by talking with\nother young people.\n\n\"Here, Barbara,\" he said, \"is something of more interest to you than to\nme. If you wish I'll call upon him and invite him to dinner tonight.\"\n\nThe girl was reading the note.\n\n\nAnthony Harding, Esq.\n\nOn Board Yacht Lotus,\n\nHonolulu\n\nMy dear Mr. Harding:\n\nThis will introduce a very dear friend of mine, Count de Cadenet, who\nexpects to be in Honolulu about the time that you are there. The count\nis traveling for pleasure, and as he is entirely unacquainted upon\nthe islands any courtesies which you may show him will be greatly\nappreciated.\n\n                    Cordially,\n\n                             L. CORTWRITE DIVINE.\n\nThe girl smiled as she finished perusing the note.\n\n\"Larry is always picking up titles and making dear friends of them,\" she\nlaughed. \"I wonder where he found this one.\"\n\n\"Or where this one found him,\" suggested Mr. Harding. \"Well, I suppose\nthat the least we can do is to have him aboard for dinner. We'll be\nleaving tomorrow, so there won't be much entertaining we can do.\"\n\n\"Let's pick him up on our way through town now,\" suggested Barbara\nHarding, \"and take him with us for the day. That will be settling our\ndebt to friendship, and dinner tonight can depend upon what sort of\nperson we find the count to be.\"\n\n\"As you will,\" replied her father, and so it came about that two big\ntouring cars drew up before the Count de Cadenet's hotel half an hour\nlater, and Anthony Harding, Esq., entered and sent up his card.\n\nThe \"count\" came down in person to greet his caller. Harding saw at a\nglance that the man was a gentleman, and when he had introduced him to\nthe other members of the party it was evident that they appraised him\nquite as had their host. Barbara Harding seemed particularly taken with\nthe Count de Cadenet, insisting that he join those who occupied her\ncar, and so it was that the second officer of the Halfmoon rode out of\nHonolulu in pleasant conversation with the object of his visit to the\nisland.\n\nBarbara Harding found De Cadenet an interesting man. There was no\ncorner of the globe however remote with which he was not to some degree\nfamiliar. He was well read, and possessed the ability to discuss what\nhe had read intelligently and entertainingly. There was no evidence of\nmoodiness in him now. He was the personification of affability, for was\nhe not monopolizing the society of a very beautiful, and very wealthy\nyoung lady?\n\nThe day's outing had two significant results. It put into the head of\nthe second mate of the Halfmoon that which would have caused his skipper\nand the retiring Mr. Divine acute mental perturbation could they have\nguessed it; and it put De Cadenet into possession of information which\nnecessitated his refusing the urgent invitation to dine upon the yacht,\nLotus, that evening--the information that the party would sail the\nfollowing morning en route to Manila.\n\n\"I cannot tell you,\" he said to Mr. Harding, \"how much I regret\nthe circumstance that must rob me of the pleasure of accepting your\ninvitation. Only absolute necessity, I assure you, could prevent me\nbeing with you as long as possible,\" and though he spoke to the girl's\nfather he looked directly into the eyes of Barbara Harding.\n\nA young woman of less experience might have given some outward\nindication of the effect of this speech upon her, but whether she was\npleased or otherwise the Count de Cadenet could not guess, for she\nmerely voiced the smiling regrets that courtesy demanded.\n\nThey left De Cadenet at his hotel, and as he bid them farewell the man\nturned to Barbara Harding with a low aside.\n\n\"I shall see you again, Miss Harding,\" he said, \"very, very soon.\"\n\nShe could not guess what was in his mind as he voiced this rather, under\nthe circumstances, unusual statement. Could she have, the girl would\nhave been terror-stricken; but she saw that in his eyes which she could\ntranslate, and she wondered many times that evening whether she were\npleased or angry with the message it conveyed.\n\nThe moment De Cadenet entered the hotel he hurried to the room where the\nimpatient Mr. Ward awaited him.\n\n\"Quick!\" he cried. \"We must bundle out of here posthaste. They sail\ntomorrow morning. Your duties as valet have been light and short-lived;\nbut I can give you an excellent recommendation should you desire to take\nservice with another gentleman.\"\n\n\"That'll be about all of that, Mr. Theriere,\" snapped the first\nofficer, coldly. \"I did not embark upon this theatrical enterprise for\namusement--I see nothing funny in it, and I wish you to remember that I\nam still your superior officer.\"\n\nTheriere shrugged. Ward did not chance to catch the ugly look in his\ncompanion's eye. Together they gathered up their belongings, descended\nto the office, paid their bill, and a few moments later were changing\nback to their sea clothes in the little hotel where they first had\nengaged accommodations. Half an hour later they stepped to the deck of\nthe Halfmoon.\n\nBilly Byrne saw them from where he worked in the vicinity of the cabin.\nWhen they were not looking he scowled maliciously at them. They were\nthe personal representatives of authority, and Billy hated authority in\nwhatever guise it might be visited upon him. He hated law and order and\ndiscipline.\n\n\"I'd like to meet one of dem guys on Green Street some night,\" he\nthought.\n\nHe saw them enter the captain's cabin with the skipper, and then he saw\nMr. Divine join them. Billy noted the haste displayed by the four and it\nset him to wondering. The scrap of conversation between Divine and Simms\nthat he had overheard returned to him. He wanted to hear more, and as\nBilly was not handicapped by any overly refined notions of the ethics\nwhich frown upon eavesdropping he lost no time in transferring the scene\nof his labors to a point sufficiently close to one of the cabin ports to\npermit him to note what took place within.\n\nWhat the mucker beard of that conversation made him prick up his ears.\nHe saw that something after his own heart was doing--something crooked,\nand he wondered that so pusillanimous a thing as Divine could have\na hand in it. It almost changed his estimate of the passenger of the\nHalfmoon.\n\nThe meeting broke up so suddenly that Billy had to drop to his knees to\nescape the observation of those within the cabin. As it was, Theriere,\nwho had started to leave a second before the others, caught a fleeting\nglimpse of a face that quickly had been withdrawn from the cabin\nskylight as though its owner were fearful of detection.\n\nWithout a word to his companions the Frenchman left the cabin, but once\noutside he bounded up the companionway to the deck with the speed of a\nsquirrel. Nor was he an instant too soon, for as he emerged from below\nhe saw the figure of a man disappearing forward.\n\n\"Hey there, you!\" he cried. \"Come back here.\"\n\nThe mucker turned, a sulky scowl upon his lowering countenance, and\nthe second officer saw that it was the fellow who had given Ward such a\ntrimming the first day out.\n\n\"Oh, it's you is it, Byrne?\" he said in a not unpleasant tone. \"Come\nto my quarters a moment, I want to speak with you,\" and so saying he\nwheeled about and retraced his way below, the seaman at his heels.\n\n\"My man,\" said Theriere, once the two were behind the closed door of\nthe officer's cabin, \"I needn't ask how much you overheard of the\nconversation in the captain's cabin. If you hadn't overheard a great\ndeal more than you should you wouldn't have been so keen to escape\ndetection just now. What I wanted to say to you is this. Keep a close\ntongue in your head and stick by me in what's going to happen in the\nnext few days. This bunch,\" he jerked his thumb in the direction of\nthe captain's cabin, \"are fixing their necks for halters, an' I for one\ndon't intend to poke my head through any noose of another man's making.\nThere's more in this thing if it's handled right, and handled without\ntoo many men in on the whack-up than we can get out of it if that man\nDivine has to be counted in. I've a plan of my own, an' it won't take\nbut three or four of us to put it across.\n\n\"You don't like Ward,\" he continued, \"and you may be almighty sure that\nMr. Ward ain't losing any sleep nights over love of you. If you stick to\nthat bunch Ward will do you out of your share as sure as you are a foot\nhigh, an' the chances are that he'll do you out of a whole lot more\nbesides--as a matter of fact, Byrne, you're a mighty poor life insurance\nrisk right now, with a life expectancy that's pretty near minus as long\nas Bender Ward is on the same ship with you. Do you understand what I\nmean?\"\n\n\"Aw,\" said Billy Byrne, \"I ain't afraid o' that stiff. Let him make\nany funny crack at me an' I'll cave in a handful of slats for him--the\npiker.\"\n\n\"That's all right too, Byrne,\" said Theriere. \"Of course you can do it\nif anybody can, provided you get the chance; but Ward isn't the man to\ngive you any chance. There may be shooting necessary within the next day\nor so, and there's nothing to prevent Ward letting you have it in the\nback, purely by accident; and if he don't do it then there'll be all\nkinds of opportunities for it before any of us ever see a white man's\nport again. He'll get you, Byrne, he's that kind.\n\n\"Now, with my proposition you'll be shut of Ward, Skipper Simms, and\nDivine. There'll be more money in it for you, an' you won't have to go\naround expecting a bullet in the small of your back every minute. What\ndo you say? Are you game, or shall I have to go back to Skipper Simms\nand Ward and tell them that I caught you eavesdropping?\"\n\n\"Oh, I'm game,\" said Billy Byrne, \"if you'll promise me a square deal on\nthe divvy.\"\n\nThe Frenchman extended his hand.\n\n\"Let's shake on it,\" he said.\n\nBilly took the proffered palm in his.\n\n\"That's a go,\" he said; \"but hadn't you better wise me to wot's doin'?\"\n\n\"Not now,\" said Theriere, \"someone might overhear just as you did. Wait\na bit until I have a better opportunity, and I'll tell you all there is\nto know. In the meantime think over who'd be the best men to let into\nthis with us--we'll need three or four more besides ourselves. Now go on\ndeck about your duties as though nothing had happened, and if I'm a bit\nrougher than usual with you you'll understand that it's to avert any\npossible suspicion later.\"\n\n\"I'm next,\" said Billy Byrne.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. PIRACY\n\nBY DUSK the trim little brigantine was scudding away toward the west\nbefore a wind that could not have suited her better had it been made to\norder at the special behest of the devil himself to speed his minions\nupon their devil's work.\n\nAll hands were in the best of humor. The crew had forgotten their recent\nrancor at not having been permitted shore leave at Honolulu in the\nexpectancy of adventure in the near future, for there was that in\nthe atmosphere of the Halfmoon which proclaimed louder than words the\nproximity of excitement, and the goal toward which they had been sailing\nsince they left San Francisco.\n\nSkipper Simms and Divine were elated at the luck which had brought\nthem to Honolulu in the nick of time, and at the success of Theriere's\nmission at that port. They had figured upon a week at least there before\nthe second officer of the Halfmoon could ingratiate himself sufficiently\ninto the goodwill of the Hardings to learn their plans, and now they\nwere congratulating themselves upon their acumen in selecting so fit an\nagent as the Frenchman for the work he had handled so expeditiously and\nso well.\n\nWard was pleased that he had not been forced to prolong the galling\nmasquerade of valet to his inferior officer. He was hopeful, too, that\ncoming events would bring to the fore an opportunity to satisfy the\nvengeance he had inwardly sworn against the sailor who had so roughly\nmanhandled him a few weeks past--Theriere had not been in error in his\nestimate of his fellow-officer.\n\nBilly Byrne, the arduous labor of making sail over for the time, was\ndevoting his energies to the task of piecing out from what Theriere had\ntold him and what he had overheard outside the skipper's cabin some sort\nof explanation of the work ahead.\n\nAs he pondered Theriere's proposition he saw the wisdom of it. It would\ngive those interested a larger amount of the booty for their share.\nAnother feature of it was that it was underhanded and that appealed\nstrongly to the mucker. Now, if he could but devise some scheme for\ndouble-crossing Theriere the pleasure and profit of the adventure would\nbe tripled.\n\nIt was this proposition that was occupying his attention when he caught\nsight of \"Bony\" Sawyer and \"Red\" Sanders emerging from the forecastle.\nBilly Byrne hailed them.\n\nWhen the mucker had explained the possibilities of profit that were to\nbe had by entering the conspiracy aimed at Simms and Ward the two seamen\nwere enthusiastically for it.\n\n\"Bony\" Sawyer suggested that the black cook, Blanco, was about the only\nother member of the crew upon whom they could depend, and at Byrne's\nrequest \"Bony\" promised to enlist the cooperation of the giant\nEthiopian.\n\nFrom early morning of the second day out of Honolulu keen eyes scanned\nthe eastern horizon through powerful glasses, until about two bells\nof the afternoon watch a slight smudge became visible about two points\nnorth of east. Immediately the course of the Halfmoon was altered so\nthat she bore almost directly north by west in an effort to come safely\ninto the course of the steamer which was seen rising rapidly above the\nhorizon.\n\nThe new course of the brigantine was held as long as it seemed\nreasonably safe without danger of being sighted under full sail by the\noncoming vessel, then her head was brought into the wind, and one by one\nher sails were lowered and furled, as the keen eyes of Second Officer\nTheriere announced that there was no question but that the white hull in\nthe distance was that of the steam pleasure yacht Lotus.\n\nUpon the deck of the unsuspecting vessel a merry party laughed and\nchatted in happy ignorance of the plotters in their path. It was nearly\nhalf an hour after the Halfmoon had come to rest, drifting idly under\nbare poles, that the lookout upon the Lotus sighted her.\n\n\"Sailin' vessel lyin' to, west half south,\" he shouted, \"flyin' distress\nsignals.\"\n\nIn an instant guests and crew had hurried to points of vantage where\nthey might obtain unobstructed view of the stranger, and take advantage\nof this break in the monotony of a long sea voyage.\n\nAnthony Harding was on the bridge with the captain, and both men had\nleveled their glasses upon the distant ship.\n\n\"Can you make her out?\" asked the owner.\n\n\"She's a brigantine,\" replied the officer, \"and all that I can make out\nfrom here would indicate that everything was shipshape about her. Her\ncanvas is neatly furled, and she is evidently well manned, for I can see\na number of figures above deck apparently engaged in watching us. I'll\nalter our course and speak to her--we'll see what's wrong, and give her\na hand if we can.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" replied Harding; \"do anything you can for them.\"\n\nA moment later he joined his daughter and their guests to report the\nmeager information he had.\n\n\"How exciting,\" exclaimed Barbara Harding. \"Of course it's not a real\nshipwreck, but maybe it's the next thing to it. The poor souls may have\nbeen drifting about here in the center of the Pacific without food or\nwater for goodness knows how many weeks, and now just think how they\nmust be lifting their voices in thanks to God for his infinite mercy in\nguiding us to them.\"\n\n\"If they've been drifting for any considerable number of weeks without\nfood or water,\" hazarded Billy Mallory, \"about the only things they'll\nneed'll be what we didn't have the foresight to bring along--an\nundertaker and a preacher.\"\n\n\"Don't be horrid, Billy,\" returned Miss Harding. \"You know perfectly\nwell that I didn't mean weeks--I meant days; and anyway they'll be\ngrateful to us for what we can do for them. I can scarcely wait to hear\ntheir story.\"\n\nBilly Mallory was inspecting the stranger through Mr. Harding's glass.\nSuddenly he gave an exclamation of dismay.\n\n\"By George!\" he cried. \"It is serious after all. That ship's afire.\nLook, Mr. Harding,\" and he passed the glass over to his host.\n\nAnd sure enough, as the owner of the Lotus found the brigantine again\nin the center of his lens he saw a thin column of black smoke rising\namidships; but what he did not see was Mr. Ward upon the opposite side\nof the Halfmoon's cabin superintending the burning by the black cook of\na bundle of oily rags in an iron boiler.\n\n\"By Jove!\" exclaimed Mr. Harding. \"This is terrible. The poor devils\nare panic-stricken. Look at 'em making for the boats!\" and with that he\ndashed back to the bridge to confer with his captain.\n\n\"Yes,\" said that officer, \"I noticed the smoke about the same time you\ndid--funny it wasn't apparent before. I've already signaled full speed\nahead, and I've instructed Mr. Foster to have the boats in readiness to\nlower away if we find that they're short of boats on the brigantine.\n\n\"What I can't understand,\" he added after a moment's silence, \"is why\nthey didn't show any signs of excitement about that fire until we came\nwithin easy sight of them--it looks funny.\"\n\n\"Well, we'll know in a few minutes more,\" returned Mr. Harding.\n\"The chances are that the fire is just a recent addition to their\npredicament, whatever it may be, and that they have only just discovered\nit themselves.\"\n\n\"Then it can't have gained enough headway,\" insisted the captain, \"to\ncause them any such immediate terror as would be indicated by the haste\nwith which the whole ship's crew is tumbling into those boats; but as\nyou say, sir, we'll have their story out of them in a few minutes now,\nso it's idle speculating beforehand.\"\n\nThe officers and men of the Halfmoon, in so far as those on board the\nLotus could guess, had all entered the boats at last, and were pulling\nfrantically away from their own ship toward the rapidly nearing yacht;\nbut what they did not guess and could not know was that Mr. Divine paced\nnervously to and fro in his cabin, while Second Officer Theriere tended\nthe smoking rags that Ward and Blanco had resigned to him that they\nmight take their places in the boats.\n\nTheriere had been greatly disgusted with the turn events had taken for\nhe had determined upon a line of action that he felt sure would prove\nhighly remunerative to himself. It had been nothing less than a bold\nresolve to call Blanco, Byrne, \"Bony,\" and \"Red\" to his side the moment\nSimms and Ward revealed the true purpose of their ruse to those on board\nthe Lotus, and with his henchmen take sides with the men of the yacht\nagainst his former companions.\n\nAs he had explained it to Billy Byrne the idea was to permit Mr. Harding\nto believe that Theriere and his companions had been duped by Skipper\nSimms--that they had had no idea of the work that they were to be called\nupon to perform until the last moment and that then they had done the\nonly thing they could to protect the passengers and crew of the Lotus.\n\n\"And then,\" Theriere had concluded, \"when they think we are a band of\nheroes, and the best friends they have on earth we'll just naturally be\nin a position to grab the whole lot of them, and collect ransoms on ten\nor fifteen instead of just one.\"\n\n\"Bully!\" exclaimed the mucker. \"You sure got some bean, mate.\"\n\nAs a matter of fact Theriere had had no intention of carrying the matter\nas far as he had intimated to Billy except as a last resort. He had been\nmightily smitten by the face and fortune of Barbara Harding and had seen\nin the trend of events a possible opportunity of so deeply obligating\nher father and herself that when he paid court to her she might fall a\nwilling victim to his wiles. In this case he would be obliged to risk\nnothing, and could make away with his accomplices by explaining to\nMr. Harding that he had been compelled to concoct this other scheme to\nobtain their assistance against Simms and Ward; then they could throw\nthe three into irons and all would be lovely; but now that fool Ward\nhad upset the whole thing by hitting upon this asinine fire hoax as\nan excuse for boarding the Lotus in force, and had further dampened\nTheriere's pet scheme by suggesting to Skipper Simms the danger of\nTheriere being recognized as they were boarding the Lotus and bringing\nsuspicion upon them all immediately.\n\nThey all knew that a pleasure yacht like the Lotus was well supplied\nwith small arms, and that at the first intimation of danger there would\nbe plenty of men aboard to repel assault, and, in all probability, with\nentire success.\n\nThat there were excellent grounds for Theriere's belief that he could\nwin Barbara Harding's hand with such a flying start as his daring\nplan would have assured him may not be questioned, for the man was\ncultivated, polished and, in a sinister way, good-looking. The title\nthat he had borne upon the occasion of his visit to the yacht, was, all\nunknown to his accomplices, his by right of birth, so that there was\nnothing other than a long-dead scandal in the French Navy that might\nhave proved a bar to an affiance such as he dreamed of. And now to be\nthwarted at the last moment! It was unendurable. That pig of a Ward had\nsealed his own death warrant, of that Theriere was convinced.\n\nThe boats were now quite close to the yacht, which had slowed down\nalmost to a dead stop. In answer to the query of the Lotus' captain\nSkipper Simms was explaining their trouble.\n\n\"I'm Captain Jones,\" he shouted, \"of the brigantine Clarinda, Frisco\nto Yokohama with dynamite. We disabled our rudder yesterday, an' this\nafternoon fire started in the hold. It's makin' headway fast now, an'll\nreach the dynamite most any time. You'd better take us aboard, an' get\naway from here as quick as you can. 'Tain't safe nowhere within five\nhun'erd fathom of her.\"\n\n\"You'd better make haste, Captain, hadn't you?\" suggested Mr. Harding.\n\n\"I don't like the looks of things, sir,\" replied that officer. \"She\nain't flyin' any dynamite flag, an' if she was an' had a hold full\nthere wouldn't be any particular danger to us, an' anyone that has\never shipped dynamite would know it, or ought to. It's not fire that\ndetonates dynamite, it's concussion. No sir, Mr. Harding, there's\nsomething queer here--I don't like the looks of it. Why just take a good\nlook at the faces of those men. Did you ever see such an ugly-looking\npack of unhung murderers in your life, sir?\"\n\n\"I must admit that they're not an overly prepossessing crowd, Norris,\"\nreplied Mr. Harding. \"But it's not always either fair or safe to judge\nstrangers entirely by appearances. I'm afraid that there's nothing else\nfor it in the name of common humanity than to take them aboard, Norris.\nI'm sure your fears are entirely groundless.\"\n\n\"Then it's your orders, sir, to take them aboard?\" asked Captain Norris.\n\n\"Yes, Captain, I think you'd better,\" said Mr. Harding.\n\n\"Very good, sir,\" replied the officer, turning to give the necessary\ncommands.\n\nThe officers and men of the Halfmoon swarmed up the sides of the Lotus,\ndark-visaged, fierce, and forbidding.\n\n\"Reminds me of a boarding party of pirates,\" remarked Billy Mallory,\nas he watched Blanco, the last to throw a leg over the rail, reach the\ndeck.\n\n\"They're not very pretty, are they?\" murmured Barbara Harding,\ninstinctively shrinking closer to her companion.\n\n\"'Pretty' scarcely describes them, Barbara,\" said Billy; \"and do you\nknow that somehow I am having difficulty in imagining them on their\nknees giving up thanks to the Lord for their rescue--that was your\nrecent idea of 'em, you will recall.\"\n\n\"If you have purposely set yourself the task of being more than\nordinarily disagreeable today, Billy,\" said Barbara sweetly, \"I'm sure\nit will please you to know that you are succeeding.\"\n\n\"I'm glad I'm successful at something then,\" laughed the man. \"I've\ncertainly been unsuccessful enough in another matter.\"\n\n\"What, for example?\" asked Barbara, innocently.\n\n\"Why in trying to make myself so agreeable heretofore that you'd finally\nconsent to say 'yes' for a change.\"\n\n\"Now you are going to make it all the worse by being stupid,\" cried the\ngirl petulantly. \"Why can't you be nice, as you used to be before you\ngot this silly notion into your head?\"\n\n\"I don't think it's a silly notion to be head over heels in love with\nthe sweetest girl on earth,\" cried Billy.\n\n\"Hush! Someone will hear you.\"\n\n\"I don't care if they do. I'd like to advertise it to the whole world.\nI'm proud of the fact that I love you; and you don't care enough about\nit to realize how really hard I'm hit--why I'd die for you, Barbara, and\nwelcome the chance; why--My God! What's that?\"\n\n\"O Billy! What are those men doing?\" cried the girl. \"They're shooting.\nThey're shooting at papa! Quick, Billy! Do something. For heaven's sake\ndo something.\"\n\nOn the deck below them the \"rescued\" crew of the \"Clarinda\" had\nsurrounded Mr. Harding, Captain Norris, and most of the crew of the\nLotus, flashing quick-drawn revolvers from beneath shirts and coats, and\nfiring at two of the yacht's men who showed fight.\n\n\"Keep quiet,\" commanded Skipper Simms, \"an' there won't none of you get\nhurted.\"\n\n\"What do you want of us?\" cried Mr. Harding. \"If it's money, take what\nyou can find aboard us, and go on your way. No one will hinder you.\"\n\nSkipper Simms paid no attention to him. His eyes swept aloft to the\nupper deck. There he saw a wide-eyed girl and a man looking down upon\nthem. He wondered if she was the one they sought. There were other women\naboard. He could see them, huddled frightened behind Harding and Norris.\nSome of them were young and beautiful; but there was something about\nthe girl above him that assured him she could be none other than Barbara\nHarding. To discover the truth Simms resorted to a ruse, for he knew\nthat were he to ask Harding outright if the girl were his daughter the\nchances were more than even that the old man would suspect something of\nthe nature of their visit and deny her identity.\n\n\"Who is that woman you have on board here?\" he cried in an accusing tone\nof voice. \"That's what we're a-here to find out.\"\n\n\"Why she's my daughter, man!\" blurted Harding. \"Who did you--\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Skipper Simms, with a self-satisfied grin. \"That's what\nI wanted to be sure of. Hey, you, Byrne! You're nearest the\ncompanionway--fetch the girl.\"\n\nAt the command the mucker turned and leaped up the stairway to the upper\ndeck. Billy Mallory had overheard the conversation below and Simms'\ncommand to Byrne. Disengaging himself from Barbara Harding who in her\nterror had clutched his arm, he ran forward to the head of the stairway.\n\nThe men of the Lotus looked on in mute and helpless rage. All were\ncovered by the guns of the boarding party--the still forms of two\nof their companions bearing eloquent witness to the slenderness of\nprovocation necessary to tighten the trigger fingers of the beasts\nstanding guard over them.\n\nBilly Byrne never hesitated in his rush for the upper deck. The sight of\nthe man awaiting him above but whetted his appetite for battle. The\ntrim flannels, the white shoes, the natty cap, were to the mucker as\nsufficient cause for justifiable homicide as is an orange ribbon in\ncertain portions of the West Side of Chicago on St. Patrick's Day. As\nwere \"Remember the Alamo,\" and \"Remember the Maine\" to the fighting\nmen of the days that they were live things so were the habiliments of\ngentility to Billy Byrne at all times.\n\nBilly Mallory was an older man than the mucker--twenty-four perhaps--and\nfully as large. For four years he had played right guard on a great\neastern team, and for three he had pulled stroke upon the crew. During\nthe two years since his graduation he had prided himself upon the\nmaintenance of the physical supremacy that had made the name of Mallory\nfamous in collegiate athletics; but in one vital essential he was\nhopelessly handicapped in combat with such as Billy Byrne, for Mallory\nwas a gentleman.\n\nAs the mucker rushed upward toward him Mallory had all the advantage of\nposition and preparedness, and had he done what Billy Byrne would have\ndone under like circumstances he would have planted a kick in the midst\nof the mucker's facial beauties with all the power and weight and energy\nat his command; but Billy Mallory could no more have perpetrated a\ncowardly trick such as this than he could have struck a woman.\n\nInstead, he waited, and as the mucker came on an even footing with him\nMallory swung a vicious right for the man's jaw. Byrne ducked beneath\nthe blow, came up inside Mallory's guard, and struck him three times\nwith trip-hammer velocity and pile-driver effectiveness--once upon the\njaw and twice--below the belt!\n\nThe girl, clinging to the rail, riveted by the paralysis of fright, saw\nher champion stagger back and half crumple to the deck. Then she saw him\nmake a brave and desperate rally, as, though torn with agony, he lurched\nforward in an endeavor to clinch with the brute before him. Again the\nmucker struck his victim--quick choppy hooks that rocked Mallory's head\nfrom side to side, and again the brutal blow below the belt; but with\nthe tenacity of a bulldog the man fought for a hold upon his foe, and at\nlast, notwithstanding Byrne's best efforts, he succeeded in closing with\nthe mucker and dragging him to the deck.\n\nHere the two men rolled and tumbled, Byrne biting, gouging, and kicking\nwhile Mallory devoted all of his fast-waning strength to an effort to\nclose his fingers upon the throat of his antagonist. But the terrible\npunishment which the mucker had inflicted upon him overcame him at last,\nand as Byrne felt the man's efforts weakening he partially disengaged\nhimself and raising himself upon one arm dealt his now almost\nunconscious enemy a half-dozen frightful blows upon the face.\n\nWith a shriek Barbara Harding turned from the awful sight as Billy\nMallory's bloody and swollen eyes rolled up and set, while the mucker\nthrew the inert form roughly from him. Quick to the girl's memory sprang\nMallory's recent declaration, which she had thought at the time but the\nempty, and vainglorious boasting of the man in love--\"Why I'd die for\nyou, Barbara, and welcome the chance!\"\n\n\"Poor boy! How soon, and how terribly has the chance come!\" moaned the\ngirl.\n\nThen a rough hand fell upon her arm.\n\n\"Here, youse,\" a coarse voice yelled in her ear. \"Come out o' de\ntrance,\" and at the same time she was jerked roughly toward the\ncompanionway.\n\nInstinctively the girl held back, and then the mucker, true to his\ntraining, true to himself, gave her arm a sudden twist that wrenched a\nscream of agony from her white lips.\n\n\"Den come along,\" growled Billy Byrne, \"an' quit dis monkey business, or\nI'll sure twist yer flipper clean off'n yeh.\"\n\nWith an oath, Anthony Harding sprang forward to protect his daughter;\nbut the butt of Ward's pistol brought him unconscious to the deck.\n\n\"Go easy there, Byrne,\" shouted Skipper Simms; \"there ain't no call to\ninjure the hussy--a corpse won't be worth nothing to us.\"\n\nIn mute terror the girl now permitted herself to be led to the deck\nbelow. Quickly she was lowered into a waiting boat. Then Skipper Simms\nordered Ward to search the yacht and remove all firearms, after which\nhe was to engage himself to navigate the vessel with her own crew under\narmed guard of half a dozen of the Halfmoon's cutthroats.\n\nThese things attended to, Skipper Simms with the balance of his own crew\nand six of the crew of the Lotus to take the places upon the brigantine\nof those left as a prize crew aboard the yacht returned with the girl to\nthe Halfmoon.\n\nThe sailing vessel's sails were soon hoisted and trimmed, and in half\nan hour, followed by the Lotus, she was scudding briskly southward. For\nforty-eight hours this course was held until Simms felt assured that\nthey were well out of the lane of regular trans-Pacific traffic.\n\nDuring this time Barbara Harding had been kept below, locked in a small,\nuntidy cabin. She had seen no one other than a great Negro who brought\nher meals to her three times daily--meals that she returned scarcely\ntouched.\n\nNow the Halfmoon was brought up into the wind where she lay with\nflapping canvas while Skipper Simms returned to the Lotus with the six\nmen of the yacht's crew that he had brought aboard the brigantine with\nhim two days before, and as many more of his own men.\n\nOnce aboard the Lotus the men were put to work with those already on the\nyacht. The boat's rudder was unshipped and dropped into the ocean; her\nfires were put out; her engines were attacked with sledges until they\nwere little better than so much junk, and to make the slender chances of\npursuit that remained to her entirely nil every ounce of coal upon her\nwas shoveled into the Pacific. Her extra masts and spare sails followed\nthe way of the coal and the rudder, so that when Skipper Simms and First\nOfficer Ward left her with their own men that had been aboard her she\nwas little better than a drifting derelict.\n\nFrom her cabin window Barbara Harding had witnessed the wanton wrecking\nof her father's yacht, and when it was over and the crew of the\nbrigantine had returned to their own ship she presently felt the\nmovement of the vessel as it got under way, and soon the Lotus dropped\nto the stern and beyond the range of her tiny port. With a moan of\nhopelessness and terror the girl sank prostrate across the hard berth\nthat spanned one end of her prison cell.\n\nHow long she lay there she did not know, but finally she was aroused by\nthe opening of her cabin door. As she sprang to her feet ready to defend\nherself against what she felt might easily be some new form of danger\nher eyes went wide in astonishment as they rested on the face of the man\nwho stood framed in the doorway of her cabin.\n\n\"You?\" she cried.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. LARRY DIVINE UNMASKED\n\n\n\"YES, Barbara, it is I,\" said Mr. Divine; \"and thank God that I am\nhere to do what little any man may do against this band of murdering\npirates.\"\n\n\"But, Larry,\" cried the girl, in evident bewilderment, \"how did you come\nto be aboard this ship? How did you get here? What are you doing amongst\nsuch as these?\"\n\n\"I am a prisoner,\" replied the man, \"just as are you. I think they\nintend holding us for ransom. They got me in San Francisco. Slugged me\nand hustled me aboard the night before they sailed.\"\n\n\"Where are they going to take us?\" she asked.\n\n\"I do not know,\" he replied, \"although from something I have overheard\nof their conversations I imagine that they have in mind some distant\nisland far from the beaten track of commerce. There are thousands such\nin the Pacific that are visited by vessels scarce once in a century.\nThere they will hold us until they can proceed with the ship to some\npoint where they can get into communication with their agents in the\nStates. When the ransom is paid over to these agents they will return\nfor us and land us upon some other island where our friends can find us,\nor leaving us where we can divulge the location of our whereabouts to\nthose who pay the ransom.\"\n\nThe girl had been looking intently at Mr. Divine during their\nconversation.\n\n\"They cannot have treated you very badly, Larry,\" she said. \"You are as\nwell groomed and well fed, apparently, as ever.\"\n\nA slight flush mounting to the man's face made the girl wonder a bit\nthough it aroused no suspicion in her mind.\n\n\"Oh, no,\" he hastened to assure her, \"they have not treated me at all\nbadly--why should they? If I die they can collect no ransom on me. It\nis the same with you, Barbara, so I think you need apprehend no harsh\ntreatment.\"\n\n\"I hope you are right, Larry,\" she said, but the hopelessness of her air\nrather belied any belief that aught but harm could come from captivity\nwith such as those who officered and manned the Halfmoon.\n\n\"It seems so remarkable,\" she went on, \"that you should be a prisoner\nupon the same boat. I cannot understand it. Why only a few days ago we\nreceived and entertained a friend of yours who brought a letter from you\nto papa--the Count de Cadenet.\"\n\nAgain that telltale flush mantled the man's cheek. He cursed himself\ninwardly for his lack of self-control. The girl would have his whole\nsecret out of him in another half-hour if he were not more careful.\n\n\"They made me do that,\" he said, jerking his thumb in the general\ndirection of Skipper Simms' cabin. \"Maybe that accounts for their\nbringing me along. The 'Count de Cadenet' is a fellow named Theriere,\nsecond mate of this ship. They sent him to learn your plans; when you\nexpected sailing from Honolulu and your course. They are all crooks and\nvillains. If I hadn't done as they bid they would have killed me.\"\n\nThe girl made no comment, but Divine saw the contempt in her face.\n\n\"I didn't know that they were going to do this. If I had I'd have died\nbefore I'd have written that note,\" he added rather lamely.\n\nThe girl was suddenly looking very sad. She was thinking of Billy\nMallory who had died in an effort to save her. The mental comparison she\nwas making between him and Mr. Divine was not overly flattering to the\nlatter gentleman.\n\n\"They killed poor Billy,\" she said at last. \"He tried to protect me.\"\n\nThen Mr. Divine understood the trend of her thoughts. He tried to find\nsome excuse for his cowardly act; but with the realization of the true\ncowardliness and treachery of it that the girl didn't even guess he\nunderstood the futility of seeking to extenuate it. He saw that the\nchances were excellent that after all he would be compelled to resort to\nforce or threats to win her hand at the last.\n\n\"Billy would have done better to have bowed to the inevitable as I\ndid,\" he said. \"Living I am able to help you now. Dead I could not have\nprevented them carrying out their intentions any more than Billy has,\nnor could I have been here to aid you now any more than he is. I cannot\nsee that his action helped you to any great extent, brave as it was.\"\n\n\"The memory of it and him will always help me,\" she answered quietly.\n\"They will help me to bear whatever is before me bravely, and, when the\ntime comes, to die bravely; for I shall always feel that upon the other\nside a true, brave heart is awaiting me.\"\n\nThe man was silent. After a moment the girl spoke again. \"I think I\nwould rather be alone, Larry,\" she said. \"I am very unhappy and nervous.\nPossibly I could sleep now.\"\n\nWith a bow he turned and left the cabin.\n\nFor weeks the Halfmoon kept steadily on her course, a little south of\nwest. There was no material change in the relations of those aboard\nher. Barbara Harding, finding herself unmolested, finally acceded to the\nrepeated pleas of Mr. Divine, to whose society she had been driven by\nloneliness and fear, and appeared on deck frequently during the daylight\nwatches. Here, one afternoon, she came face to face with Theriere\nfor the first time since her abduction. The officer lifted his cap\ndeferentially; but the girl met his look of expectant recognition with\na cold, blank stare that passed through and beyond him as though he had\nbeen empty air.\n\nA tinge of color rose to the man's face, and he continued on his way for\na moment as though content to accept her rebuff; but after a step or two\nhe turned suddenly and confronted her.\n\n\"Miss Harding,\" he said, respectfully, \"I cannot blame you for the\nfeeling of loathing and distrust you must harbor toward me; but in\ncommon justice I think you should hear me before finally condemning.\"\n\n\"I cannot imagine,\" she returned coldly, \"what defense there can be for\nthe cowardly act you perpetrated.\"\n\n\"I have been utterly deceived by my employers,\" said Theriere, hastening\nto take advantage of the tacit permission to explain which her reply\ncontained. \"I was given to understand that the whole thing was to be but\na hoax--that I was taking part in a great practical joke that Mr. Divine\nwas to play upon his old friends, the Hardings and their guests. Until\nthey wrecked and deserted the Lotus in mid-ocean I had no idea that\nanything else was contemplated, although I felt that the matter, even\nbefore that event, had been carried quite far enough for a joke.\n\n\"They explained,\" he continued, \"that before sailing you had expressed\nthe hope that something really exciting and adventurous would befall\nthe party--that you were tired of the monotonous humdrum of\ntwentieth-century existence--that you regretted the decadence of piracy,\nand the expunging of romance from the seas.\n\n\"Mr. Divine, they told me, was a very wealthy young man, to whom you\nwere engaged to be married, and that he could easily afford the\ngreat expense of the rather remarkable hoax we were supposed to be\nperpetrating. I saw no harm in taking part in it, especially as I knew\nnothing of the supposititious purpose of the cruise until just before we\nreached Honolulu. Before that I had been led to believe that it was but\na pleasure trip to the South Pacific that Mr. Divine intended.\n\n\"You see, Miss Harding, that I have been as badly deceived as you. Won't\nyou let me help to atone for my error by being your friend? I can assure\nyou that you will need one whom you can trust amongst this shipload of\nscoundrels.\"\n\n\"Who am I to believe?\" cried the girl. \"Mr. Divine assures me that he,\ntoo, has been forced into this affair, but by threats of death rather\nthan deception.\"\n\nThe expression on Mr. Theriere's face was eloquent of sarcastic\nincredulity.\n\n\"How about the note of introduction that I carried to your father from\nMr. Divine?\" asked Theriere.\n\n\"He says that he was compelled to write it at the point of a revolver,\"\nreplied the girl.\n\n\"Come with me, Miss Harding,\" said the officer. \"I think that I may be\nable to convince you that Mr. Divine is not on any such bad terms with\nSkipper Simms as would be the case were his story to you true.\"\n\nAs he spoke he started toward the companionway leading to the officers'\ncabins. Barbara Harding hesitated at the top of the stairway.\n\n\"Have no fear, Miss Harding,\" Theriere reassured her. \"Remember that\nI am your friend and that I am merely attempting to prove it to your\nentire satisfaction. You owe it to yourself to discover as soon as\npossible who your friends are aboard this ship, and who your enemies.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" said the girl. \"I can be in no more danger one place aboard\nher than another.\"\n\nTheriere led her directly to his own cabin, cautioning her to silence\nwith upraised forefinger. Softly, like skulking criminals, they entered\nthe little compartment. Then Theriere turned and closed the door,\nslipping the bolt noiselessly as he did so. Barbara watched him, her\nheart beating rapidly with fear and suspicion.\n\n\"Here,\" whispered Theriere, motioning her toward his berth. \"I have\nfound it advantageous to know what goes on beyond this partition. You\nwill find a small round hole near the head of the berth, about a foot\nabove the bedding. Put your ear to it and listen--I think Divine is in\nthere now.\"\n\nThe girl, still frightened and fearful of the man's intentions, did,\nnevertheless, as he bid. At first she could make out nothing beyond the\npartition but a confused murmur of voices, and the clink of glass, as\nof the touch of the neck of a bottle against a goblet. For a moment she\nremained in tense silence, her ear pressed to the tiny aperture. Then,\ndistinctly, she heard the voice of Skipper Simms.\n\n\"I'm a-tellin' you, man,\" he was saying, \"that there wan't nothin' else\nto be done, an' I'm a-gettin' damn sick o' hearin' you finding fault all\nthe time with the way I been a-runnin' o' this little job.\"\n\n\"I'm not finding fault, Simms,\" returned another voice which the girl\nrecognized immediately as Divine's; \"although I do think that it was a\nmistake to so totally disable the Lotus as you did. Why, how on earth\nare we ever to return to civilization if that boat is lost? Had she been\nsimply damaged a little, in a way that they could themselves have fixed\nup, the delay would have been sufficient to permit us to escape, and\nthen, when Miss Harding was returned in safety to her father, after our\nmarriage, they would have been so glad to be reunited that he easily\ncould have been persuaded to drop the matter. Then another thing; you\nintended to demand a ransom for both Miss Harding and myself, to carry\nout the fiction of my having been stolen also--how can you do that if\nMr. Harding be dead? And do you suppose for a moment that Miss Harding\nwill leave a single stone unturned to bring the guilty to justice if any\nharm has befallen her father or his guests? If so you do not know her as\nwell as I.\"\n\nThe girl turned away from the partition, her face white and drawn, her\neyes inexpressibly sad. She rose to her feet, facing Theriere.\n\n\"I have heard quite enough, thank you, Mr. Theriere,\" she said.\n\n\"You are convinced then that I am your friend?\" he asked.\n\n\"I am convinced that Mr. Divine is not,\" she replied non-committally.\n\nShe took a step toward the door. Theriere stood looking at her. She was\nunquestionably very good to look at. He could not remember ever having\nseen a more beautiful girl. A great desire to seize her in his arms\nswept over the man. Theriere had not often made any effort to harness\nhis desires. What he wanted it had been his custom to take--by force\nif necessary. He took a step toward Barbara Harding. There was a sudden\nlight in his eyes that the girl had not before seen there, and she\nreached quickly toward the knob of the door.\n\nTheriere was upon her, and then, quickly, he mastered himself, for he\nrecalled his coolly thought-out plan based on what Divine had told him\nof that clause in the will of the girl's departed grandparent which\nstipulated that the man who shared the bequest with her must be the\nchoice of both herself and her father. He could afford to bide his time,\nand play the chivalrous protector before he essayed the role of lover.\n\nBarbara had turned a half-frightened look toward him as he advanced--in\ndoubt as to his intentions.\n\n\"Pardon me, Miss Harding,\" he said; \"the door is bolted--let me unlatch\nit for you,\" and very gallantly he did so, swinging the portal wide that\nshe might pass out. \"I feared interruption,\" he said, in explanation of\nthe bolt.\n\nIn silence they returned to the upper deck. The intoxication of sudden\npassion now under control, Theriere was again master of himself and\nready to play the cold, calculating, waiting game that he had determined\nupon. Part of his plan was to see just enough of Miss Harding to insure\na place in her mind at all times; but not enough to suggest that he was\nforcing himself upon her. Rightly, he assumed that she would appreciate\nthoughtful deference to her comfort and safety under the harrowing\nconditions of her present existence more than a forced companionship\nthat might entail too open devotion on his part. And so he raised his\ncap and left her, only urging her to call upon him at any time that he\nmight be of service to her.\n\nLeft alone the girl became lost in unhappy reflections, and in the\nharrowing ordeal of attempting to readjust herself to the knowledge that\nLarry Divine, her lifelong friend, was the instigator of the atrocious\nvillainy that had been perpetrated against her and her father. She found\nit almost equally difficult to believe that Mr. Theriere was so much\nmore sinned against than sinning as he would have had her believe. And\nyet, did his story not sound even more plausible than that of Divine\nwhich she had accepted before Theriere had made it possible for her to\nknow the truth? Why, then, was it so difficult for her to believe the\nFrenchman? She could not say, but in the inmost recesses of her heart\nshe knew that she mistrusted and feared the man.\n\nAs she stood leaning against the rail, buried deep in thought, Billy\nByrne passed close behind her. At sight of her a sneer curled his lip.\nHow he hated her! Not that she ever had done aught to harm him, but\nrather because she represented to him in concrete form all that he had\nlearned to hate and loathe since early childhood.\n\nHer soft, white skin; her shapely hands and well-cared-for nails;\nher trim figure and perfectly fitting suit all taunted him with their\nsuperiority over him and his kind. He knew that she looked down upon him\nas an inferior being. She was of the class that addressed those in his\nwalk of life as \"my man.\" Lord, how he hated that appellation!\n\nThe intentness of his gaze upon her back had the effect so often noted\nby the observant, and suddenly aroused from the lethargy of her\nmisery the girl swung around to meet the man's eyes squarely upon her.\nInstantly she recognized him as the brute who had killed Billy Mallory.\nIf there had been hate in the mucker's eyes as he looked at the girl, it\nwas as nothing by comparison with the loathing and disgust which sprang\nto hers as they rested upon his sullen face.\n\nSo deep was her feeling of contempt for this man, that the sudden\nappearance of him before her startled a single exclamation from her.\n\n\"Coward!\" came the one word, involuntarily, from her lips.\n\nThe man's scowl deepened menacingly. He took a threatening step toward\nher.\n\n\"Wot's dat?\" he growled. \"Don't get gay wit me, or I'll black dem lamps\nfer yeh,\" and he raised a heavy fist as though to strike her.\n\nThe mucker had looked to see the girl cower before his threatened\nblow--that would have been ample atonement for her insult, and would\nhave appealed greatly to his Kelly-gang sense of humor. Many a time\nhad he threatened women thus, for the keen enjoyment of hearing their\nscreams of fright and seeing them turn and flee in terror. When they had\nheld their ground and opposed him, as some upon the West Side had felt\nsufficiently muscular to do, the mucker had not hesitated to \"hand them\none.\" Thus only might a man uphold his reputation for bravery in the\nvicinage of Grand Avenue.\n\nHe had looked to see this girl of the effete and effeminate upper class\nswoon with terror before him; but to his intense astonishment she but\nstood erect and brave before him, her head high held, her eyes cold and\nlevel and unafraid. And then she spoke again.\n\n\"Coward!\" she said.\n\nBilly almost struck her; but something held his hand. What, he could not\nunderstand. Could it be that he feared this slender girl? And at this\njuncture, when the threat of his attitude was the most apparent,\nSecond Officer Theriere came upon the scene. At a glance he took in the\nsituation, and with a bound had sprung between Billy Byrne and Barbara\nHarding.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. THE MUCKER AT BAY\n\n\"WHAT has this man said to you, Miss Harding?\" cried Theriere. \"Has he\noffered you harm?\"\n\n\"I do not think that he would have dared strike me,\" replied the girl,\n\"though he threatened to do so. He is the coward who murdered poor Mr.\nMallory upon the Lotus. He might stoop to anything after that.\"\n\nTheriere turned angrily upon Byrne.\n\n\"Go below!\" he shouted. \"I'll attend to you later. If Miss Harding were\nnot here I'd thrash you within an inch of your life now. And if I\never hear of your speaking to her again, or offering her the slightest\nindignity I'll put a bullet through you so quick you won't know what has\nstruck you.\"\n\n\"T'ell yeh will!\" sneered Billy Byrne. \"I got your number, yeh big\nstiff; an' yeh better not get gay wit me. Dey ain't no guy on board dis\nman's ship dat can hand Billy Byrne dat kin' o' guff an' get away with\nit--see?\" and before Theriere knew what had happened a heavy fist had\ncaught him upon the point of the chin and lifted him clear off the deck\nto drop him unconscious at Miss Harding's feet.\n\n\"Yeh see wot happens to guys dat get gay wit me?\" said the mucker to the\ngirl, and then stooping over the prostrate form of the mate Billy Byrne\nwithdrew a huge revolver from Theriere's hip pocket.\n\n\"I guess I'll need dis gat in my business purty soon,\" he remarked.\n\nThen he planted a vicious kick in the face of the unconscious man and\nwent his way to the forecastle.\n\n\"Now maybe she'll tink Billy Byrne's a coward,\" he thought, as he\ndisappeared below.\n\nBarbara Harding stood speechless with shock at the brutality and\nferocity of the unexpected attack upon Theriere. Never in all her life\nhad she dreamed that there could exist upon the face of the earth a\nthing in human form so devoid of honor, and chivalry, and fair play\nas the creature that she had just witnessed threatening a defenseless\nwoman, and kicking an unconscious man in the face; but then Barbara\nHarding had never lived between Grand Avenue and Lake Street, and\nHalsted and Robey, where standards of masculine bravery are strange and\nfearful.\n\nWhen she had recovered her equanimity she hastened to the head of the\ncabin companionway and called aloud for help. Instantly Skipper Simms\nand First Officer Ward rushed on deck, each carrying a revolver in\nreadiness for the conflict with their crew that these two worthies were\nalways expecting.\n\nBarbara pointed out the still form of Theriere, quickly explaining what\nhad occurred.\n\n\"It was the fellow Byrne who did it,\" she said. \"He has gone into the\nforecastle now, and he has a revolver that he took from Mr. Theriere\nafter he had fallen.\"\n\nSeveral of the crew had now congregated about the prostrate officer.\n\n\"Here you,\" cried Skipper Simms to a couple of them; \"you take Mr.\nTheriere below to his cabin, an' throw cold water in his face. Mr. Ward,\nget some brandy from my locker, an' try an' bring him to. The rest of\nyou arm yourselves with crowbars and axes, an' see that that son of a\nsea cook don't get out on deck again alive. Hold him there 'til I get a\ncouple of guns. Then we'll get him, damn him!\"\n\nSkipper Simms hastened below while two of the men were carrying Theriere\nto his cabin and Mr. Ward was fetching the brandy. A moment later\nBarbara Harding saw the skipper return to the upper deck with a rifle\nand two revolvers. The sailors whom he had detailed to keep Byrne below\nwere gathered about the hatchway leading to the forecastle. Some of them\nwere exchanging profane and pleasant badinage with the prisoner.\n\n\"Yeh better come up an' get killed easy-like;\" one called down to the\nmucker. \"We're apt to muss yeh all up down there in the dark with these\nhere axes and crowbars, an' then wen we send yeh home yer pore maw won't\nknow her little boy at all.\"\n\n\"Yeh come on down here, an' try mussin' me up,\" yelled back Billy Byrne.\n\"I can lick de whole gang wit one han' tied behin' me--see?\"\n\n\"De skipper's gorn to get his barkers, Billy,\" cried Bony Sawyer. \"Yeh\nbetter come up an' stan' trial if he gives yeh the chanct.\"\n\n\"Stan' nothin',\" sneered Billy. \"Swell chanct I'd have wit him an'\nSquint Eye holdin' court over me. Not on yer life, Bony. I'm here, an'\nhere I stays till I croaks, but yeh better believe me, I'm goin' to\ncroak a few before I goes, so if any of you ginks are me frien's yeh\nbetter keep outen here so's yeh won't get hurted. An' anudder ting I'm\ngoin' to do afore I cashes in--I'm goin' to put a few of dem ginks in\nde cabin wise to where dey stands wit one anudder. If I don't start\nsomething before I goes out me name's not Billy Byrne.\"\n\nAt this juncture Skipper Simms appeared with the three weapons he had\ngone to his cabin to fetch. He handed one to Bony Sawyer, another to Red\nSanders and a third to a man by the name of Wison.\n\n\"Now, my men,\" said Skipper Simms, \"we will go below and bring Byrne up.\nBring him alive if you can--but bring him.\"\n\nNo one made a move to enter the forecastle.\n\n\"Go on now, move quickly,\" commanded Skipper Simms sharply.\n\n\"Thought he said 'we',\" remarked one of the sailors.\n\nSkipper Simms, livid with rage, turned to search out the offender from\nthe several men behind him.\n\n\"Who was that?\" he roared. \"Show me the blitherin' swab. Jes' show him\nto me, I tell you, an I'll learn him. Now you,\" he yelled at the top of\nhis voice, turning again to the men he had ordered into the forecastle\nafter Billy Byrne, \"you cowardly landlubbers you, get below there quick\nafore I kick you below.\"\n\nStill no one moved to obey him. From white he went to red, and then back\nto white again. He fairly frothed at the mouth as he jumped up and down,\ncursing the men, and threatening. But all to no avail. They would not\ngo.\n\n\"Why, Skipper,\" spoke up Bony Sawyer, \"it's sure death for any man as\ngoes below there. It's easier, an' safer, to starve him out.\"\n\n\"Starve nothin',\" shrieked Skipper Simms. \"Do you reckon I'm a-goin' to\nsit quiet here for a week an' let any blanked wharf rat own that there\nfo'c's'le just because I got a lot o' white-livered cowards aboard? No\nsir! You're a-goin' down after that would-be bad man an' fetch him up\ndead or alive,\" and with that he started menacingly toward the three\nwho stood near the hatch, holding their firearms safely out of range of\nBilly Byrne below.\n\nWhat would have happened had Skipper Simms completed the threatening\nmaneuver he had undertaken can never be known, for at this moment\nTheriere pushed his way through the circle of men who were interested\nspectators of the impending tragedy.\n\n\"What's up, sir?\" he asked of Simms. \"Anything that I can help you\nwith?\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed the skipper; \"so you ain't dead after all, eh? Well\nthat don't change the looks of things a mite. We gotta get that man outa\nthere an' these flea-bitten imitations of men ain't got the guts to go\nin after him.\"\n\n\"He's got your gun, sir,\" spoke up Wison, \"an' Gawd knows he be the one\nas'ud on'y be too glad for the chanct to use it.\"\n\n\"Let me see if I can't handle him, sir,\" said Theriere to Skipper Simms.\n\"We don't want to lose any men if we can help it.\"\n\nThe skipper was only too glad to welcome this unexpected rescue from\nthe predicament in which he had placed himself. How Theriere was to\naccomplish the subjugation of the mutinous sailor he could not guess,\nnor did he care so long as it was done without risk to his own skin.\n\n\"Now if you'll go away, sir,\" said Theriere, \"and order the men away\nI'll see what I can do.\"\n\nSkipper Simms did as Theriere had requested, so that presently the\nofficer stood alone beside the hatch. Across the deck, amidships, the\nmen had congregated to watch Theriere's operations, while beyond them\nstood Barbara Harding held fascinated by the grim tragedy that was\nunfolding before her upon this accursed vessel.\n\nTheriere leaned over the open hatch, in full view of the waiting Byrne,\nready below. There was the instant report of a firearm and a bullet\nwhizzed close past Theriere's head.\n\n\"Avast there, Byrne!\" he shouted. \"It's I, Theriere. Don't shoot again,\nI want to speak to you.\"\n\n\"No monkey business now,\" growled the mucker in reply. \"I won't miss\nagain.\"\n\n\"I want to talk with you, Byrne,\" said Theriere in a low tone. \"I'm\ncoming down there.\"\n\n\"No you ain't, cul,\" returned Byrne; \"leastways yeh ain't a-comin' down\nhere alive.\"\n\n\"Yes I am, Byrne,\" replied Theriere, \"and you don't want to be foolish\nabout it. I'm unarmed. You can cover me with your gun until you have\nsatisfied yourself as to that. I'm the only man on the ship that can\nsave your life--the only man that has any reason to want to; but we've\ngot to talk it over and we can't talk this way where there's a chance of\nbeing overheard. I'll be on the square with you if you will with me,\nand if we can't come to terms I'll come above again and you won't be\nany worse off than you are now. Here I come,\" and without waiting for an\nacceptance of his proposition the second officer of the Halfmoon slipped\nover the edge of the hatchway and disappeared from the sight of the\nwatchers above.\n\nThat he was a brave man even Billy Byrne had to admit, and those above\nwho knew nothing of the relations existing between the second mate and\nthe sailor, who had so recently felled him, thought that his courage was\nlittle short of marvelous. Theriere's stock went up by leaps and bounds\nin the estimation of the sailors of the Halfmoon, for degraded though\nthey were they could understand and appreciate physical courage of this\nsort, while to Barbara Harding the man's act seemed unparalleled in its\nutter disregard of the consequences of life and death to himself that it\nentailed. She suddenly was sorry that she had entertained any suspicions\nagainst Theriere--so brave a man could not be other than the soul of\nhonor, she argued.\n\nOnce below Theriere found himself covered by his own revolver in the\nhands of a very desperate and a very unprincipled man. He smiled at\nByrne as the latter eyed him suspiciously.\n\n\"See here, Byrne,\" said Theriere. \"It would be foolish for me to say\nthat I am doing this for love of you. The fact is that I need you. We\ncannot succeed, either one of us, alone. I think you made a fool play\nwhen you hit me today. You know that our understanding was that I was\nto be even a little rougher with you than usual, in order to avoid\nsuspicion being attached to any seeming familiarity between us, should\nwe be caught conferring together. I had the chance to bawl you out\ntoday, and I thought that you would understand that I was but taking\nadvantage of the opportunity which it afforded to make it plain to Miss\nHarding that there could be nothing other than hatred between us--it\nmight have come in pretty handy later to have her believe that.\n\n\"If I'd had any idea that you really intended hitting me you'd have been\na dead man before your fist reached me, Byrne. You took me entirely\nby surprise; but that's all in the past--I'm willing to let bygones be\nbygones, and help you out of the pretty pickle you've got yourself into.\nThen we can go ahead with our work as though nothing had happened. What\ndo you say?\"\n\n\"I didn't know yeh was kiddin,\" replied the mucker, \"or I wouldn't have\nhit yeh. Yeh acted like yeh meant it.\"\n\n\"Very well, that part's understood,\" said Theriere. \"Now will you come\nout if I can square the thing with the skipper so's you won't get more\nthan a day or so in irons--he'll have to give you something to save his\nown face; but I promise that you'll get your food regularly and that you\nwon't be beaten up the way you were before when he had you below. If he\nwon't agree to what I propose I give you my word to tell you so.\"\n\n\"Go ahead,\" said Billy Byrne; \"I don't trust nobody wen I don't have to;\nbut I'll be dinged if I see any other way out of it.\"\n\nTheriere returned to the deck and seeking out the skipper drew him to\none side.\n\n\"I can get him up peaceably if I can assure him that he'll only get a\nday or so in the cooler, with full rations and no beatings. I think,\nsir, that that will be the easiest way out of it. We cannot spare a\nman now--if we want to get the fellow later we can always find some\npretext.\"\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Theriere,\" replied the skipper, \"I'll leave the matter\nentirely in your hands--you can do what you want with the fellow; it's\nyou as had your face punched.\"\n\nTheriere returned immediately to the forecastle, from which he presently\nemerged with the erstwhile recalcitrant Byrne, and for two days the\nlatter languished in durance vile, and that was the end of the episode,\nthough its effects were manifold. For one thing it implanted in the\nheart of Theriere a personal hatred for the mucker, so that while\nheretofore his intention of ridding himself of the man when he no longer\nneeded him was due purely to a matter of policy, it was now reinforced\nby a keen desire for personal revenge. The occurrence had also had its\ninfluence upon Barbara Harding, in that it had shown her Mr. Theriere\nin a new light--one that reflected credit upon him. She had thought his\nmagnanimous treatment of the sailor little short of heroic; and it\nhad deepened the girl's horror of Billy Byrne until it now amounted to\nlittle short of an obsession. So vivid an impression had his brutality\nmade upon her that she would start from deep slumber, dreaming that she\nwas menaced by him.\n\nAfter Billy was released for duty following his imprisonment, he several\ntimes passed the girl upon deck. He noticed that she shrank from him\nin disgust and terror; but what surprised him was that instead of the\nthrill of pride which he formerly would have felt at this acknowledgment\nof his toughness, for Billy prided himself on being a tough, he now felt\na singular resentment against the girl for her attitude, so that he came\nto hate her even more than he had before hated. Formerly he had hated\nher for the things she stood for, now he hated her for herself.\n\nTheriere was often with her now, and, less frequently, Divine; for\nat the second officer's suggestion Barbara had not acquainted that\ngentleman with the fact that she was aware of his duplicity.\n\n\"It is just as well not to let him know,\" said Theriere. \"It gives you\nan advantage that would be wanting should he suspect the truth, so that\nnow you are always in a position to be warned in plenty of time against\nany ulterior suggestion he may make. Keep me posted as to all he tells\nyou of his plans, and in this way we can defeat him much more easily\nthan as though you followed your natural inclinations and refused to\nhold communication of any sort with him. It might be well, Miss Harding,\neven to encourage him in the hope that you will wed him voluntarily. I\nthink that that would throw him entirely off his guard, and pave the way\nfor your early release.\"\n\n\"Oh, I doubt if I could do that, Mr. Theriere,\" exclaimed the girl.\n\"You cannot imagine how I loathe the man now that I know him in his true\ncolors. For years he has importuned me to marry him, and though I never\ncared for him in that way at all, and never could, I felt that he was\na very good friend and that his constancy demanded some return on my\npart--my friendship and sympathy at least; but now I shiver whenever he\nis near me, just as I would were I to find a snake coiled close beside\nme. I cannot abide treachery.\"\n\n\"Nor I, Miss Harding,\" agreed Theriere glibly. \"The man deserves nothing\nbut your contempt, though for policy's sake I hope that you will find\nit possible to lead him on until his very treachery proves the means\nof your salvation, for believe me, if he has been false to you how much\nmore quickly will he be false to Simms and Ward! He would ditch them in\na minute if the opportunity presented itself for him to win you\nwithout their aid. I had thought it might be feasible to lead him into\nattempting to take the ship by force, and return you to San Francisco,\nor, better still possibly, to the nearest civilized port.\n\n\"You might, with propriety suggest this to him, telling him that you\nbelieve that I would stand ready to assist in the undertaking. I can\npromise you the support of several of the men--quite a sufficient\nnumber with Divine and myself, easily to take the Halfmoon away from her\npresent officers.\"\n\n\"I will think over your suggestion, Mr. Theriere,\" replied Barbara, \"and\nI thank you for the generous impulse that has prompted you to befriend\nme--heaven knows how badly I need a friend now among so many enemies.\nWhat is it, Mr. Theriere? What is the matter?\"\n\nThe officer had turned his eyes casually toward the southeast as the\ngirl spoke, and just now he had given a sudden exclamation of surprise\nand alarm.\n\n\"That cloud, Miss Harding,\" he answered. \"We're in for a bad blow, and\nit'll be on us in a minute,\" and with that he started forward on a run,\ncalling back over his shoulder, \"you'd better go below at once.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. THE TYPHOON\n\n\nTHE storm that struck the Halfmoon took her entirely unaware. It had\nsprung, apparently, out of a perfectly clear sky. Both the lookout and\nthe man at the wheel were ready to take oath that they had scanned the\nhorizon not a half-minute before Second Mate Theriere had come racing\nforward bellowing for all hands on deck and ordering a sailor below to\nreport the menacing conditions to Captain Simms.\n\nBefore that officer reached the deck Theriere had the entire crew aloft\ntaking in sail; but though they worked with the desperation of doomed\nmen they were only partially successful in their efforts.\n\nThe sky and sea had assumed a sickly yellowish color, except for the\nmighty black cloud that raced toward them, low over the water. The low\nmoaning sound that had followed the first appearance of the storm, gave\nplace to a sullen roar, and then, of a sudden, the thing struck the\nHalfmoon, ripping her remaining canvas from her as if it had been\nwrought from tissue paper, and with the flying canvas, spars, and\ncordage went the mainmast, snapping ten feet above the deck, and\ncrashing over the starboard bow with a noise and jar that rose above the\nbellowing of the typhoon.\n\nFully half the crew of the Halfmoon either went down with the falling\nrigging or were crushed by the crashing weight of the mast as it hurtled\nagainst the deck. Skipper Simms rushed back and forth screaming out\ncurses that no one heeded, and orders that there was none to fill.\n\nTheriere, on his own responsibility, looked to the hatches. Ward with a\nhandful of men armed with axes attempted to chop away the wreckage, for\nthe jagged butt of the fallen mast was dashing against the ship's side\nwith such vicious blows that it seemed but a matter of seconds ere it\nwould stave a hole in her.\n\nWith the utmost difficulty a sea anchor was rigged and tumbled over\nthe Halfmoon's pitching bow into the angry sea, that was rising to more\ngigantic proportions with each succeeding minute. This frail makeshift\nwhich at best could but keep the vessel's bow into the wind, saving her\nfrom instant engulfment in the sea's trough, seemed to Theriere but a\nsorry means of prolonging the agony of suspense preceding the inevitable\nend. That nothing could save them was the second officer's firm belief,\nnor was he alone in his conviction. Not only Simms and Ward, but every\nexperienced sailor on the ship felt that the life of the Halfmoon was\nnow but a matter of hours, possibly minutes, while those of lesser\nexperience were equally positive that each succeeding wave must mark the\ntermination of the lives of the vessel and her company.\n\nThe deck, washed now almost continuously by hurtling tons of storm-mad\nwater, as one mountainous wave followed another the length of the ship,\nhad become entirely impossible. With difficulty the men were attempting\nto get below between waves. All semblance of discipline had vanished.\nFor the most part they were a pack of howling, cursing, terror-ridden\nbeasts, fighting at the hatches with those who would have held them\nclosed against the danger of each new assault of the sea.\n\nWard and Skipper Simms had been among the first to seek the precarious\nsafety below deck. Theriere alone of the officers had remained on duty\nuntil the last, and now he was exerting his every faculty in the effort\nto save as many of the men as possible without losing the ship in the\ndoing of it. Only between waves was the entrance to the main cabins\nnegotiable, while the forecastle hatch had been abandoned entirely after\nit had with difficulty been replaced following the retreat of three of\nthe crew to that part of the ship.\n\nThe mucker stood beside Theriere as the latter beat back the men when\nthe seas threatened. It was the man's first experience of the kind.\nNever had he faced death in the courage-blighting form which the grim\nharvester assumes when he calls unbridled Nature to do his ghastly\nbidding. The mucker saw the rough, brawling bullies of the forecastle\nreduced to white-faced, gibbering cowards, clawing and fighting to climb\nover one another toward the lesser danger of the cabins, while the mate\nfought them off, except as he found it expedient to let them pass him;\nhe alone cool and fearless.\n\nByrne stood as one apart from the dangers and hysteric strivings of\nhis fellows. Once when Theriere happened to glance in his direction\nthe Frenchman mentally ascribed the mucker's seeming lethargy to the\nparalysis of abject cowardice. \"The fellow is in a blue funk,\" thought\nthe second mate; \"I did not misjudge him--like all his kind he is a\ncoward at heart.\"\n\nThen a great wave came, following unexpectedly close upon the heels of\na lesser one. It took Theriere off his guard, threw him down and hurtled\nhim roughly across the deck, landing him in the scuppers, bleeding and\nstunned. The next wave would carry him overboard.\n\nReleased from surveillance the balance of the crew pushed and fought\ntheir way into the cabin--only the mucker remained without, staring\nfirst at the prostrate form of the mate and then at the open cabin\nhatch. Had one been watching him he might reasonably have thought that\nthe man's mind was in a muddle of confused thoughts and fears; but such\nwas far from the case. Billy was waiting to see if the mate would revive\nsufficiently to return across the deck before the next wave swept the\nship. It was very interesting--he wondered what odds O'Leary would have\nlaid against the man.\n\nIn another moment the wave would come. Billy glanced at the open cabin\nhatch. That would never do--the cabin would be flooded with tons of\nwater should the next wave find the hatch still open. Billy closed\nit. Then he looked again toward Theriere. The man was just recovering\nconsciousness--and the wave was coming.\n\nSomething stirred within Billy Byrne. It gripped him and made him act\nquickly as though by instinct to do something that no one, Billy himself\nleast of all, would have suspected that the Grand Avenue mucker would\nhave been capable of.\n\nAcross the deck Theriere was dragging himself painfully to his hands and\nknees, as though to attempt the impossible feat of crawling back to the\ncabin hatch. The wave was almost upon Billy. In a moment it would engulf\nhim, and then rush on across him to tear Theriere from the deck and hurl\nhim beyond the ship into the tumbling, watery, chaos of the sea.\n\nThe mucker saw all this, and in the instant he launched himself toward\nthe man for whom he had no use, whose kind he hated, reaching him as\nthe great wave broke over them, crushing them to the deck, choking and\nblinding them.\n\nFor a moment they were buried in the swirling maelstrom, and then as the\nHalfmoon rose again, shaking the watery enemy from her back, the two men\nwere disclosed--Theriere half over the ship's side--the mucker clinging\nto him with one hand, the other clutching desperately at a huge cleat\nupon the gunwale.\n\nByrne dragged the mate to the deck, and then slowly and with infinite\ndifficulty across it to the cabin hatch. Through it he pushed the man,\ntumbling after him and closing the aperture just as another wave swept\nthe Halfmoon.\n\nTheriere was conscious and but little the worse for his experience,\nthough badly bruised. He looked at the mucker in astonishment as the two\nfaced each other in the cabin.\n\n\"I don't know why you did it,\" said Theriere.\n\n\"Neither do I,\" replied Billy Byrne.\n\n\"I shall not forget it, Byrne,\" said the officer.\n\n\"Yeh'd better,\" answered Billy, turning away.\n\nThe mucker was extremely puzzled to account for his act. He did not look\nupon it at all as a piece of heroism; but rather as a \"fool play\" which\nhe should be ashamed of. The very idea! Saving the life of a gink who,\ndespite his brutal ways, belonged to the much-despised \"highbrow\" class.\nBilly was peeved with himself.\n\nTheriere, for his part, was surprised at the unexpected heroism of the\nman he had long since rated as a cowardly bully. He was fully determined\nto repay Byrne in so far as he could the great debt he owed him. All\nthoughts of revenge for the mucker's former assault upon him were\ndropped, and he now looked upon the man as a true friend and ally.\n\nFor three days the Halfmoon plunged helplessly upon the storm-wracked\nsurface of the mad sea. No soul aboard her entertained more than the\nfaintest glimmer of a hope that the ship would ride out the storm; but\nduring the third night the wind died down, and by morning the sea had\nfallen sufficiently to make it safe for the men of the Halfmoon to\nventure upon deck.\n\nThere they found the brigantine clean-swept from stem to stern. To\nthe north of them was land at a league or two, perhaps. Had the storm\ncontinued during the night they would have been dashed upon the coast.\nGod-fearing men would have given thanks for their miraculous rescue;\nbut not so these. Instead, the fear of death removed, they assumed their\nformer bravado.\n\nSkipper Simms boasted of the seamanship that had saved the Halfmoon--his\nown seamanship of course. Ward was cursing the luck that had disabled\nthe ship at so crucial a period of her adventure, and revolving in his\nevil mind various possible schemes for turning the misfortune to his\nown advantage. Billy Byrne, sitting upon the corner of the galley\ntable, hobnobbed with Blanco. These choice representatives of the ship's\ncompany were planning a raid on the skipper's brandy chest during the\ndisembarkation which the sight of land had rendered not improbable.\n\nThe Halfmoon, with the wind down, wallowed heavily in the trough of the\nsea, but even so Barbara Harding, wearied with days of confinement in\nher stuffy cabin below, ventured above deck for a breath of sweet, clean\nair.\n\nScarce had she emerged from below than Theriere espied her, and hastened\nto her side.\n\n\"Well, Miss Harding,\" he exclaimed, \"it seems good to see you on deck\nagain. I can't tell you how sorry I have felt for you cooped up alone\nin your cabin without a single woman for companionship, and all those\nfrightful days of danger, for there was scarce one of us that thought\nthe old hooker would weather so long and hard a blow. We were mighty\nfortunate to come through it so handily.\"\n\n\"Handily?\" queried Barbara Harding, with a wry smile, glancing about\nthe deck of the Halfmoon. \"I cannot see that we are either through it\nhandily or through it at all. We have no masts, no canvas, no boats;\nand though I am not much of a sailor, I can see that there is little\nlikelihood of our effecting a landing on the shore ahead either with or\nwithout boats---it looks most forbidding. Then the wind has gone down,\nand when it comes up again it is possible that it will carry us away\nfrom the land, or if it takes us toward it, dash us to pieces at the\nfoot of those frightful cliffs.\"\n\n\"I see you are too good a sailor by far to be cheered by any\nquestionable hopes,\" laughed Theriere; \"but you must take the will\ninto consideration--I only wished to give you a ray of hope that might\nlighten your burden of apprehension. However, honestly, I do think that\nwe may find a way to make a safe landing if the sea continues to go\ndown as it has in the past two hours. We are not more than a league from\nshore, and with the jury mast and sail that the men are setting under\nMr. Ward now we can work in comparative safety with a light breeze,\nwhich we should have during the afternoon. There are few coasts, however\nrugged they may appear at a distance, that do not offer some foothold\nfor the wrecked mariner, and I doubt not but that we shall find this no\nexception to the rule.\"\n\n\"I hope you are right, Mr. Theriere,\" said the girl, \"and yet I cannot\nbut feel that my position will be less safe on land than it has been\nupon the Halfmoon. Once free from the restraints of discipline which\ntradition, custom, and law enforce upon the high seas there is no\ntelling what atrocities these men will commit. To be quite candid, Mr.\nTheriere, I dread a landing worse than I dreaded the dangers of the\nstorm through which we have just passed.\"\n\n\"I think you have little to fear on that score, Miss Harding,\" said the\nFrenchman. \"I intend making it quite plain that I consider myself your\nprotector once we have left the Halfmoon, and I can count on several of\nthe men to support me. Even Mr. Divine will not dare do otherwise. Then\nwe can set up a camp of our own apart from Skipper Simms and his faction\nwhere you will be constantly guarded until succor may be obtained.\"\n\nBarbara Harding had been watching the man's face as he spoke. The memory\nof his consideration and respectful treatment of her during the trying\nweeks of her captivity had done much to erase the intuitive feeling\nof distrust that had tinged her thoughts of him earlier in their\nacquaintance, while his heroic act in descending into the forecastle\nin the face of the armed and desperate Byrne had thrown a glamour of\nromance about him that could not help but tend to fascinate a girl of\nBarbara Harding's type. Then there was the look she had seen in his eyes\nfor a brief instant when she had found herself locked in his cabin on\nthe occasion that he had revealed to her Larry Divine's duplicity. That\nexpression no red-blooded girl could mistake, and the fact that he had\nsubdued his passion spoke eloquently to the girl of the fineness\nand chivalry of his nature, so now it was with a feeling of utter\ntrustfulness that she gladly gave herself into the keeping of Henri\nTheriere, Count de Cadenet, Second Officer of the Halfmoon.\n\n\"O Mr. Theriere,\" she cried, \"if you only can but arrange it so, how\nrelieved and almost happy I shall be. How can I ever repay you for all\nthat you have done for me?\"\n\nAgain she saw the light leap to the man's eyes--the light of a love\nthat would not be denied much longer other than through the agency of a\nmighty will. Love she thought it; but the eye-light of love and lust are\ntwin lights between which it takes much worldly wisdom to differentiate,\nand Barbara Harding was not worldly-wise in the ways of sin.\n\n\"Miss Harding,\" said Theriere, in a voice that he evidently found it\ndifficult to control, \"do not ask me now how you may repay me; I--;\" but\nwhat he would have said he checked, and with an effort of will that was\nalmost appreciable to the eye he took a fresh grip upon himself, and\ncontinued: \"I am amply repaid by being able to serve you, and thus to\nretrieve myself in your estimation--I know that you have doubted me;\nthat you have questioned the integrity of my acts that helped to lead\nup to the unfortunate affair of the Lotus. When you tell me that you\nno longer doubt--that you accept me as the friend I would wish to be, I\nshall be more than amply repaid for anything which it may have been\nmy good fortune to have been able to accomplish for your comfort and\nsafety.\"\n\n\"Then I may partially repay you at once,\" exclaimed the girl with a\nsmile, \"for I can assure you that you possess my friendship to the\nfullest, and with it, of course, my entire confidence. It is true that\nI doubted you at first--I doubted everyone connected with the Halfmoon.\nWhy shouldn't I? But now I think that I am able to draw a very clear\nline between my friends and my enemies. There is but one upon the right\nside of that line--you, my friend,\" and with an impulsive little gesture\nBarbara Harding extended her hand to Theriere.\n\nIt was with almost a sheepish expression that the Frenchman took the\nproffered fingers, for there had been that in the frank avowal of\nconfidence and friendship which smote upon a chord of honor in the man's\nsoul that had not vibrated in response to a chivalrous impulse for so\nmany long years that it had near atrophied from disuse.\n\nThen, of a sudden, the second officer of the Halfmoon straightened to\nhis full height. His head went high, and he took the small hand of the\ngirl in his own strong, brown one.\n\n\"Miss Harding,\" he said, \"I have led a hard, bitter life. I have not\nalways done those things of which I might be most proud: but there\nhave been times when I have remembered that I am the grandson of one of\nNapoleon's greatest field marshals, and that I bear a name that has been\nhonored by a mighty nation. What you have just said to me recalls these\nfacts most vividly to my mind--I hope, Miss Harding, that you will never\nregret having spoken them,\" and to the bottom of his heart the man meant\nwhat he said, at the moment; for inherent chivalry is as difficult to\nsuppress or uproot as is inherent viciousness.\n\nThe girl let her hand rest in his for a moment, and as their eyes met\nshe saw in his a truth and honesty and cleanness which revealed\nwhat Theriere might have been had Fate ordained his young manhood to\ndifferent channels. And in that moment a question sprang, all unbidden\nand unforeseen to her mind; a question which caused her to withdraw her\nhand quickly from his, and which sent a slow crimson to her cheek.\n\nBilly Byrne, slouching by, cast a bitter look of hatred upon the two.\nThe fact that he had saved Theriere's life had not increased his love\nfor that gentleman. He was still much puzzled to account for the strange\nidiocy that had prompted him to that act; and two of his fellows had\nfelt the weight of his mighty fist when they had spoken words of rough\npraise for his heroism--Billy had thought that they were kidding him.\n\nTo Billy the knocking out of Theriere, and the subsequent kick which\nhe had planted in the unconscious man's face, were true indications of\nmanliness. He gauged such matters by standards purely Grand Avenuesque\nand now it enraged him to see that the girl before whose very eyes he\nhad demonstrated his superiority over Theriere should so look with favor\nupon the officer.\n\nIt did not occur to Billy that he would care to have the girl look with\nfavor upon him. Such a thought would have sent him into a berserker\nrage; but the fact remained that Billy felt a strong desire to cut out\nTheriere's heart when he saw him now in close converse with Barbara\nHarding--just why he felt so Billy could not have said. The truth of\nthe matter is that Billy was far from introspective; in fact he did very\nlittle thinking. His mind had never been trained to it, as his muscles\nhad been trained to fighting. Billy reacted more quickly to instinct\nthan to the processes of reasoning, and on this account it was difficult\nfor him to explain any great number of his acts or moods--it is to be\ndoubted, however, that Billy Byrne had ever attempted to get at the\nbottom of his soul, if he possessed one.\n\nBe that as it may, had Theriere known it he was very near death that\nmoment when a summons from Skipper Simms called him aft and saved his\nlife. Then the mucker, unseen by the officer, approached the girl. In\nhis heart were rage and hatred, and as the girl turned at the sound of\nhis step behind her she saw them mirrored in his dark, scowling face.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. THE WRECK OF THE \"HALFMOON\"\n\nINSTANTLY Barbara Harding looked into the face of the mucker she read\nher danger. Why the man should hate her so she could not guess; but\nthat he did was evidenced by the malevolent expression of his surly\ncountenance. For a moment he stood glaring at her, and then he spoke.\n\n\"I'm wise to wot youse an' dat guy was chinnin' about,\" he growled, \"an'\nI'm right here to tell youse dat you don't wanta try an' put nothin'\nover on me, see? Youse ain't a-goin' to double-cross Billy Byrne. I\ngotta good notion to han' youse wot's comin' to you. If it hadn't been\nfer youse I wouldn't have been here now on dis Gawd-forsaken wreck.\nYouse is de cause of all de trouble. Wot youse ought to get is croaked\nan' den dere wouldn't be nothin' to bother any of us. You an' yer bunch\nof kale, dey give me a swift pain. Fer half a cent I'd soak youse a\nwallop to de solar plexus dat would put youse to sleep fer de long\ncount, you--you--\" but here words failed Billy.\n\nTo his surprise the girl showed not the slightest indication of fear.\nHer head was high, and her level gaze never wavered from his own eyes.\nPresently a sneer of contempt curled her lip.\n\n\"You coward!\" she said quietly. \"To insult and threaten a woman! You are\nnothing but an insufferable bully, and a cowardly murderer. You murdered\na man on the Lotus whose little finger held more true manhood, bravery,\nand worth than the whole of your great, hulking carcass. You are only\nfit to strike from behind, or when your victim is unsuspecting, as you\ndid Mr. Theriere that other day. Do you think I fear a THING such as\nyou--a beast without honor that kicks an unconscious man in the face?\nI know that you can kill me. I know that you are coward enough to do it\nbecause I am a defenseless woman; and though you may kill me, you never\ncan make me show fear for you. That is what you wish to do--that is your\nidea of manliness. I had never imagined that such a thing as you lived\nin the guise of man; but I have read you, Mr. Byrne, since I have had\noccasion to notice you, and I know now that you are what is known in the\ngreat cities as a mucker. The term never meant much to me before, but I\nsee now that it fits your kind perfectly, for in it is all the loathing\nand contempt that a real man--a gentleman--must feel for such as you.\"\n\nAs she spoke Billy Byrne's eyes narrowed; but not with the cunning of\npremeditated attack. He was thinking. For the first time in his life he\nwas thinking of how he appeared in the eyes of another. Never had any\nhuman being told Billy Byrne thus coolly and succinctly what sort of\nperson he seemed to them. In the heat of anger men of his own stamp had\napplied vile epithets to him, describing him luridly as such that by\nthe simplest laws of nature he could not possibly be; but this girl\nhad spoken coolly, and her descriptions had been explicit--backed by\nillustrations. She had given real reasons for her contempt, and somehow\nit had made that contempt seem very tangible.\n\nOne who had known Billy would have expected him to fly into a rage and\nattack the girl brutally after her scathing diatribe. Billy did nothing\nof the sort. Barbara Harding's words seemed to have taken all the fight\nout of him. He stood looking at her for a moment--it was one of the\nstrange contradictions of Billy Byrne's personality that he could\nhold his eyes quite steady and level, meeting the gaze of another\nunwaveringly--and in that moment something happened to Billy Byrne's\nperceptive faculties. It was as though scales which had dimmed his\nmental vision had partially dropped away, for suddenly he saw what he\nhad not before seen--a very beautiful girl, brave and unflinching before\nthe brutal menace of his attitude, and though the mucker thought that\nhe still hated her, the realization came to him that he must not raise a\nhand against her--that for the life of him he could not, nor ever again\nagainst any other woman. Why this change, Billy did not know, he simply\nknew that it was so, and with an ugly grunt he turned his back upon her\nand walked away.\n\nA slight breeze had risen from the southwest since Theriere had left\nBarbara Harding and now all hands were busily engaged in completing the\njury rigging that the Halfmoon might take advantage of the wind and make\nthe shore that rose abruptly from the bosom of the ocean but a league\naway.\n\nBefore the work was completed the wind increased rapidly, so that when\nthe tiny bit of canvas was hoisted into position it bellied bravely, and\nthe Halfmoon moved heavily forward toward the land.\n\n\"We gotta make a mighty quick run of it,\" said Skipper Simms to Ward,\n\"or we'll go to pieces on them rocks afore ever we find a landing.\"\n\n\"That we will if this wind rises much more,\" replied Ward; \"and's far as\nI can see there ain't no more chance to make a landing there than there\nwould be on the side of a house.\"\n\nAnd indeed as the Halfmoon neared the towering cliffs it seemed utterly\nhopeless that aught else than a fly could find a foothold upon that\nsheer and rocky face that rose abruptly from the ocean's surface.\n\nSome two hundred yards from the shore it became evident that there was\nno landing to be made directly before them, and so the course of the\nship was altered to carry them along parallel to the shore in an effort\nto locate a cove, or beach where a landing might safely be effected.\n\nThe wind, increasing steadily, was now whipping the sea into angry\nbreakers that dashed resoundingly against the rocky barrier of the\nisland. To drift within reach of those frightful destroyers would mean\nthe instant annihilation of the Halfmoon and all her company, yet this\nwas precisely what the almost unmanageable hulk was doing at the wheel\nunder the profane direction of Skipper Simms, while Ward and Theriere\nwith a handful of men altered the meager sail from time to time in an\neffort to keep the ship off the rocks for a few moments longer.\n\nThe Halfmoon was almost upon the cliff's base when a narrow opening\nshowed some hundred fathoms before her nose, an opening through which\nthe sea ran in long, surging sweeps, rolling back upon itself in angry\nbreakers that filled the aperture with swirling water and high-flung\nspume. To have attempted to drive the ship into such a place would have\nbeen the height of madness under ordinary circumstances. No man knew\nwhat lay beyond, nor whether the opening carried sufficient water to\nfloat the Halfmoon, though the long, powerful sweep of the sea as it\nentered the opening denoted considerable depth.\n\nSkipper Simms, seeing the grim rocks rising close beside his vessel,\nrealized that naught could keep her from them now. He saw death peering\nclose to his face. He felt the icy breath of the Grim Reaper upon his\nbrow. A coward at heart, he lost every vestige of his nerve at this\ncrucial moment of his life. Leaping from the wheelhouse to the deck he\nran backward and forward shrieking at the top of his lungs begging and\nentreating someone to save him, and offering fabulous rewards to the man\nwho carried him safely to the shore.\n\nThe sight of their captain in a blue funk had its effect upon the\nmajority of the crew, so that in a moment a pack of screaming,\nterror-ridden men had supplanted the bravos and bullies of the Halfmoon.\n\nFrom the cabin companionway Barbara Harding looked upon the disgusting\nscene. Her lip curled in scorn at the sight of these men weeping and\nmoaning in their fright. She saw Ward busy about one of the hatches. It\nwas evident that he intended making a futile attempt to utilize it as a\nmeans of escape after the Halfmoon struck, for he was attaching ropes\nto it and dragging it toward the port side of the ship, away from the\nshore. Larry Divine crouched beside the cabin and wept.\n\nWhen Simms gave up the ship Barbara Harding saw the wheelmen, there had\nbeen two of them, desert their post, and almost instantly the nose of\nthe Halfmoon turned toward the rocks; but scarcely had the men reached\nthe deck than Theriere leaped to their place at the wheel.\n\nUnassisted he could do little with the heavy helm. Barbara saw that\nhe alone of all the officers and men of the brigantine was making an\nattempt to save the vessel. However futile the effort might be, it at\nleast bespoke the coolness and courage of the man. With the sight of him\nthere wrestling with death in a hopeless struggle a little wave of pride\nsurged through the girl. Here indeed was a man! And he loved her--that\nshe knew. Whether or no she returned his love her place was beside him\nnow, to give what encouragement and physical aid lay in her power.\n\nQuickly she ran to the wheelhouse. Theriere saw her and smiled.\n\n\"There's no hope, I'm afraid,\" he said; \"but, by George, I intend to go\ndown fighting, and not like those miserable yellow curs.\"\n\nBarbara did not reply, but she grasped the spokes of the heavy wheel and\ntugged as he tugged. Theriere made no effort to dissuade her from the\nstrenuous labor--every ounce of weight would help so much, and the man\nhad a wild, mad idea that he was attempting to put into effect.\n\n\"What do you hope to do?\" asked the girl. \"Make that opening in the\ncliffs?\"\n\nTheriere nodded.\n\n\"Do you think me crazy?\" he asked.\n\n\"It is such a chance as only a brave man would dare to take,\" she\nreplied. \"Do you think that we can get her to take it?\"\n\n\"I doubt it,\" he answered. \"With another man at the wheel we might,\nthough.\"\n\nBelow them the crew of the Halfmoon ran hither and thither along the\ndeck on the side away from the breakers. They fought with one another\nfor useless bits of planking and cordage. The giant figure of the black\ncook, Blanco, rose above the others. In his hand was a huge butcher\nknife. When he saw a piece of wood he coveted in the hands of another he\nrushed upon his helpless victim with wild, bestial howls, menacing him\nwith his gleaming weapon. Thus he was rapidly accumulating the material\nfor a life raft.\n\nBut there was a single figure upon the deck that did not seem mad with\nterror. A huge fellow he was who stood leaning against the capstan\nwatching the wild antics of his fellows with a certain wondering\nexpression of incredulity, the while a contemptuous smile curled his\nlips. As Barbara Harding chanced to look in his direction he also\nchanced to turn his eyes toward the wheelhouse. It was the mucker.\n\nThe girl was surprised that he, the greatest coward of them all, should\nbe showing no signs of cowardice now--probably he was paralyzed with\nfright. The moment that the man saw the two who were in the wheelhouse\nand the work that they were doing he sprang quickly toward them. At his\napproach the girl shrank closer to Theriere.\n\nWhat new outrage did the fellow contemplate? Now he was beside her. The\nhabitual dark scowl blackened his expression. He laid a heavy hand on\nBarbara Harding's arm.\n\n\"Come out o' dat,\" he bellowed. \"Dat's no kind o' job fer a broiler.\"\n\nAnd before either she or Theriere could guess his intention the mucker\nhad pushed Barbara aside and taken her place at the wheel.\n\n\"Good for you, Byrne!\" cried Theriere. \"I needed you badly.\"\n\n\"Why didn't yeh say so den?\" growled the man.\n\nWith the aid of Byrne's Herculean muscles and great weight the bow\nof the Halfmoon commenced to come slowly around so that presently she\nalmost paralleled the cliffs again, but now she was much closer in than\nwhen Skipper Simms had deserted her to her fate--so close that Theriere\nhad little hope of being able to carry out his plan of taking her\nopposite the opening and then turning and running her before the wind\nstraight into the swirling waters of the inlet.\n\nNow they were almost opposite the aperture and between the giant cliffs\nthat rose on either side of the narrow entrance a sight was revealed\nthat filled their hearts with renewed hope and rejoicing, for a tiny\ncove was seen to lie beyond the fissure--a cove with a long, wide, sandy\nbeach up which the waves, broken at the entrance to the little haven,\nrolled with much diminished violence.\n\n\"Can you hold her alone for a second, Byrne?\" asked Theriere. \"We\nmust make the turn in another moment and I've got to let out sail. The\ninstant that you see me cut her loose put your helm hard to starboard.\nShe'll come around easy enough I imagine, and then hold her nose\nstraight for that opening. It's one chance in a thousand; but it's the\nonly one. Are you game?\"\n\n\"You know it, cul--go to 't,\" was Billy Byrne's laconic rejoinder.\n\nAs Theriere left the wheel Barbara Harding stepped to the mucker's side.\n\n\"Let me help you,\" she said. \"We need every hand that we can get for the\nnext few moments.\"\n\n\"Beat it,\" growled the man. \"I don't want no skirts in my way.\"\n\nWith a flush, the girl drew back, and then turning watched Theriere\nwhere he stood ready to cut loose the sail at the proper instant. The\nvessel was now opposite the cleft in the cliffs. Theriere had lashed\na new sheet in position. Now he cut the old one. The sail swung around\nuntil caught in position by the stout line. The mucker threw the helm\nhard to starboard. The nose of the brigantine swung quickly toward the\nrocks. The sail filled, and an instant later the ship was dashing to\nwhat seemed her inevitable doom.\n\nSkipper Simms, seeing what Theriere had done after it was too late to\nprevent it, dashed madly across the deck toward his junior.\n\n\"You fool!\" he shrieked. \"You fool! What are you doing? Driving us\nstraight for the rocks--murdering the whole lot of us!\" and with that\nhe sprang upon the Frenchman with maniacal fury, bearing him to the deck\nbeneath him.\n\nBarbara Harding saw the attack of the fear-demented man, but she was\npowerless to prevent it. The mucker saw it too, and grinned--he hoped\nthat it would be a good fight; there was nothing that he enjoyed more.\nHe was sorry that he could not take a hand in it, but the wheel demanded\nall his attention now, so that he was even forced to take his eyes from\nthe combatants that he might rivet them upon the narrow entrance to the\ncove toward which the Halfmoon was now plowing her way at constantly\nincreasing speed.\n\nThe other members of the ship's company, all unmindful of the battle\nthat at another time would have commanded their undivided attention,\nstood with eyes glued upon the wild channel toward which the\nbrigantine's nose was pointed. They saw now what Skipper Simms had\nfailed to see--the little cove beyond, and the chance for safety that\nthe bold stroke offered if it proved successful.\n\nWith steady muscles and giant sinews the mucker stood by the\nwheel--nursing the erratic wreck as no one might have supposed it was in\nhim to do. Behind him Barbara Harding watched first Theriere and Simms,\nand then Byrne and the swirling waters toward which he was heading the\nship.\n\nEven the strain of the moment did not prevent her from wondering at\nthe strange contradictions of the burly young ruffian who could at one\nmoment show such traits of cowardliness and the next rise so coolly to\nthe highest pinnacles of courage. As she watched him occasionally now\nshe noted for the first time the leonine contour of his head, and she\nwas surprised to note that his features were regular and fine, and\nthen she recalled Billy Mallory and the cowardly kick that she had seen\ndelivered in the face of the unconscious Theriere--with a little shudder\nof disgust she turned away from the man at the wheel.\n\nTheriere by this time had managed to get on top of Skipper Simms, but\nthat worthy still clung to him with the desperation of a drowning man.\nThe Halfmoon was rising on a great wave that would bear her well into\nthe maelstrom of the cove's entrance. The wind had increased to the\nproportions of a gale, so that the brigantine was fairly racing either\nto her doom or her salvation--who could tell which?\n\nHalfway through the entrance the wave dropped the ship, and with a\nmighty crash that threw Barbara Harding to her feet the vessel struck\nfull amidships upon a sunken reef. Like a thing of glass she broke in\ntwo with the terrific impact, and in another instant the waters about\nher were filled with screaming men.\n\nBarbara Harding felt herself hurtled from the deck as though shot from\na catapult. The swirling waters engulfed her. She knew that her end had\ncome, only the most powerful of swimmers might hope to win through that\nlashing hell of waters to the beach beyond. For a girl to do it was too\nhopeless even to contemplate; but she recalled Theriere's words of so\nshort a time ago: \"There's no hope, I'm afraid; but, by George, I intend\nto go down fighting,\" and with the recollection came a like resolve\non her part--to go down fighting, and so she struck out against the\npowerful waters that swirled her hither and thither, now perilously\nclose to the rocky sides of the entrance, and now into the mad chaos of\nthe channel's center. Would to heaven that Theriere were near her, she\nthought, for if any could save her it would be he.\n\nSince she had come to believe in the man's friendship and sincerity\nBarbara Harding had felt renewed hope of eventual salvation, and with\nthe hope had come a desire to live which had almost been lacking for the\ngreater part of her detention upon the Halfmoon.\n\nBravely she battled now against the awful odds of the mighty Pacific,\nbut soon she felt her strength waning. More and more ineffective became\nher puny efforts, and at last she ceased almost entirely the futile\nstruggle.\n\nAnd then she felt a strong hand grasp her arm, and with a sudden surge\nshe was swung over a broad shoulder. Quickly she grasped the rough shirt\nthat covered the back of her would-be rescuer, and then commenced a\nbattle with the waves that for many minutes, that seemed hours to the\nfrightened girl, hung in the balance; but at last the swimmer beneath\nher forged steadily and persistently toward the sandy beach to flounder\nout at last with an unconscious burden in his mighty arms.\n\nAs the man staggered up out of reach of the water Barbara Harding opened\nher eyes to look in astonishment into the face of the mucker.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. ODA YORIMOTO\n\nONLY four men of the Halfmoon's crew were lost in the wreck of the\nvessel. All had been crowded in the bow when the ship broke in two,\nand being far-flung by the forward part of the brigantine as it lunged\ntoward the cove on the wave following the one which had dropped the\ncraft upon the reef, with the exception of the four who had perished\nbeneath the wreckage they had been able to swim safely to the beach.\n\nLarry Divine, who had sat weeping upon the deck of the doomed ship\nduring the time that hope had been at its lowest, had recovered his\npoise. Skipper Simms, subdued for the moment, soon commenced to regain\nhis bluster. He took Theriere to task for the loss of the Halfmoon.\n\n\"An' ever we make a civilized port,\" he shouted, \"I'll prefer charges\nag'in' you, you swab you; a-losin' of the finest bark as ever weathered\na storm. Ef it hadn't o' been fer you a-mutinyin' agin' me I'd a-brought\nher through in safety an' never lost a bloomin' soul.\"\n\n\"Stow it!\" admonished Theriere at last; \"your foolish bluster can't\nhide the bald fact that you deserted your post in time of danger. We're\nashore now, remember, and there is no more ship for you to command, so\nwere I you I'd be mighty careful how I talked to my betters.\"\n\n\"What's that!\" screamed the skipper. \"My betters! You frog-eatin'\ngreaser you, I'll teach you. Here, some of you, clap this swab into\nirons. I'll learn him that I'm still captain of this here bunch.\"\n\nTheriere laughed in the man's face; but Ward and a couple of hands\nwho had been shown favoritism by the skipper and first mate closed\nmenacingly toward the second officer.\n\nThe Frenchman took in the situation at a glance. They were ashore now,\nwhere they didn't think that they needed him further and the process of\nelimination had commenced. Well, it might as well come to a showdown now\nas later.\n\n\"Just a moment,\" said Theriere, raising his hand. \"You're not going to\ntake me alive, and I have no idea that you want to anyhow, and if you\nstart anything in the killing line some of you are going to Davy Jones'\nlocker along with me. The best thing for all concerned is to divide up\nthis party now once and for all.\"\n\nAs he finished speaking he turned toward Billy Byrne.\n\n\"Are you and the others with me, or against me?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm ag'in' Simms,\" replied the mucker non-committally.\n\nBony Sawyer, Red Sanders, Blanco, Wison, and two others drew in behind\nBilly Byrne.\n\n\"We all's wid Billy,\" announced Blanco.\n\nDivine and Barbara Harding stood a little apart. Both were alarmed at\nthe sudden, hostile turn events had taken. Simms, Ward, and Theriere\nwere the only members of the party armed. Each wore a revolver strapped\nabout his hips. All were still dripping from their recent plunge in the\nocean.\n\nFive men stood behind Skipper Simms and Ward, but there were two\nrevolvers upon that side of the argument. Suddenly Ward turned toward\nDivine.\n\n\"Are you armed, Mr. Divine?\" he asked.\n\nDivine nodded affirmatively.\n\n\"Then you'd better come over with us--it looks like we might need you to\nhelp put down this mutiny,\" said Ward.\n\nDivine hesitated. He did not know which side was more likely to be\nvictorious, and he wanted to be sure to be on the winning side. Suddenly\nan inspiration came to him.\n\n\"This is purely a matter to be settled by the ship's officers,\" he\nsaid. \"I am only a prisoner, call me a passenger if you like--I have no\ninterest whatever in the matter, and shall not take sides.\"\n\n\"Yes you will,\" said Mr. Ward, in a low, but menacing tone. \"You're in\ntoo deep to try to ditch us now. If you don't stand by us we'll treat\nyou as one of the mutineers when we're through with them, and you can\ncome pretty near a-guessin' what they'll get.\"\n\nDivine was about to reply, and the nature of his answer was suggested\nby the fact that he had already taken a few steps in the direction of\nSimms' faction, when he was stopped by the low voice of the girl behind\nhim.\n\n\"Larry,\" she said, \"I know all--your entire connection with this plot.\nIf you have a spark of honor or manhood left you will do what little you\ncan to retrieve the terrible wrong you have done me, and my father. You\ncan never marry me. I give you my word of honor that I shall take my own\nlife if that is the only way to thwart your plans in that direction, and\nso as the fortune can never be yours it seems to me that the next best\nthing would be to try and save me from the terrible predicament in\nwhich your cupidity has placed me. You can make the start now, Larry,\nby walking over and placing yourself at Mr. Theriere's disposal. He has\npromised to help and protect me.\"\n\nA deep flush mounted to the man's neck and face. He did not turn about\nto face the girl he had so grievously wronged--for the life of him he\ncould not have met her eyes. Slowly he turned, and with gaze bent upon\nthe ground walked quickly toward Theriere.\n\nWard was quick to recognize the turn events had taken, and to see that\nit gave Theriere the balance of power, with two guns and nine men in his\nparty against their two guns and seven men. It also was evident to him\nthat to the other party the girl would naturally gravitate since Divine,\nan old acquaintance, had cast his lot with it; nor had the growing\nintimacy between Miss Harding and Theriere been lost upon him.\n\nWard knew that Simms was an arrant coward, nor was he himself overly\nkeen for an upstanding, man-to-man encounter such as must quickly follow\nany attempt upon his part to uphold the authority of Simms, or their\nclaim upon the custody of the girl.\n\nIntrigue and trickery were more to Mr. Ward's liking, and so he was\nquick to alter his plan of campaign the instant that it became evident\nthat Divine had elected to join forces with the opposing faction.\n\n\"I reckon,\" he said, directing his remarks toward no one in particular,\n\"that we've all been rather hasty in this matter, being het up as we\nwere with the strain of what we been through an' so it seems to me,\ntakin' into consideration that Mr. Theriere really done his best to save\nthe ship, an' that as a matter of fact we was all mighty lucky to come\nout of it alive, that we'd better let bygones be bygones, for the time\nbein' at least, an' all of us pitch in to save what we can from the\nwreckage, hunt water, rig up a camp, an' get things sort o' shipshape\nhere instid o' squabblin' amongst ourselves.\"\n\n\"Suit yourself,\" said Theriere, \"it's all the same to us,\" and his use\nof the objective pronoun seemed definitely to establish the existence of\nhis faction as a separate and distinct party.\n\nSimms, from years of experience with his astute mate, was wont to\nacquiesce in anything that Ward proposed, though he had not the brains\nalways to appreciate the purposes that prompted Ward's suggestions. Now,\ntherefore, he nodded his approval of Squint Eye's proposal, feeling that\nwhatever was in Ward's mind would be more likely to work out to Skipper\nSimms' interests than some unadvised act of Skipper Simms himself.\n\n\"Supposin',\" continued Ward, \"that we let two o' your men an' two o'\nourn under Mr. Divine, shin up them cliffs back o' the cove an' search\nfer water an' a site fer camp--the rest o' us'll have our hands full\nwith the salvage.\"\n\n\"Good,\" agreed Theriere. \"Miller, you and Swenson will accompany Mr.\nDivine.\"\n\nWard detailed two of his men, and the party of five began the difficult\nascent of the cliffs, while far above them a little brown man with\nbeady, black eyes set in narrow fleshy slits watched them from behind a\nclump of bushes. Strange, medieval armor and two wicked-looking swords\ngave him a most warlike appearance. His temples were shaved, and a broad\nstrip on the top of his head to just beyond the crown. His remaining\nhair was drawn into an unbraided queue, tied tightly at the back, and\nthe queue then brought forward to the top of the forehead. His helmet\nlay in the grass at his feet. At the nearer approach of the party to the\ncliff top the watcher turned and melted into the forest at his back.\nHe was Oda Yorimoto, descendant of a powerful daimio of the Ashikaga\nDynasty of shoguns who had fled Japan with his faithful samurai nearly\nthree hundred and fifty years before upon the overthrow of the Ashikaga\nDynasty.\n\nUpon this unfrequented and distant Japanese isle the exiles had retained\nall of their medieval military savagery, to which had been added the\naboriginal ferocity of the head-hunting natives they had found there and\nwith whom they had intermarried. The little colony, far from making any\nadvances in arts or letters had, on the contrary, relapsed into primeval\nignorance as deep as that of the natives with whom they had cast\ntheir lot--only in their arms and armor, their military training\nand discipline did they show any of the influence of their civilized\nprogenitors. They were cruel, crafty, resourceful wild men trapped in\nthe habiliments of a dead past, and armed with the keen weapons of their\nforbears. They had not even the crude religion of the Malaysians they\nhad absorbed unless a highly exaggerated propensity for head-hunting\nmight be dignified by the name of religion. To the tender mercies of\nsuch as these were the castaways of the Halfmoon likely to be consigned,\nfor what might sixteen men with but four revolvers among them accomplish\nagainst near a thousand savage samurai?\n\nTheriere, Ward, Simms, and the remaining sailors at the beach busied\nthemselves with the task of retrieving such of the wreckage and the\nsalvage of the Halfmoon as the waves had deposited in the shallows of\nthe beach. There were casks of fresh water, kegs of biscuit, clothing,\ntinned meats, and a similar heterogeneous mass of flotsam. This arduous\nlabor consumed the best part of the afternoon, and it was not until it\nhad been completed that Divine and his party returned to the beach.\n\nThey reported that they had discovered a spring of fresh water some\nthree miles east of the cove and about half a mile inland, but it was\ndecided that no attempt be made to transport the salvage of the party to\nthe new camp site until the following morning.\n\nTheriere and Divine erected a rude shelter for Barbara Harding close\nunder the foot of the cliff, as far from the water as possible, while\nabove them Oda Yorimoto watched their proceedings with beady, glittering\neyes. This time a half-dozen of his fierce samurai crouched at his side.\nBesides their two swords these latter bore the primitive spears of their\nmothers' savage tribe.\n\nOda Yorimoto watched the white men upon the beach. Also, he watched the\nwhite girl--even more, possibly, than he watched the men. He saw the\nshelter that was being built, and when it was complete he saw the girl\nenter it, and he knew that it was for her alone. Oda Yorimoto sucked in\nhis lips and his eyes narrowed even more than nature had intended that\nthey should.\n\nA fire burned before the rude domicile that Barbara Harding was to\noccupy, and another, larger fire roared a hundred yards to the west\nwhere the men were congregated about Blanco, who was attempting to\nevolve a meal from the miscellany of his larder that had been cast up\nby the sea. There seemed now but little to indicate that the party was\ndivided into two bitter factions, but when the meal was over Theriere\ncalled his men to a point midway between Barbara's shelter and the main\ncamp fire. Here he directed them to dispose themselves for the night as\nbest they could, building a fire of their own if they chose, for with\nthe coming of darkness the chill of the tropical night would render a\nfire more than acceptable.\n\nAll were thoroughly tired and exhausted, so that darkness had scarce\nfallen ere the entire camp seemed wrapped in slumber. And still Oda\nYorimoto sat with his samurai upon the cliff's summit, beady eyes fixed\nupon his intended prey.\n\nFor an hour he sat thus in silence, until, assured that all were asleep\nbefore him, he arose and with a few whispered instructions commenced\nthe descent of the cliff toward the cove below. Scarce had he started,\nhowever, with his men stringing in single file behind him, than he came\nto a sudden halt, for below him in the camp that lay between the girl's\nshelter and the westerly camp a figure had arisen stealthily from among\nhis fellows.\n\nIt was Theriere. Cautiously he moved to a sleeper nearby whom he shook\ngently until he had awakened him.\n\n\"Hush, Byrne,\" cautioned the Frenchman. \"It is I, Theriere. Help me\nawaken the others--see that there is no noise.\"\n\n\"Wot's doin'?\" queried the mucker.\n\n\"We are going to break camp, and occupy the new location before that\nbunch of pirates can beat us to it,\" whispered Theriere in reply; \"and,\"\nhe added, \"we're going to take the salvage and the girl with us.\"\n\nThe mucker grinned.\n\n\"Gee!\" he said. \"Won't dey be a sore bunch in de mornin'?\"\n\nThe work of awakening the balance of the party required but a few\nminutes and when the plan was explained to them, all seemed delighted\nwith the prospect of discomfiting Skipper Simms and Squint Eye. It was\ndecided that only the eatables be carried away on the first trip, and\nthat if a second trip was possible before dawn the clothing, canvas, and\ncordage that had been taken from the water might then be purloined.\n\nMiller and Swenson were detailed to bring up the rear with Miss Harding,\nassisting her up the steep side of the cliff. Divine was to act as guide\nto the new camp, lending a hand wherever necessary in the scaling of the\nheights with the loot.\n\nCautiously the party, with the exception of Divine, Miller, and Swenson,\ncrept toward the little pile of supplies that were heaped fifty or sixty\nfeet from the sleeping members of Simms' faction. The three left behind\nwalked in silence to Barbara Harding's shelter. Here Divine scratched at\nthe piece of sail cloth which served as a door until he had succeeded\nin awakening the sleeper within. And from above Oda Yorimoto watched the\nactivity in the little cove with intent and unwavering eyes.\n\nThe girl, roused from a fitful slumber, came to the doorway of her\nprimitive abode, alarmed by this nocturnal summons.\n\n\"It is I, Larry,\" whispered the man. \"Are you dressed?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the girl, stepping out into the moonlight. \"What do you\nwant? What has happened?\"\n\n\"We are going to take you away from Simms--Theriere and I,\" replied the\nman, \"and establish a safe camp of our own where they cannot molest you.\nTheriere and the others have gone for the supplies now and as soon as\nthey return we shall commence the ascent of the cliffs.  If you have any\nfurther preparations to make, Barbara, please make haste,\nas we must get away from here as quickly as possible. Should any of\nSimms' people awaken there is sure to be a fight.\"\n\nThe girl turned back into the shelter to gather together a handful of\nwraps that had been saved from the wreck.\n\nDown by the salvage Theriere, Byrne, Bony Sawyer, Red Sanders, Blanco,\nand Wison were selecting the goods that they wished to carry with them.\nIt was found that two trips would be necessary to carry off the bulk of\nthe rations, so Theriere sent the mucker to summon Miller and Swenson.\n\n\"We'll carry all that eight of us can to the top of the cliffs,\" he said\n\"hide it there and then come back for the balance. We may be able to get\nit later if we are unable to make two trips to the camp tonight.\"\n\nWhile they were waiting for Byrne to return with the two recruits one\nof the sleepers in Simms' camp stirred. Instantly the five marauders\ndropped stealthily to the ground behind the boxes and casks. Only\nTheriere kept his eyes above the level of the top of their shelter that\nhe might watch the movements of the enemy.\n\nThe figure sat up and looked about. It was Ward. Slowly he arose and\napproached the pile of salvage. Theriere drew his revolver, holding\nit in readiness for an emergency. Should the first mate look in the\ndirection of Barbara Harding's shelter he must certainly see the four\nfigures waiting there in the moonlight. Theriere turned his own head in\nthe direction of the shelter that he might see how plainly the men there\nwere visible. To his delight he saw that no one was in sight. Either\nthey had seen Ward, or for the sake of greater safety from detection had\nmoved to the opposite side of the shelter.\n\nWard was quite close to the boxes upon the other side of which crouched\nthe night raiders. Theriere's finger found the trigger of his revolver.\nHe was convinced that the mate had been disturbed by the movement in\ncamp and was investigating. The Frenchman knew that the search would\nnot end upon the opposite side of the salvage--in a moment Ward would\nbe upon them. He was sorry--not for Ward, but because he had planned to\ncarry the work out quietly and he hated to have to muss things up with a\nkilling, especially on Barbara's account.\n\nWard stopped at one of the water casks. He tipped it up, filling a tin\ncup with water, took a long drink, set the cup back on top of the cask,\nand, turning, retraced his steps to his blanket. Theriere could have\nhugged himself. The man had suspected nothing. He merely had been\nthirsty and come over for a drink--in another moment he would be fast\nasleep once more. Sure enough, before Byrne returned with Miller and\nSwenson, Theriere could bear the snores of the first mate.\n\nOn the first trip to the cliff top eight men carried heavy burdens,\nDivine alone remaining to guard Barbara Harding. The second trip was\nmade with equal dispatch and safety. No sound or movement came from the\ncamp of the enemy, other than that of sleeping men. On the second trip\nDivine and Theriere each carried a burden up the cliffs, Miller and\nSwenson following with Barbara Harding, and as they came Oda Yorimoto\nand his samurai slunk back into the shadows that their prey might pass\nunobserving.\n\nTheriere had the bulk of the loot hidden in a rocky crevice just beyond\nthe cliff's summit. Brush torn from the mass of luxuriant tropical\nvegetation that covered the ground was strewn over the cache. All had\nbeen accomplished in safety and without detection. The camp beneath them\nstill lay wrapped in silence.\n\nThe march toward the new camp, under the guidance of Divine, was\nimmediately undertaken. On the return trip after the search for water\nDivine had discovered a well-marked trail along the edge of the cliffs\nto a point opposite the spring, and another leading from the main trail\ndirectly to the water. In his ignorance he had thought these the runways\nof animals, whereas they were the age-old highways of the head-hunters.\n\nNow they presented a comparatively quick and easy approach to the\ndestination of the mutineers, but so narrow a one as soon to convince\nTheriere that it was not feasible for him to move back and forth\nalong the flank of his column. He had tried it once, but it so greatly\ninconvenienced and retarded the heavily laden men that he abandoned the\neffort, remaining near the center of the cavalcade until the new camp\nwas reached.\n\nHere he found a fair-sized space about a clear and plentiful spring of\ncold water. Only a few low bushes dotted the grassy clearing which was\nalmost completely surrounded by dense and impenetrable jungle. The men\nhad deposited their burdens, and still Theriere stood waiting for the\nbalance of his party--Miller and Swenson with Barbara Harding.\n\nBut they did not come, and when, in alarm, the entire party started back\nin search of them they retraced their steps to the very brink of the\ndeclivity leading to the cove before they could believe the testimony\nof their own perceptions--Barbara Harding and the two sailors had\ndisappeared.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. BARBARA CAPTURED BY HEAD-HUNTERS\n\nWHEN Barbara Harding, with Miller before and Swenson behind her, had\ntaken up the march behind the loot-laden party seven dusky, noiseless\nshadows had emerged from the forest to follow close behind.\n\nFor half a mile the party moved along the narrow trail unmolested.\nTheriere had come back to exchange a half-dozen words with the girl and\nhad again moved forward toward the head of the column. Miller was not\nmore than twenty-five feet behind the first man ahead of him, and Miss\nHarding and Swenson followed at intervals of but three or four yards.\n\nSuddenly, without warning, Swenson and Miller fell, pierced with savage\nspears, and at the same instant sinewy fingers gripped Barbara Harding,\nand a silencing hand was clapped over her mouth. There had been no sound\nabove the muffled tread of the seamen. It had all been accomplished so\nquickly and so easily that the girl did not comprehend what had befallen\nher for several minutes.\n\nIn the darkness of the forest she could not clearly distinguish the\nforms or features of her abductors, though she reasoned, as was only\nnatural, that Skipper Simms' party had become aware of the plot against\nthem and had taken this means of thwarting a part of it; but when her\ncaptors turned directly into the mazes of the jungle, away from the\ncoast, she began first to wonder and then to doubt, so that presently\nwhen a small clearing let the moonlight full upon them she was not\nsurprised to discover that none of the members of the Halfmoon's company\nwas among her guard.\n\nBarbara Harding had not circled the globe half a dozen times for\nnothing. There were few races or nations with whose history, past and\npresent, she was not fairly familiar, and so the sight that greeted\nher eyes was well suited to fill her with astonishment, for she found\nherself in the hands of what appeared to be a party of Japanese warriors\nof the fifteenth or sixteenth century. She recognized the medieval arms\nand armor, the ancient helmets, the hairdressing of the two-sworded men\nof old Japan. At the belts of two of her captors dangled grisly trophies\nof the hunt. In the moonlight she saw that they were the heads of Miller\nand Swenson.\n\nThe girl was horrified. She had thought her lot before as bad as it\ncould be, but to be in the clutches of these strange, fierce warriors of\na long-dead age was unthinkably worse. That she could ever have wished\nto be back upon the Halfmoon would have seemed, a few days since,\nincredible; yet that was precisely what she longed for now.\n\nOn through the night marched the little, brown men--grim and\nsilent--until at last they came to a small village in a valley away from\nthe coast--a valley that lay nestled high among lofty mountains. Here\nwere cavelike dwellings burrowed half under ground, the upper walls and\nthatched roofs rising scarce four feet above the level. Granaries on\nstilts were dotted here and there among the dwellings.\n\nInto one of the filthy dens Barbara Harding was dragged. She found a\nsingle room in which several native and half-caste women were sleeping,\nabout them stretched and curled and perched a motley throng of dirty\nyellow children, dogs, pigs, and chickens. It was the palace of Daimio\nOda Yorimoto, Lord of Yoka, as his ancestors had christened their new\nisland home.\n\nOnce within the warren the two samurai who had guarded Barbara upon\nthe march turned and withdrew--she was alone with Oda Yorimoto and his\nfamily. From the center of the room depended a swinging shelf upon which\na great pile of grinning skulls rested. At the back of the room was a\ndoor which Barbara had not at first noticed--evidently there was another\napartment to the dwelling.\n\nThe girl was given little opportunity to examine her new prison, for\nscarce had the guards withdrawn than Oda Yorimoto approached and grasped\nher by the arm.\n\n\"Come!\" he said, in Japanese that was sufficiently similar to modern\nNippon to be easily understood by Barbara Harding. With the word he drew\nher toward a sleeping mat on a raised platform at one side of the room.\n\nOne of the women awoke at the sound of the man's voice. She looked up at\nBarbara in sullen hatred--otherwise she gave no indication that she saw\nanything unusual transpiring. It was as though an exquisite American\nbelle were a daily visitor at the Oda Yorimoto home.\n\n\"What do you want of me?\" cried the frightened girl, in Japanese.\n\nOda Yorimoto looked at her in astonishment. Where had this white girl\nlearned to speak his tongue?\n\n\"I am the daimio, Oda Yorimoto,\" he said. \"These are my wives. Now you\nare one of them. Come!\"\n\n\"Not yet--not here!\" cried the girl clutching at a straw. \"Wait. Give\nme time to think. If you do not harm me my father will reward you\nfabulously. Ten thousand koku he would gladly give to have me returned\nto him safely.\"\n\nOda Yorimoto but shook his head.\n\n\"Twenty thousand koku!\" cried the girl.\n\nStill the daimio shook his head negatively.\n\n\"A hundred thousand--name your own price, if you will but not harm me.\"\n\n\"Silence!\" growled the man. \"What are even a million koku to me who only\nknow the word from the legends of my ancestors. We have no need for koku\nhere, and had we, my hills are full of the yellow metal which measures\nits value. No! you are my woman. Come!\"\n\n\"Not here! Not here!\" pleaded the girl. \"There is another room--away\nfrom all these women,\" and she turned her eyes toward the door at the\nopposite side of the chamber.\n\nOda Yorimoto shrugged his shoulders. That would be easier than a fight,\nhe argued, and so he led the girl toward the doorway that she had\nindicated. Within the room all was dark, but the daimio moved as one\naccustomed to the place, and as he moved through the blackness the girl\nat his side felt with stealthy fingers at the man's belt.\n\nAt last Oda Yorimoto reached the far side of the long chamber.\n\n\"Here!\" he said, and took her by the shoulders.\n\n\"Here!\" answered the girl in a low, tense voice, and at the instant that\nshe spoke Oda Yorimoto, Lord of Yoka, felt a quick tug at his belt, and\nbefore he guessed what was to happen his own short sword had pierced his\nbreast.\n\nA single shriek broke from the lips of the daimio; but it was so high\nand shrill and like the shriek of a woman in mortal terror that the\nwoman in the next room who heard it but smiled a crooked, wicked smile\nof hate and turned once more upon her pallet to sleep.\n\nAgain and again Barbara Harding plunged the sword of the brown man into\nthe still heart, until she knew beyond peradventure of a doubt that her\nenemy was forevermore powerless to injure her. Then she sank, exhausted\nand trembling, upon the dirt floor beside the corpse.\n\n\nWhen Theriere came to the realization that Barbara Harding was gone he\njumped to the natural conclusion that Ward and Simms had discovered\nthe ruse that he had worked upon them just in time to permit them to\nintercept Miller and Swenson with the girl, and carry her back to the\nmain camp.\n\nThe others were prone to agree with him, though the mucker grumbled that\n\"it listened fishy.\" However, all hands returned cautiously down the\nface of the cliff, expecting momentarily to be attacked by the guards\nwhich they felt sure Ward would post in expectation of a return of the\nmutineers, the moment they discovered that the girl had been taken\nfrom them; but to the surprise of all they reached the cove without\nmolestation, and when they had crept cautiously to the vicinity of the\nsleepers they discovered that all were there, in peaceful slumber, just\nas they had left them a few hours before.\n\nSilently the party retraced its steps up the cliff. Theriere and Billy\nByrne brought up the rear.\n\n\"What do you make of it anyway, Byrne?\" asked the Frenchman.\n\n\"If you wanta get it straight, cul,\" replied the mucker, \"I tink youse\nknow a whole lot more about it dan you'd like to have de rest of us\ntink.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Byrne?\" cried Theriere. \"Out with it now!\"\n\n\"Sure I'll out wid it. You didn't tink I was bashful didja? Wot fer did\nyou detail dem two pikers, Miller and Swenson, to guard de skirt fer if\nit wasn't fer some special frame-up of yer own? Dey never been in our\ngang, and dats just wot you wanted 'em fer. It was easy to tip dem off\nto hike out wid de squab, and de first chanct you get you'll hike after\ndem, while we hold de bag. Tought you'd double-cross us easy, didn't\nyeh? Yeh cheap-skate!\"\n\n\"Byrne,\" said Theriere, and it was easy to see that only through the\nstrength of his will-power did he keep his temper, \"you may have cause\nto suspect the motives of everyone connected with this outfit. I can't\nsay that I blame you; but I want you to remember what I say to you now.\nThere was a time when I fully intended to 'double-cross' you, as you\nsay--that was before you saved my life. Since then I have been on the\nsquare with you not only in deed but in thought as well. I give you the\nword of a man whose word once meant something--I am playing square with\nyou now except in one thing, and I shall tell you what that is at once.\nI do not know where Miss Harding is, or what has happened to her, and\nMiller, and Swenson. That is God's truth. Now for the one thing that\nI just mentioned. Recently I changed my intentions relative to Miss\nHarding. I was after the money the same as the rest--that I am free\nto admit; but now I don't give a rap for it, and I had intended\ntaking advantage of the first opportunity to return Miss Harding to\ncivilization unharmed and without the payment of a penny to anyone. The\nreason for my change of heart is my own affair. In all probability\nyou wouldn't believe the sincerity or honesty of my motives should\nI disclose them. I am only telling you these things because you have\naccused me of double dealing, and I do not want the man who saved my\nlife at the risk of his own to have the slightest grounds to doubt my\nhonesty with him. I've been a fairly bad egg, Byrne, for a great many\nyears; but, by George! I'm not entirely rotten yet.\"\n\nByrne was silent for a few moments. He, too, had recently come to the\nconclusion that possibly he was not entirely rotten either, and had in\na vague and half-formed sort of way wished for the opportunity to\ndemonstrate the fact, so he was willing to concede to another that which\nhe craved for himself.\n\n\"Yeh listen all right, cul,\" he said at last; \"an' I'm willin' to take\nyeh at yer own say-so until I learn different.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Theriere tersely. \"Now we can work together in the search\nfor Miss Harding; but where, in the name of all that's holy, are we to\nstart?\"\n\n\"Why, where we seen her last, of course,\" replied the mucker. \"Right\nhere on top of dese bluffs.\"\n\n\"Then we can't do anything until daylight,\" said the Frenchman.\n\n\"Not a ting, and at daylight we'll most likely have a scrap on our hands\nfrom below,\" and the mucker jerked his thumb in the direction of the\ncove.\n\n\"I think,\" said Theriere, \"that we had better spend an hour arming\nourselves with sticks and stones. We've a mighty good position up here.\nOne that we can defend splendidly from an assault from below, and if we\nare prepared for them we can stave 'em off for a while if we need the\ntime to search about up here for clews to Miss Harding's whereabouts.\"\n\nAnd so the party set to work to cut stout bludgeons from the trees about\nthem, and pile loose fragments of rock in handy places near the cliff\ntop. Theriere even went so far as to throw up a low breastwork across\nthe top of the trail up which the enemy must climb to reach the summit\nof the cliff. When they had completed their preparations three men could\nhave held the place against ten times their own number.\n\nThen they lay down to sleep, leaving Blanco and Divine on guard, for it\nhad been decided that these two, with Bony Sawyer, should be left behind\non the morrow to hold the cliff top while the others were searching for\nclews to the whereabouts of Barbara Harding. They were to relieve each\nother at guard duty during the balance of the night.\n\nScarce had the first suggestion of dawn lightened the eastern sky than\nDivine, who was again on guard, awakened Theriere. In a moment the\nothers were aroused, and a hasty raid on the cached provisions made. The\nlack of water was keenly felt by all, but it was too far to the spring\nto chance taking the time necessary to fetch the much-craved fluid and\nthose who were to forge into the jungle in search of Barbara Harding\nhoped to find water farther inland, while it was decided to dispatch\nBony Sawyer to the spring for water for those who were to remain on\nguard at the cliff top.\n\nA hurried breakfast was made on water-soaked ship's biscuit. Theriere\nand his searching party stuffed their pockets full of them, and a moment\nlater the search was on. First the men traversed the trail toward the\nspring, looking for indications of the spot where Barbara Harding had\nceased to follow them. The girl had worn heelless buckskin shoes at the\ntime she was taken from the Lotus, and these left little or no spoor\nin the well-tramped earth of the narrow path; but a careful and minute\nexamination on the part of Theriere finally resulted in the detection of\na single small footprint a hundred yards from the point they had struck\nthe trail after ascending the cliffs. This far at least she had been\nwith them.\n\nThe men now spread out upon either side of the track--Theriere and Red\nSanders upon one side, Byrne and Wison upon the other. Occasionally\nTheriere would return to the trail to search for further indications of\nthe spoor they sought.\n\nThe party had proceeded in this fashion for nearly half a mile when\nsuddenly they were attracted by a low exclamation from the mucker.\n\n\"Here!\" he called. \"Here's Miller an' the Swede, an' they sure have\nmussed 'em up turrible.\"\n\nThe others hastened in the direction of his voice, to come to a\nhorrified halt at the sides of the headless trunks of the two sailors.\n\n\"Mon Dieu!\" exclaimed the Frenchman, reverting to his mother tongue as\nhe never did except under the stress of great excitement.\n\n\"Who done it?\" queried Red Sanders, looking suspiciously at the mucker.\n\n\"Head-hunters,\" said Theriere. \"God! What an awful fate for that poor\ngirl!\"\n\nBilly Byrne went white.\n\n\"Yeh don't mean dat dey've lopped off her block?\" he whispered in an\nawed voice. Something strange rose in the mucker's breast at the thought\nhe had just voiced. He did not attempt to analyze the sensation; but it\nwas far from joy at the suggestion that the woman he so hated had met a\nhorrible and disgusting death at the hands of savages.\n\n\"I'm afraid not, Byrne,\" said Theriere, in a voice that none there would\nhave recognized as that of the harsh and masterful second officer of the\nHalfmoon.\n\n\"Yer afraid not!\" echoed Billy Byrne, in amazement.\n\n\"For her sake I hope that they did,\" said Theriere; \"for such as she it\nwould have been a far less horrible fate than the one I fear they have\nreserved her for.\"\n\n\"You mean--\" queried Byrne, and then he stopped, for the realization of\njust what Theriere did mean swept over him quite suddenly.\n\nThere was no particular reason why Billy Byrne should have felt toward\nwomen the finer sentiments which are so cherished a possession of those\nmen who have been gently born and raised, even after they have learned\nthat all women are not as was the feminine ideal of their boyhood.\n\nBilly's mother, always foul-mouthed and quarrelsome, had been a\nveritable demon when drunk, and drunk she had been whenever she\ncould, by hook or crook, raise the price of whiskey. Never, to Billy's\nrecollection, had she spoken a word of endearment to him; and so\nterribly had she abused him that even while he was yet a little boy,\nscarce out of babyhood, he had learned to view her with a hatred as\ndeep-rooted as is the affection of most little children for their\nmothers.\n\nWhen he had come to man's estate he had defended himself from the\nwoman's brutal assaults as he would have defended himself from another\nman--when she had struck, Billy had struck back; the only thing to\nhis credit being that he never had struck her except in self-defense.\nChastity in woman was to him a thing to joke of--he did not believe\nthat it existed; for he judged other women by the one he knew best--his\nmother. And as he hated her, so he hated them all. He had doubly hated\nBarbara Harding since she not only was a woman, but a woman of the class\nhe loathed.\n\nAnd so it was strange and inexplicable that the suggestion of the girl's\nprobable fate should have affected Billy Byrne as it did. He did not\nstop to reason about it at all--he simply knew that he felt a mad and\nunreasoning rage against the creatures that had borne the girl away.\nOutwardly Billy showed no indication of the turmoil that raged within\nhis breast.\n\n\"We gotta find her, bo,\" he said to Theriere. \"We gotta find the skirt.\"\n\nOrdinarily Billy would have blustered about the terrible things he would\ndo to the objects of his wrath when once he had them in his power; but\nnow he was strangely quiet--only the firm set of his strong chin, and\nthe steely glitter of his gray eyes gave token of the iron resolution\nwithin.\n\nTheriere, who had been walking slowly to and fro about the dead men, now\ncalled the others to him.\n\n\"Here's their trail,\" he said. \"If it's as plain as that all the way we\nwon't be long in overhauling them. Come along.\"\n\nBefore he had the words half out of his mouth the mucker was forging\nahead through the jungle along the well-marked spoor of the samurai.\n\n\"Wot kind of men do you suppose they are?\" asked Red Sanders.\n\n\"Malaysian head-hunters, unquestionably,\" replied Theriere.\n\nRed Sanders shuddered inwardly. The appellation had a most gruesome\nsound.\n\n\"Come on!\" cried Theriere, and started off after the mucker, who already\nwas out of sight in the thick forest.\n\nRed Sanders and Wison took a few steps after the Frenchman. Theriere\nturned once to see that they were following him, and then a turn in the\ntrail hid them from his view. Red Sanders stopped.\n\n\"Damme if I'm goin' to get my coconut hacked off on any such wild-goose\nchase as this,\" he said to Wison.\n\n\"The girl's more'n likely dead long ago,\" said the other.\n\n\"Sure she is,\" returned Red Sanders, \"an' if we go buttin' into that\nthere thicket we'll be dead too. Ugh! Poor Miller. Poor Swenson. It's\norful. Did you see wot they done to 'em beside cuttin' off their heads?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" whispered Wison, looking suddenly behind him.\n\nRed Sanders gave a little start, peering in the direction that his\ncompanion had looked.\n\n\"Wot was it?\" he whimpered. \"Wot did you do that fer?\"\n\n\"I thought I seen something move there,\" replied Wison. \"Fer Gawd's sake\nlet's get outen this,\" and without waiting for a word of assent from his\ncompanion the sailor turned and ran at breakneck speed along the\nlittle path toward the spot where Divine, Blanco, and Bony Sawyer were\nstationed. When they arrived Bony was just on the point of setting\nout for the spring to fetch water, but at sight of the frightened,\nbreathless men he returned to hear their story.\n\n\"What's up?\" shouted Divine. \"You men look as though you'd seen a ghost.\nWhere are the others?\"\n\n\"They're all murdered, and their heads cut off,\" cried Red Sanders. \"We\nfound the bunch that got Miller, Swenson, and the girl. They'd killed\n'em all and was eatin' of 'em when we jumps 'em. Before we knew wot had\nhappened about a thousand more of the devils came runnin' up. They\ngot us separated, and when we seen Theriere and Byrne kilt we jest\nnatch'rally beat it. Gawd, but it was orful.\"\n\n\"Do you think they will follow you?\" asked Divine.\n\nAt the suggestion every head turned toward the trail down which the\ntwo panic-stricken men had just come. At the same moment a hoarse shout\narose from the cove below and the five looked down to see a scene of\nwild activity upon the beach. The defection of Theriere's party had\nbeen discovered, as well as the absence of the girl and the theft of the\nprovisions.\n\nSkipper Simms was dancing about like a madman. His bellowed oaths rolled\nup the cliffs like thunder. Presently Ward caught a glimpse of the men\nat the top of the cliff above him.\n\n\"There they are!\" he cried.\n\nSkipper Simms looked up.\n\n\"The swabs!\" he shrieked. \"A-stealin' of our grub, an' abductin' of that\nthere pore girl. The swabs! Lemme to 'em, I say; jest lemme to 'em.\"\n\n\"We'd all better go to 'em,\" said Ward. \"We've got a fight on here sure.\nGather up some rocks, men, an' come along. Skipper, you're too fat to do\nany fightin' on that there hillside, so you better stay here an' let\none o' the men take your gun,\" for Ward knew so well the mettle of his\nsuperior that he much preferred his absence to his presence in the face\nof real fighting, and with the gun in the hands of a braver man it would\nbe vastly more effective.\n\nWard himself was no lover of a fight, but he saw now that starvation\nmight stare them in the face with their food gone, and everything be\nlost with the loss of the girl. For food and money a much more cowardly\nman than Bender Ward would fight to the death.\n\nUp the face of the cliff they hurried, expecting momentarily to be\neither challenged or fired upon by those above them. Divine and his\nparty looked down with mixed emotions upon those who were ascending in\nso threatening a manner. They found themselves truly between the devil\nand the deep sea.\n\nWard and his men were halfway up the cliff, yet Divine had made no move\nto repel them. He glanced timorously toward the dark forest behind from\nwhich he momentarily expected to see the savage, snarling faces of the\nhead-hunters appear.\n\n\"Surrender! You swabs,\" called Ward from below, \"or we'll string the\nlast mother's son of you to the yardarm.\"\n\nFor reply Blanco hurled a heavy fragment of rock at the assaulters. It\ngrazed perilously close to Ward, against whom Blanco cherished a keen\nhatred. Instantly Ward's revolver barked, the bullet whistling close\nby Divine's head. L. Cortwrite Divine, cotillion leader, ducked behind\nTheriere's breastwork, where he lay sprawled upon his belly, trembling\nin terror.\n\nBony Sawyer and Red Sanders followed the example of their commander.\nBlanco and Wison alone made any attempt to repel the assault. The\nbig Negro ran to Divine's side and snatched the terror-stricken man's\nrevolver from his belt. Then turning he fired at Ward. The bullet,\nmissing its intended victim, pierced the heart of a sailor directly\nbehind him, and as the man crumpled to the ground, rolling down the\nsteep declivity, his fellows sought cover.\n\nWison followed up the advantage with a shower of well-aimed missiles,\nand then hostilities ceased temporarily.\n\n\"Have they gone?\" queried Divine, with trembling lips, noticing the\nquiet that followed the shot.\n\n\"Gone nothin', yo big cowahd,\" replied Blanco. \"Do yo done suppose dat\ntwo men is a-gwine to stan' off five? Ef yo white-livered skunks 'ud\ngit up an' fight we might have a chanct. I'se a good min' to cut out yo\ncowahdly heart fer yo, das wot I has--a-lyin' der on yo belly settin'\ndat kin' o' example to yo men!\"\n\nDivine's terror had placed him beyond the reach of contumely or\nreproach.\n\n\"What's the use of fighting them?\" he whimpered. \"We should never have\nleft them. It's all the fault of that fool Theriere. What can we do\nagainst the savages of this awful island if we divide our forces? They\nwill pick us off a few at a time just as they picked off Miller and\nSwenson, Theriere and Byrne. We ought to tell Ward about it, and call\nthis foolish battle off.\"\n\n\"Now you're talkin',\" cried Bony Sawyer. \"I'm not a-goin' to squat up\nhere any longer with my friends a-shootin' at me from below an' a lot\nof wild heathen creeping down on me from above to cut off my bloomin'\nhead.\"\n\n\"Same here!\" chimed in Red Sanders.\n\nBlanco looked toward Wison. For his own part the Negro would not have\nbeen averse to returning to the fold could the thing be accomplished\nwithout danger of reprisal on the part of Skipper Simms and Ward; but\nhe knew the men so well that he feared to trust them even should\nthey seemingly acquiesce to any such proposal. On the other hand, he\nreasoned, it would be as much to their advantage to have the deserters\nreturn to them as it would to the deserters themselves, for when they\nhad heard the story told by Red Sanders and Wison of the murder of the\nothers of the party they too would realize the necessity for maintaining\nthe strength of the little company to its fullest.\n\n\"I don't see that we're goin' to gain nothin' by fightin' 'em,\" said\nWison. \"There ain't nothin' in it any more nohow for nobody since the\ngirl's gorn. Let's chuck it, an' see wot terms we can make with Squint\nEye.\"\n\n\"Well,\" grumbled the Negro, \"I can't fight 'em alone; What yo doin'\ndere, Bony?\"\n\nDuring the conversation Bony Sawyer had been busy with a stick and a\npiece of rag, and now as he turned toward his companions once more they\nsaw that he had rigged a white flag of surrender. None interfered as he\nraised it above the edge of the breastwork.\n\nImmediately there was a hail from below. It was Ward's voice.\n\n\"Surrenderin', eh? Comin' to your senses, are you?\" he shouted.\n\nDivine, feeling that immediate danger from bullets was past, raised his\nhead above the edge of the earthwork.\n\n\"We have something to communicate, Mr. Ward,\" he called.\n\n\"Spit it out, then; I'm a-listenin',\" called back the mate.\n\n\"Miss Harding, Mr. Theriere, Byrne, Miller, and Swenson have been\ncaptured and killed by native head-hunters,\" said Divine.\n\nWard's eyes went wide, and he blew out his cheeks in surprise. Then his\nface went black with an angry scowl.\n\n\"You see what you done now, you blitherin' fools, you!\" he cried, \"with\nyour funny business? You gone an' killed the goose what laid the golden\neggs. Thought you'd get it all, didn't you? and now nobody won't get\nnothin', unless it is the halter. Nice lot o' numbskulls you be, an'\nwhimperin' 'round now expectin' of us to take you back--well, I reckon\nnot, not on your measly lives,\" and with that he raised his revolver to\nfire again at Divine.\n\nThe society man toppled over backward into the pit behind the breastwork\nbefore Ward had a chance to pull the trigger.\n\n\"Hol' on there mate!\" cried Bony Sawyer; \"there ain't no call now fer\ngettin' excited. Wait until you hear all we gotta say. You can't\nblame us pore sailormen. It was this here fool dude and that scoundrel\nTheriere that put us up to it. They told us that you an' Skipper Simms\nwas a-fixin' to double-cross us all an' leave us here to starve on\nthis Gawd-forsaken islan'. Theriere said that he was with you when you\nplanned it. That you wanted to git rid o' as many of us as you could\nso that you'd have more of the ransom to divide. So all we done was in\nself-defense, as it were.\n\n\"Why not let bygones be bygones, an' all of us join forces ag'in' these\nmurderin' heathen? There won't be any too many of us at best--Red\nan' Wison seen more'n two thousan' of the man-eatin' devils. They're\na-creepin' up on us from behin' right this minute, an' you can lay to\nthat; an' the chances are that they got some special kind o' route into\nthat there cove, an' maybe they're a-watchin' of you right now!\"\n\nWard turned an apprehensive glance to either side. There was logic in\nBony's proposal. They couldn't spare a man now. Later he could punish\nthe offenders at his leisure--when he didn't need them any further.\n\n\"Will you swear on the Book to do your duty by Skipper Simms an' me if\nwe take you back?\" asked Ward.\n\n\"You bet,\" answered Bony Sawyer.\n\nThe others nodded their heads, and Divine sprang up and started down\ntoward Ward.\n\n\"Hol' on you!\" commanded the mate. \"This here arrangement don' include\nyou--it's jes' between Skipper Simms an' his sailors. You're a rank\noutsider, an' you butts in an' starts a mutiny. Ef you come back you\ngotta stand trial fer that--see?\"\n\n\"You better  duck,  mister,\"  advised  Red  Sanders;  \"they'll hang\nyou sure.\"\n\nDivine went white. To face trial before two such men as Simms and Ward\nmeant death, of that he was positive. To flee into the forest meant\ndeath, almost equally certain, and much more horrible. The man went to\nhis knees, lifting supplicating hands to the mate.\n\n\"For God's sake, Mr. Ward,\" he cried, \"be merciful. I was led into this\nby Theriere. He lied to me just as he did to the men. You can't kill\nme--it would be murder--they'd hang you for it.\"\n\n\"We'll hang for this muss you got us into anyway, if we're ever caught,\"\ngrowled the mate. \"Ef you hadn't a-carried the girl off to be murdered\nwe might have had enough ransom money to have got clear some way, but\nnow you gone and cooked the whole goose fer the lot of us.\"\n\n\"You can collect ransom on me,\" cried Divine, clutching at a straw.\n\"I'll pay a hundred thousand myself the day you set me down in a\ncivilized port, safe and free.\"\n\nWard laughed in his face.\n\n\"You ain't got a cent, you four-flusher,\" he cried. \"Clinker put us next\nto that long before we sailed from Frisco.\"\n\n\"Clinker lies,\" cried Divine. \"He doesn't know anything about it--I'm\nrich.\"\n\n\"Wot's de use ob chewin' de rag 'bout all dis,\" cried Blanco, seeing\nwhere he might square himself with Ward and Simms easily. \"Does yo' take\nback all us sailormen, Mr. Ward, an' promise not t' punish none o' us,\nef we swear to stick by yo' all in de future?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the mate.\n\nBlanco took a step toward Divine.\n\n\"Den yo come along too as a prisoner, white man,\" and the burly black\ngrasped Divine by the scruff of the neck and forced him before him down\nthe steep trail toward the cove, and so the mutineers returned to the\ncommand of Skipper Simms, and L. Cortwrite Divine went with them as a\nprisoner, charged with a crime the punishment for which has been death\nsince men sailed the seas.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. THE VILLAGE OF YOKA\n\nFOR several minutes Barbara Harding lay where she had collapsed after\nthe keen short sword of the daimio had freed her from the menace of his\nlust.\n\nShe was in a half-stupor that took cognizance only of a freezing terror\nand exhaustion. Presently, however, she became aware of her contact with\nthe corpse beside her, and with a stifled cry she shrank away from it.\n\nSlowly the girl regained her self-control and with it came the\nrealization of the extremity of her danger. She rose to a sitting\nposture and turned her wide eyes toward the doorway to the adjoining\nroom--the women and children seemed yet wrapped in slumber. It was\nevident that the man's scream had not disturbed them.\n\nBarbara gained her feet and moved softly to the doorway. She wondered\nif she could cross the intervening space to the outer exit without\ndetection. Once in the open she could flee to the jungle, and then\nthere was a chance at least that she might find her way to the coast and\nTheriere.\n\nShe gripped the short sword which she still held, and took a step into\nthe larger room. One of the women turned and half roused from sleep. The\ngirl shrank back into the darkness of the chamber she had just quitted.\nThe woman sat up and looked around. Then she rose and threw some sticks\nupon the fire that burned at one side of the dwelling. She crossed to a\nshelf and took down a cooking utensil. Barbara saw that she was about to\ncommence the preparation of breakfast.\n\nAll hope of escape was thus ended, and the girl cautiously closed the\ndoor between the two rooms. Then she felt about the smaller apartment\nfor some heavy object with which to barricade herself; but her search\nwas fruitless. Finally she bethought herself of the corpse. That would\nhold the door against the accident of a child or dog pushing it open--it\nwould be better than nothing, but could she bring herself to touch the\nloathsome thing?\n\nThe instinct of self-preservation will work wonders even with a frail\nand delicate woman. Barbara Harding steeled herself to the task, and\nafter several moments of effort she succeeded in rolling the dead man\nagainst the door. The scraping sound of the body as she dragged it into\nposition had sent cold shivers running up her spine.\n\nShe had removed the man's long sword and armor before attempting to move\nhim, and now she crouched beside the corpse with both the swords beside\nher--she would sell her life dearly. Theriere's words came back to her\nnow as they had when she was struggling in the water after the wreck of\nthe Halfmoon: \"but, by George, I intend to go down fighting.\" Well, she\ncould do no less.\n\nShe could hear the movement of several persons in the next room now. The\nvoices of women and children came to her distinctly. Many of the words\nwere Japanese, but others were of a tongue with which she was not\nfamiliar.\n\nPresently her own chamber began to lighten. She looked over her shoulder\nand saw the first faint rays of dawn showing through a small aperture\nnear the roof and at the opposite end of the room. She rose and moved\nquickly toward it. By standing on tiptoe and pulling herself up a trifle\nwith her hands upon the sill she was able to raise her eyes above the\nbottom of the window frame.\n\nBeyond she saw the forest, not a hundred yards away; but when she\nattempted to crawl through the opening she discovered to her chagrin\nthat it was too small to permit the passage of her body. And then there\ncame a knocking on the door she had just quitted, and a woman's voice\ncalling her lord and master to his morning meal.\n\nBarbara ran quickly across the chamber to the door, the long sword\nraised above her head in both hands. Again the woman knocked, this time\nmuch louder, and raised her voice as she called again upon Oda Yorimoto\nto come out.\n\nThe girl within was panic-stricken. What should she do? With but a\nlittle respite she might enlarge the window sufficiently to permit her\nto escape into the forest, but the woman at the door evidently would not\nbe denied. Suddenly an inspiration came to her. It was a forlorn hope,\nbut well worth putting to the test.\n\n\"Hush!\" she hissed through the closed door. \"Oda Yorimoto sleeps. It is\nhis wish that he be not disturbed.\"\n\nFor a moment there was silence beyond the door, and then the woman\ngrunted, and Barbara heard her turn back, muttering to herself. The girl\nbreathed a deep sigh of relief--she had received a brief reprieve from\ndeath.\n\nAgain she turned to the window, where, with the short sword, she\ncommenced her labor of enlarging it to permit the passage of her body.\nThe work was necessarily slow because of the fact that it must proceed\nwith utter noiselessness.\n\nFor an hour she worked, and then again came an interruption at the door.\nThis time it was a man.\n\n\"Oda Yorimoto still sleeps,\" whispered the girl. \"Go away and do not\ndisturb him. He will be very angry if you awaken him.\"\n\nBut the man would not be put off so easily as had the woman. He still\ninsisted.\n\n\"The daimio has ordered that there shall be a great hunt today for the\nheads of the sei-yo-jin who have landed upon Yoka,\" persisted the man.\n\"He will be angry indeed if we do not call him in time to accomplish\nthe task today. Let me speak with him, woman. I do not believe that Oda\nYorimoto still sleeps. Why should I believe one of the sei-yo-jin? It\nmay be that you have bewitched the daimio,\" and with that he pushed\nagainst the door.\n\nThe corpse gave a little, and the man glued his eyes to the aperture.\nBarbara held the sword behind her, and with her shoulder against the\ndoor attempted to reclose it.\n\n\"Go away!\" she cried. \"I shall be killed if you awaken Oda Yorimoto,\nand, if you enter, you, too, shall be killed.\"\n\nThe man stepped back from the door, and Barbara could hear him in low\nconverse with some of the women of the household. A moment later he\nreturned, and without a word of warning threw his whole weight against\nthe portal. The corpse slipped back enough to permit the entrance of the\nman's body, and as he stumbled into the room the long sword of the Lord\nof Yoka fell full and keen across the back of his brown neck.\n\nWithout a sound he lunged to the floor, dead; but the women without\nhad caught a fleeting glimpse of what had taken place within the little\nchamber, even before Barbara Harding could slam the door again, and\nwith shrieks of rage and fright they rushed into the main street of the\nvillage shouting at the tops of their voices that Oda Yorimoto and Hawa\nNisho had been slain by the woman of the sei-yo-jin.\n\nInstantly, the village swarmed with samurai, women, children, and dogs.\nThey rushed toward the hut of Oda Yorimoto, filling the outer chamber\nwhere they jabbered excitedly for several minutes, the warriors\nattempting to obtain a coherent story from the moaning women of the\ndaimio's household.\n\nBarbara Harding crouched close to the door, listening. She knew that the\ncrucial moment was at hand; that there were at best but a few moments\nfor her to live. A silent prayer rose from her parted lips. She placed\nthe sharp point of Oda Yorimoto's short sword against her breast, and\nwaited--waited for the coming of the men from the room beyond, snatching\na few brief seconds from eternity ere she drove the weapon into her\nheart.\n\n\nTheriere plunged through the jungle at a run for several minutes before\nhe caught sight of the mucker.\n\n\"Are you still on the trail?\" he called to the man before him.\n\n\"Sure,\" replied Byrne. \"It's dead easy. They must o' been at least a\ndozen of 'em. Even a mutt like me couldn't miss it.\"\n\n\"We want to go carefully, Byrne,\" cautioned Theriere. \"I've had\nexperience with these fellows before, and I can tell you that you never\nknow when one of 'em is near you till you feel a spear in your back,\nunless you're almighty watchful. We've got to make all the haste we can,\nof course, but it won't help Miss Harding any if we rush into an ambush\nand get our heads lopped off.\"\n\nByrne saw the wisdom of his companion's advice and tried to profit by\nit; but something which seemed to dominate him today carried him ahead\nat reckless, breakneck speed--the flight of an eagle would have been all\ntoo slow to meet the requirements of his unaccountable haste.\n\nOnce he found himself wondering why he was risking his life to avenge or\nrescue this girl whom he hated so. He tried to think that it was for the\nransom--yes, that was it, the ransom. If he found her alive, and rescued\nher he should claim the lion's share of the booty.\n\nTheriere too wondered why Byrne, of all the other men upon the Halfmoon\nthe last that he should have expected to risk a thing for the sake of\nMiss Harding, should be the foremost in pursuit of her captors.\n\n\"I wonder how far behind Sanders and Wison are,\" he remarked to Byrne\nafter they had been on the trail for the better part of an hour. \"Hadn't\nwe better wait for them to catch up with us? Four can do a whole lot\nmore than two.\"\n\n\"Not wen Billy Byrne's one of de two,\" replied the mucker, and continued\ndoggedly along the trail.\n\nAnother half-hour brought them suddenly in sight of a native village,\nand Billy Byrne was for dashing straight into the center of it and\n\"cleaning it up,\" as he put it, but Theriere put his foot down firmly on\nthat proposition, and finally Byrne saw that the other was right.\n\n\"The trail leads straight toward that place,\" said Theriere, \"so I\nsuppose here is where they brought her, but which of the huts she's in\nnow we ought to try to determine before we make any attempt to rescue\nher. Well, by George! Now what do you think of that?\"\n\n\"Tink o' wot?\" asked the mucker. \"Wot's eatin' yeh?\"\n\n\"See those three men down there in the village, Byrne?\" asked the\nFrenchman. \"They're no more aboriginal headhunters than I am--they're\nJaps, man. There must be something wrong with our trailing, for it's as\ncertain as fate itself that Japs are not head-hunters.\"\n\n\"There ain't been nothin' fony about our trailin', bo,\" insisted Byrne,\n\"an' whether Japs are bean collectors or not here's where de ginks dat\ncopped de doll hiked fer, an if dey ain't dere now it's because dey went\nt'rough an' out de odder side, see.\"\n\n\"Hush, Byrne,\" whispered Theriere. \"Drop down behind this bush. Someone\nis coming along this other trail to the right of us,\" and as he spoke he\ndragged the mucker down beside him.\n\nFor a moment they crouched, breathless and expectant, and then the slim\nfigure of an almost nude boy emerged from the foliage close beside and\nentered the trail toward the village. Upon his head he bore a bundle of\nfirewood.\n\nWhen he was directly opposite the watchers Theriere sprang suddenly\nupon him, clapping a silencing hand over the boy's mouth. In Japanese he\nwhispered a command for silence.\n\n\"We shall not harm you if you keep still,\" he said, \"and answer our\nquestions truthfully. What village is that?\"\n\n\"It is the chief city of Oda Yorimoto, Lord of Yoka,\" replied the youth.\n\"I am Oda Iseka, his son.\"\n\n\"And the large hut in the center of the village street is the palace of\nOda Yorimoto?\" guessed Theriere shrewdly.\n\n\"It is.\"\n\nThe Frenchman was not unversed in the ways of orientals, and he guessed\nalso that if the white girl were still alive in the village she would be\nin no other hut than that of the most powerful chief; but he wished to\nverify his deductions if possible. He knew that a direct question as to\nthe whereabouts of the girl would call forth either a clever oriental\nevasion or an equally clever oriental lie.\n\n\"Does Oda Yorimoto intend slaying the white woman that was brought to\nhis house last night?\" asked Theriere.\n\n\"How should the son know the intentions of his father?\" replied the boy.\n\n\"Is she still alive?\" continued Theriere.\n\n\"How should I know, who was asleep when she was brought, and only heard\nthe womenfolk this morning whispering that Oda Yorimoto had brought home\na new woman the night before.\"\n\n\"Could you not see her with your own eyes?\" asked Theriere.\n\n\"My eyes cannot pass through the door of the little room behind, in\nwhich they still were when I left to gather firewood a half hour since,\"\nretorted the youth.\n\n\"Wot's de Chink sayin'?\" asked Billy Byrne, impatient of the\nconversation, no word of which was intelligible to him.\n\n\"He says, in substance,\" replied Theriere, with a grin, \"that Miss\nHarding is still alive, and in the back room of that largest hut in the\ncenter of the village street; but,\" and his face clouded, \"Oda Yorimoto,\nthe chief of the tribe, is with her.\"\n\nThe mucker sprang to his feet with an oath, and would have bolted for\nthe village had not Theriere laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder.\n\n\"It is too late, my friend,\" he said sadly, \"to make haste now. We\nmay, if we are cautious, be able to save her life, and later, possibly,\navenge her wrong. Let us act coolly, and after some manner of plan, so\nthat we may work together, and not throw our lives away uselessly. The\nchance is that neither of us will come out of that village alive, but\nwe must minimize that chance to the utmost if we are to serve Miss\nHarding.\"\n\n\"Well, wot's de word?\" asked the mucker, for he saw that Theriere was\nright.\n\n\"The jungle approaches the village most closely on the opposite\nside--the side in rear of the chief's hut,\" pointed out Theriere. \"We\nmust circle about until we can reach that point undetected, then we may\nformulate further plans from what our observations there develop.\"\n\n\"An' dis?\" Byrne shoved a thumb at Oda Iseka.\n\n\"We'll take him with us--it wouldn't be safe to let him go now.\"\n\n\"Why not croak him?\" suggested Byrne.\n\n\"Not unless we have to,\" replied Theriere; \"he's just a boy--we'll\ndoubtless have all the killing we want among the men before we get out\nof this.\"\n\n\"I never did have no use fer Chinks,\" said the mucker, as though in\nextenuation of his suggestion that they murder the youth. For some\nunaccountable reason he had felt a sudden compunction because of his\nthoughtless remark. What in the world was coming over him, he wondered.\nHe'd be wearing white pants and playing lawn tennis presently if he\ncontinued to grow much softer and more unmanly.\n\nSo the three set out through the jungle, following a trail which led\naround to the north of the village. Theriere walked ahead with the boy's\narm in his grasp. Byrne followed closely behind. They reached their\ndestination in the rear of Oda Yorimoto's \"palace\" without interruption\nor detection. Here they reconnoitered through the thick foliage.\n\n\"Dere's a little winder in de back of de house,\" said Byrne. \"Dat must\nbe where dem guys cooped up de little broiler.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Theriere, \"it would be in the back room which the boy\ndescribed. First let's tie and gag this young heathen, and then we can\nproceed to business without fear of alarm from him,\" and the Frenchman\nstripped a long, grass rope from about the waist of his prisoner, with\nwhich he was securely trussed up, a piece of his loin cloth being forced\ninto his mouth as a gag, and secured there by another strip, torn from\nthe same garment, which was passed around the back of the boy's head.\n\n\"Rather uncomfortable, I imagine,\" commented Theriere; \"but not\nparticularly painful or dangerous--and now to business!\"\n\n\"I'm goin' to make a break fer dat winder,\" announced the mucker, \"and\nyouse squat here in de tall grass wid yer gat an' pick off any fresh\nguys dat get gay in back here. Den, if I need youse you can come\na-runnin' an' open up all over de shop wid de artillery, or if I gets\nde lizzie outen de jug an' de Chinks push me too clost youse'll be here\nwhere yeh can pick 'em off easy-like.\"\n\n\"You'll be taking all the risk that way, Byrne,\" objected Theriere, \"and\nthat's not fair.\"\n\n\"One o' us is pretty sure to get hurted,\" explained the mucker in\ndefense of his plan, \"an, if it's a croak it's a lot better dat it be\nme than youse, fer the girl wouldn't be crazy about bein' lef' alone wid\nme--she ain't got no use fer the likes o' me. Now youse are her kin, an'\nso youse stay here w'ere yeh can help her after I git her out--I don't\nwant nothing to do wid her anyhow. She gives me a swift pain, and,\" he\nadded as though it were an after-thought, \"I ain't got no use fer dat\nransom eider--youse can have dat, too.\"\n\n\"Hold on, Byrne,\" cried Theriere; \"I have something to say, too. I do\nnot see how I can expect you to believe me; but under the circumstances,\nwhen one of us and maybe both are pretty sure to die before the day is\nmuch older, it wouldn't be worth while lying. I do not want that damned\nransom any more, either. I only want to do what I can to right the wrong\nthat I have helped to perpetrate against Miss Harding. I--I--Byrne,\nI love her. I shall never tell her so, for I am not the sort of man a\ndecent girl would care to marry; but I did want the chance to make a\nclean breast to her of all my connection with the whole dirty business,\nand get her forgiveness if I could; but first I wanted to prove my\nrepentance by helping her to civilization in safety, and delivering her\nto her friends without the payment of a cent of money. I may never be\nable to do that now; but if I die in the attempt, and you don't, I wish\nthat you would tell her what I have just told you. Paint me as black as\nyou can--you couldn't commence to make me as black as I have been--but\nlet her know that for love of her I turned white at the last minute.\nByrne, she is the best girl that you or I ever saw--we're not fit to\nbreathe the same air that she breathes. Now you can see why I should\nlike to go first.\"\n\n\"I t'ought youse was soft on her,\" replied the mucker, \"an' dat's de\nreason w'y youse otter not go first; but wot's de use o' chewin', les\nflip a coin to see w'ich goes an w'ich stays--got one?\"\n\nTheriere felt in his trousers' pocket, fishing out a dime.\n\n\"Heads, you go; tails, I go,\" he said and spun the silver piece in the\nair, catching it in the flat of his open palm.\n\n\"It's heads,\" said the mucker, grinning. \"Gee! Wot's de racket?\"\n\nBoth men turned toward the village, where a jabbering mob of half-caste\nJapanese had suddenly appeared in the streets, hurrying toward the hut\nof Oda Yorimoto.\n\n\"Somepin doin', eh?\" said the mucker. \"Well, here goes--s'long!\" And he\nbroke from the cover of the jungle and dashed across the clearing toward\nthe rear of Oda Yorimoto's hut.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. THE FIGHT IN THE PALACE\n\nBARBARA HARDING heard the samurai in the room beyond her prison\nadvancing toward the door that separated them from her. She pressed the\npoint of the daimio's sword close to her heart. A heavy knock fell upon\nthe door and at the same instant the girl was startled by a noise behind\nher--a noise at the little window at the far end of the room.\n\nTurning to face this new danger, she was startled into a little cry\nof surprise to see the head and shoulders of the mucker framed in the\nbroken square of the half-demolished window.\n\nThe girl did not know whether to feel renewed hope or utter despair. She\ncould not forget the heroism of her rescue by this brutal fellow when\nthe Halfmoon had gone to pieces the day before, nor could she banish\nfrom her mind his threats of violence toward her, or his brutal\ntreatment of Mallory and Theriere. And the question arose in her mind as\nto whether she would be any better off in his power than in the clutches\nof the savage samurai.\n\nBilly Byrne had heard the knock upon the door before which the girl\nknelt. He had seen the corpses of the dead men at her feet. He had\nobserved the telltale position of the sword which the girl held to her\nbreast and he had read much of the story of the impending tragedy at a\nglance.\n\n\"Cheer up, kid!\" he whispered. \"I'll be wid youse in a minute, an'\nTheriere's out here too, to help youse if I can't do it alone.\"\n\nThe girl turned toward the door again.\n\n\"Wait,\" she cried to the samurai upon the other side, \"until I move the\ndead men, then you may come in, their bodies bar the door now.\"\n\nAll that kept the warriors out was the fear that possibly Oda Yorimoto\nmight not be dead after all, and that should they force their way into\nthe room without his permission some of them would suffer for their\ntemerity. Naturally none of them was keen to lose his head for nothing,\nbut the moment that the girl spoke of the dead \"men\" they knew that Oda\nYorimoto had been slain, too, and with one accord they rushed the little\ndoor.\n\nThe girl threw all her weight against her side, while the dead men, each\nto the extent of his own weight, aided the woman who had killed them in\nher effort to repulse their fellows; and behind the three Billy Byrne\nkicked and tore at the mud wall about the window in a frantic effort\nto enlarge the aperture sufficiently to permit his huge bulk to pass\nthrough into the little room.\n\nThe mucker won to the girl's side first, and snatching Oda Yorimoto's\nlong sword from the floor he threw his great weight against the door,\nand commanded the girl to make for the window and escape to the forest\nas quickly as she could.\n\n\"Theriere is waiting dere,\" he said. \"He will see youse de moment yeh\nreach de window, and den youse will be safe.\"\n\n\"But you!\" cried the girl. \"What of you?\"\n\n\"Never yeh mind me,\" commanded Billy Byrne. \"Youse jes' do as I tells\nyeh, see? Now, beat it,\" and he gave her a rough shove toward the\nwindow.\n\nAnd then, between the combined efforts of the samurai upon one side and\nBilly Byrne of Kelly's gang upon the other the frail door burst from its\nrotten hinges and fell to one side.\n\nThe first of the samurai into the little room was cleft from crown to\nbreast bone with the keen edge of the sword of the Lord of Yoka wielded\nby the mighty arm of the mucker. The second took the count with a left\nhook to the jaw, and then all that could crowd through the little door\nswarmed upon the husky bruiser from Grand Avenue.\n\nBarbara Harding took one look at the carnage behind her and then sprang\nto the window. At a short distance she saw the jungle and at its edge\nwhat she was sure was the figure of a man crouching in the long grass.\n\n\"Mr. Theriere!\" she cried. \"Quick! They are killing Byrne,\" and then\nshe turned back into the room, and with the short sword which she still\ngrasped in her hand sprang to the side of the mucker who was offering\nhis life to save her.\n\nByrne cast a horrified glance at the figure fighting by his side.\n\n\"Fer de love o' Mike! Beat it!\" he cried. \"Duck! Git out o' here!\"\n\nBut the girl only smiled up bravely into his face and kept her place\nbeside him. The mucker tried to push her behind him with one hand while\nhe fought with the other, but she drew away from him to come up again a\nlittle farther from him.\n\nThe samurai were pushing them closely now. Three men at a time were\nreaching for the mucker with their long swords. He was bleeding from\nnumerous wounds, but at his feet lay two dead warriors, while a third\ncrawled away with a mortal wound in his abdomen.\n\nBarbara Harding devoted her energies to thrusting and cutting at those\nwho tried to press past the mucker, that they might take him from\nbehind. The battle could not last long, so unequal were the odds. She\nsaw the room beyond filled with surging warriors all trying to force\ntheir way within reach of the great white man who battled like some\ndemigod of old in the close, dark, evil warren of the daimio.\n\nShe shot a side glance at the man. He was wonderful! The fire of battle\nhad transformed him. No longer was he the sullen, sulky, hulking brute\nshe had first known upon the Halfmoon. Instead, huge, muscular, alert,\nhe towered above his pygmy antagonists, his gray eyes gleaming, a\nhalf-smile upon his strong lips.\n\nShe saw the long sword, wielded awkwardly in his unaccustomed hands,\nbeat down the weapons of his skilled foemen by the very ferocity of its\nhurtling attack. She saw it pass through a man's shoulder, cleaving\nbone and muscle as if they had been cheese, until it stopped two-thirds\nacross its victim's body, cutting him almost in two.\n\nShe saw a samurai leap past her champion's guard in an attempt to close\nupon him with a dagger, and when she had rushed forward to thwart\nthe fellow's design she had seen Byrne swing his mighty left to the\nwarrior's face with a blow that might well have felled an ox. Then\nanother leaped into closer quarters and she saw Byrne at the same\ninstant bury his sword in the body of a dark-visaged devil who looked\nmore Malay than Jap, and as the stricken man fell she saw the hilt of\nthe mucker's blade wrenched from his grip by the dead body of his foe.\nThe samurai who had closed upon Byrne at that instant found his enemy\nunarmed, and with a howl of delight he struck full at the broad chest\nwith his long, thin dagger.\n\nBut Billy Byrne was not to be dispatched so easily. With his left\nforearm he struck up the hand that wielded the menacing blade, and then\ncatching the fellow by the shoulder swung him around, grasped him about\nthe waist and lifting him above his head hurled him full in the faces of\nthe swordsmen who were pressing through the narrow doorway.\n\nAlmost simultaneously a spear shot through a tiny opening in the ranks\nbefore Billy Byrne, and with a little gasp of dismay the huge fellow\npitched forward upon his face. At the same instant a shot rang out\nbehind Barbara Harding, and Theriere leaped past her to stand across the\nbody of the fallen mucker.\n\nWith the sound of the shot a samurai sank to the floor, dead, and the\nothers, unaccustomed to firearms, drew back in dismay. Again Theriere\nfired point-blank into the crowded room, and this time two men fell,\nstruck by the same bullet. Once more the warriors retreated, and with an\nexultant yell Theriere followed up his advantage by charging menacingly\nupon them. They stood for a moment, then wavered, turned and fled from\nthe hut.\n\nWhen Theriere turned back toward Barbara Harding he found her kneeling\nbeside the mucker.\n\n\"Is he dead?\" asked the Frenchman.\n\n\"No. Can we lift him together and get him through that window?\"\n\n\"It is the only way,\" replied Theriere, \"and we must try it.\"\n\nThey seized upon the huge body and dragged it to the far end of the\nroom, but despite their best efforts the two were not able to lift the\ngreat, inert mass of flesh and bone and muscle and pass it through the\ntiny opening.\n\n\"What shall we do?\" cried Theriere.\n\n\"We must stay here with him,\" replied Barbara Harding. \"I could never\ndesert the man who has fought so noble a fight for me while a breath of\nlife remained in him.\"\n\nTheriere groaned.\n\n\"Nor I,\" he said; \"but you--he has given his life to save yours. Should\nyou render his sacrifice of no avail now?\"\n\n\"I cannot go alone,\" she answered simply, \"and I know that you will not\nleave him. There is no other way--we must stay.\"\n\nAt this juncture the mucker opened his eyes.\n\n\"Who hit me?\" he murmured. \"Jes' show me de big stiff.\" Theriere could\nnot repress a smile. Barbara Harding again knelt beside the man.\n\n\"No one hit you, Mr. Byrne,\" she said. \"You were struck by a spear and\nare badly wounded.\"\n\nBilly Byrne opened his eyes a little wider, turning them until they\nrested on the beautiful face of the girl so close to his.\n\n \"MR. Byrne!\" he ejaculated in disgust.  \"Forget it.  Wot do\nyouse tink I am, one of dose paper-collar dudes?\"\n\nThen he sat up. Blood was flowing from a wound in his chest, saturating\nhis shirt, and running slowly to the earth floor. There were two flesh\nwounds upon his head--one above the right eye and the other extending\nentirely across the left cheek from below the eye to the lobe of the\near--but these he had received earlier in the fracas. From crown to heel\nthe man was a mass of blood. Through his crimson mask he looked at the\npile of bodies in the far end of the room, and a broad grin cracked the\ndried blood about his mouth.\n\n\"Wot we done to dem Chinks was sure a plenty, kiddo,\" he remarked to\nMiss Harding, and then he came to his feet, seemingly as strong as ever,\nshaking himself like a great bull. \"But I guess it's lucky youse butted\nin when you did, old pot,\" he added, turning toward Theriere; \"dey jest\nabout had me down fer de long count.\"\n\nBarbara Harding was looking at the man in wide-eyed amazement. A moment\nbefore she had been expecting him, momentarily, to breathe his last--now\nhe was standing before her talking as unconcernedly as though he had not\nreceived a scratch--he seemed totally unaware of his wounds. At least he\nwas entirely indifferent to them.\n\n\"You're pretty badly hurt, old man,\" said Theriere. \"Do you feel able\nto make the attempt to get to the jungle? The Japs will be back in a\nmoment.\"\n\n\"Sure!\" cried Billy Byrne. \"Come ahead,\" and he sprang for the window.\n\"Pass de kid up to me. Quick! Dey're comin' from in back.\"\n\nTheriere lifted Barbara Harding to the mucker who drew her through the\nopening. Then Billy extended a hand to the Frenchman, and a moment later\nthe three stood together outside the hut.\n\nA dozen samurai were running toward them from around the end of the\n\"Palace.\" The jungle lay a hundred yards across the clearing. There was\nno time to be lost.\n\n\"You go first with Miss Harding,\" cried Theriere. \"I'll cover our\nretreat with my revolver, following close behind you.\"\n\nThe mucker caught the girl in his arms, throwing her across his\nshoulder. The blood from his wounds smeared her hands and clothing.\n\n\"Hang tight, kiddo,\" he cried, and started at a brisk trot toward the\nforest.\n\nTheriere kept close behind the two, reserving his fire until it could be\neffectively delivered. With savage yells the samurai leaped after their\nescaping quarry. The natives all carried the long, sharp spears of the\naboriginal head-hunters. Their swords swung in their harness, and their\nancient armor clanked as they ran.\n\nIt was a strange, weird picture that the oddly contrasted party\npresented as they raced across the clearing of this forgotten isle\ntoward a jungle as primitive as when \"the evening and the morning were\nthe third day.\" An American girl of the highest social caste borne in\nthe arms of that most vicious of all social pariahs--the criminal mucker\nof the slums of a great city--and defending them with drawn revolver,\na French count and soldier of fortune, while in their wake streamed\na yelling pack of half-caste demons clothed in the habiliments of\nsixteenth century Japan, and wielding the barbarous spears of the savage\nhead-hunting aborigines whose fierce blood coursed in their veins with\nthat of the descendants of Taka-mi-musu-bi-no-kami.\n\nThree-quarters of the distance had been covered in safety before the\nsamurai came within safe spear range of the trio. Theriere, seeing the\ndanger to the girl, dropped back a few paces hoping to hold the brown\nwarriors from her. The foremost of the pursuers raised his weapon aloft,\ncarrying his spear hand back of his shoulder for the throw. Theriere's\nrevolver spoke, and the man pitched forward, rolling over and over\nbefore he came to rest.\n\nA howl of rage went up from the samurai, and a half-dozen spears leaped\nat long range toward Theriere. One of the weapons transfixed his thigh,\nbringing him to earth. Byrne was at the forest's edge as the Frenchman\nfell--it was the girl, though, who witnessed the catastrophe.\n\n\"Stop!\" she cried. \"Mr. Theriere is down.\"\n\nThe mucker halted, and turned his head in the direction of the\nFrenchman, who had raised himself to one elbow and was firing at the\nadvancing enemy. He dropped the girl to her feet.\n\n\"Wait here!\" he commanded and sprang back toward Theriere.\n\nBefore he reached him another spear had caught the man full in the\nchest, toppling him, unconscious, to the earth. The samurai were rushing\nrapidly upon the wounded officer--it was a question who would reach him\nfirst.\n\nTheriere had been nipped in the act of reloading his revolver. It lay\nbeside him now, the cylinder full of fresh cartridges. The mucker was\nfirst to his side, and snatching the weapon from the ground fired coolly\nand rapidly at the advancing Japanese. Four of them went down before\nthat deadly fusillade; but the mucker cursed beneath his breath because\nof his two misses.\n\nByrne's stand checked the brown men momentarily, and in the succeeding\nlull the man lifted the unconscious Frenchman to his shoulder and bore\nhim back to the forest. In the shelter of the jungle they laid him upon\nthe ground. To the girl it seemed that the frightful wound in his chest\nmust prove fatal within a few moments.\n\nByrne, apparently unmoved by the seriousness of Theriere's condition,\nremoved the man's cartridge belt and buckled it about his own waist,\nreplacing the six empty shells in the revolver with six fresh ones.\nPresently he noticed the bound and gagged Oda Iseka lying in the brush\nbehind them where he and Theriere had left him. The samurai were now\nsneaking cautiously toward their refuge. A sudden inspiration came to\nthe mucker.\n\n\"Didn't I hear youse chewin' de rag wit de Chinks wen I hit de dump over\ndere?\" he asked of Barbara.\n\nThe girl, oddly, understood him. She nodded her head, affirmatively.\n\n\"Youse savvy deyre lingo den, eh?\"\n\n\"A little.\"\n\n\"Tell dis gazimbat to wise his pals to de fact dat I'll croak 'im, if\ndey don't beat it, an' let us make our get-away. Theriere says as how\nhe's kink when his ole man croaks, an' his ole man was de guy youse\nput to sleep in de chicken coop,\" explained the mucker lucidly; \"so dis\nslob's kink hisself now.\"\n\nBarbara Harding was quick to see the strength of the man's suggestion.\nStepping to the edge of the clearing in full view of the advancing\nenemy, with the mucker at her side, revolver in hand, she called to them\nin the language of their forbears to listen to her message. Then she\nexplained that they held the son of Oda Yorimoto prisoner, and that his\nlife would be the price of any further attack upon them.\n\nThe samurai conferred together for a moment, then one of them called out\nthat they did not believe her, that Oda Iseka, son of Oda Yorimoto, was\nsafe in the village.\n\n\"Wait!\" replied the girl. \"We will show him to you,\" and turning to\nByrne she asked him to fetch the youth.\n\nWhen the white man returned with the boy in his arms, a wail of mingled\nanguish and rage rose from the natives.\n\n\"If you molest us no further we shall not harm him,\" cried Barbara, \"and\nwhen we leave your island we shall set him free; but renew your attack\nupon us and this white man who holds him says that he will cut out his\nheart and feed it to the fox,\" which was rather a bloodthirsty statement\nfor so gentle a character as Barbara Harding; but she knew enough of the\nsuperstitious fears of the ancient Japanese to feel confident that this\nthreat would have considerable weight with the subjects of the young\nLord of Yoka.\n\nAgain the natives conferred in whispers. Finally he who had acted as\nspokesman before turned toward the strangers.\n\n\"We shall not harm you,\" he said, \"so long as you do not harm Oda Iseka;\nbut we shall watch you always until you leave the island, and if harm\nbefalls him then shall you never leave, for we shall kill you all.\"\n\nBarbara translated the man's words to the mucker.\n\n\"Do youse fall fer dat?\" he asked.\n\n\"I think they will be careful to make no open assault upon us,\" replied\nthe girl; \"but never for an instant must we cease our watchfulness for\nat the first opportunity I am sure that they will murder us.\"\n\nThey turned back to Theriere now. The man still lay, unconscious and\nmoaning, where Byrne had deposited him. The mucker removed the gag from\nOda Iseka's mouth.\n\n\"Which way is water? Ask him,\" he said to Barbara.\n\nThe girl put the question.\n\n\"He says that straight up this ravine behind us there is a little\nspring,\" translated the girl.\n\nByrne lifted Theriere in his arms, after loosening Oda Iseka's feet and\ntethering him to his own belt with the same grass rope; then he motioned\nthe youth up the ravine.\n\n\"Walk beside me,\" he said to Barbara Harding, \"an' keep yer lamps peeled\nbehind.\"\n\nThus, in silence, the party commenced the ascent of the trail which\nsoon became rough and precipitous, while behind them, under cover of the\nbrush, sneaked four trailing samurai.\n\nAfter half an hour of the most arduous climbing the mucker commenced\nto feel the effects of loss of blood from his many wounds. He coughed\na little now from the exertion, and when he did the blood spurted anew\nfrom the fresh wound in his breast.\n\nYet there was no wavering or weakness apparent to the girl who marched\nbeside him, and she wondered at the physical endurance of the man.\nBut when at last they came to a clear pool of water, half hidden by\noverhanging rocks and long masses of depending mosses, in the midst of\na natural grotto of enchanting loveliness, and Oda Iseka signaled\nthat their journey was at an end, Byrne laid Theriere gently upon\nthe flower-starred sward, and with a little, choking gasp collapsed,\nunconscious, beside the Frenchman.\n\nBarbara Harding was horror-stricken. She suddenly realized that she had\ncommenced to feel that this giant of the slums was invulnerable, and\nwith the thought came another--that to him she had come to look more\nthan to Theriere for eventual rescue; and now, here she found herself in\nthe center of a savage island, surrounded as she felt confident she was\nby skulking murderers, with only two dying white men and a brown hostage\nas companions.\n\nAnd now Oda Iseka took in the situation, and with a grin of triumph\nraised his voice in a loud halloo.\n\n\"Come quickly, my people!\" he cried; \"for both the white men are dying,\"\nand from the jungle below them came an answering shout.\n\n\"We come, Oda Iseka, Lord of Yoka! Your faithful samurai come!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE\n\nAT THE sound of the harsh voices so close upon her Barbara Harding was\ngalvanized into instant action. Springing to Byrne's side she whipped\nTheriere's revolver from his belt, where it reposed about the fallen\nmucker's hips, and with it turned like a tigress upon the youth.\n\n\"Quick!\" she cried. \"Tell them to go back--that I shall kill you if they\ncome closer.\"\n\nThe boy shrank back in terror before the fiery eyes and menacing\nattitude of the white girl, and then with the terror that animated him\nringing plainly in his voice he screamed to his henchmen to halt.\n\nRelieved for a moment at least from immediate danger Barbara Harding\nturned her attention toward the two unconscious men at her feet. From\nappearances it seemed that either might breathe his last at any moment,\nand as she looked at Theriere a wave of compassion swept over her, and\nthe tears welled to her eyes; yet it was to the mucker that she first\nministered--why, she could not for the life of her have explained.\n\nShe dashed cold water from the spring upon his face. She bathed his\nwrists, and washed his wounds, tearing strips from her skirt to bandage\nthe horrid gash upon his breast in an effort to stanch the flow of\nlifeblood that welled forth with the man's every breath.\n\nAnd at last she was rewarded by seeing the flow of blood quelled and\nsigns of returning consciousness appear. The mucker opened his eyes.\nClose above him bent the radiant vision of Barbara Harding's face. Upon\nhis fevered forehead he felt the soothing strokes of her cool, soft\nhand. He closed his eyes again to battle with the effeminate realization\nthat he enjoyed this strange, new sensation--the sensation of being\nministered to by a gentle woman--and, perish the thought, by a\ngentlewoman!\n\nWith an effort he raised himself to one elbow, scowling at her.\n\n\"Gwan,\" he said; \"I ain't no boob dude. Cut out de mush. Lemme be. Beat\nit!\"\n\nHurt, more than she would have cared to admit, Barbara Harding\nturned away from her ungrateful and ungracious patient, to repeat\nher ministrations to the Frenchman. The mucker read in her expression\nsomething of the wound his words had inflicted, and he lay thinking\nupon the matter for some time, watching her deft, white fingers as they\nworked over the scarce breathing Theriere.\n\nHe saw her wash the blood and dirt from the ghastly wound in the man's\nchest, and as he watched he realized what a world of courage it must\nrequire for a woman of her stamp to do gruesome work of this sort. Never\nbefore would such a thought have occurred to him. Neither would he\nhave cared at all for the pain his recent words to the girl might\nhave inflicted. Instead he would have felt keen enjoyment of her\ndiscomfiture.\n\nAnd now another strange new emotion took possession of him. It was none\nother than a desire to atone in some way for his words. What wonderful\ntransformation was taking place in the heart of the Kelly gangster?\n\n\"Say!\" he blurted out suddenly.\n\nBarbara Harding turned questioning eyes toward him. In them was the\ncold, haughty aloofness again that had marked her cognizance of him upon\nthe Halfmoon--the look that had made his hate of her burn most fiercely.\nIt took the mucker's breath away to witness it, and it made the speech\nhe had contemplated more difficult than ever--nay, almost impossible.\nHe coughed nervously, and the old dark, lowering scowl returned to his\nbrow.\n\n\"Did you speak?\" asked Miss Harding, icily.\n\nBilly Byrne cleared his throat, and then there blurted from his lips\nnot the speech that he had intended, but a sudden, hateful rush of words\nwhich seemed to emanate from another personality, from one whom Billy\nByrne once had been.\n\n\"Ain't dat boob croaked yet?\" he growled.\n\nThe shock of that brutal question brought Barbara Harding to her feet.\nIn horror she looked down at the man who had spoken thus of a brave and\nnoble comrade in the face of death itself. Her eyes blazed angrily as\nhot, bitter words rushed to her lips, and then of a sudden she thought\nof Byrne's self-sacrificing heroism in returning to Theriere's side in\nthe face of the advancing samurai--of the cool courage he had displayed\nas he carried the unconscious man back to the jungle--of the\ndevotion, almost superhuman, that had sustained him as he struggled,\nuncomplaining, up the steep mountain path with the burden of the\nFrenchman's body the while his own lifeblood left a crimson trail behind\nhim.\n\nSuch deeds and these words were incompatible in the same individual.\nThere could be but one explanation--Byrne must be two men, with as\ntotally different characters as though they had possessed separate\nbodies. And who may say that her hypothesis was not correct--at least\nit seemed that Billy Byrne was undergoing a metamorphosis, and at\nthe instant there was still a question as to which personality should\neventually dominate.\n\nByrne turned away from the reproach which replaced the horror in\nthe girl's eyes, and with a tired sigh let his head fall upon his\noutstretched arm. The girl watched him for a moment, a puzzled\nexpression upon her face, and then returned to work above Theriere.\n\nThe Frenchman's respiration was scarcely appreciable, yet after a time\nhe opened his eyes and looked up wearily. At sight of the girl he smiled\nwanly, and tried to speak, but a fit of coughing flecked his lips with\nbloody foam, and again he closed his eyes. Fainter and fainter came\nhis breathing, until it was with difficulty that the girl detected any\nmovement of his breast whatever. She thought that he was dying, and she\nwas afraid. Wistfully she looked toward the mucker. The man still lay\nwith his head buried in his arm, but whether he were wrapped in thought,\nin slumber, or in death the girl could not tell. At the final thought\nshe went white with terror.\n\nSlowly she approached the man, and leaning over placed her hand upon his\nshoulder.\n\n\"Mr. Byrne!\" she whispered.\n\nThe mucker turned his face toward her. It looked tired and haggard.\n\n\"Wot is it?\" he asked, and his tone was softer than she had ever heard\nit.\n\n\"I think Mr. Theriere is dying,\" she said, \"and I--I-- Oh, I am so\nafraid.\"\n\nThe man flushed to the roots of his hair. All that he could think of\nwere the ugly words he had spoken a short time before--and now Theriere\nwas dying! Byrne would have laughed had anyone suggested that he\nentertained any other sentiment than hatred toward the second officer of\nthe Halfmoon--that is he would have twenty-four hours before; but now,\nquite unexpectedly, he realized that he didn't want Theriere to die, and\nthen it dawned upon him that a new sentiment had been born within him--a\nsentiment to which he had been a stranger all his hard life--friendship.\n\nHe felt friendship for Theriere! It was unthinkable, and yet the mucker\nknew that it was so. Painfully he crawled over to the Frenchman's side.\n\n\"Theriere!\" he whispered in the man's ear.\n\nThe officer turned his head wearily.\n\n\"Do youse know me, old pal?\" asked the mucker, and Barbara Harding knew\nfrom the man's voice that there were tears in his eyes; but what she did\nnot know was that they welled there in response to the words the mucker\nhad just spoken--the nearest approach to words of endearment that ever\nhad passed his lips.\n\nTheriere reached up and took Byrne's hand. It was evident that he too\nhad noted the unusual quality of the mucker's voice.\n\n\"Yes, old man,\" he said very faintly, and then \"water, please.\"\n\nBarbara Harding brought him a drink, holding his head against her knee\nwhile he drank. The cool liquid seemed to give him new strength for\npresently he spoke, quite strongly.\n\n\"I'm going, Byrne,\" he said; \"but before I go I want to tell you that of\nall the brave men I ever have known I have learned within the past few\ndays to believe that you are the bravest. A week ago I thought you were\na coward--I ask your forgiveness.\"\n\n\"Ferget it,\" whispered Byrne, \"fer a week ago I guess I was a coward.\nDere seems to be more'n one kind o' nerve--I'm jest a-learnin' of the\nright kind, I guess.\"\n\n\"And, Byrne,\" continued Theriere, \"don't forget what I asked of you\nbefore we tossed up to see which should enter Oda Yorimoto's house.\"\n\n\"I'll not ferget,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Good-bye, Byrne,\" whispered Theriere. \"Take good care of Miss Harding.\"\n\n\"Good-bye, old pal,\" said the mucker. His voice broke, and two big tears\nrolled down the cheeks of \"de toughest guy on de Wes' Side.\"\n\nBarbara Harding stepped to Theriere's side.\n\n\"Good-bye, my friend,\" she said. \"God will reward you for your\nfriendship, your bravery, and your devotion. There must be a special\nhonor roll in heaven for such noble men as you.\" Theriere smiled sadly.\n\n\"Byrne will tell you all,\" he said, \"except who I am--he does not know\nthat.\"\n\n\"Is there any message, my friend,\" asked the girl, \"that you would like\nto have me deliver?\"\n\nTheriere remained silent for a moment as though thinking.\n\n\"My name,\" he said, \"is Henri Theriere. I am the Count de Cadenet of\nFrance. There is no message, Miss Harding, other than you see fit\nto deliver to my relatives. They lived in Paris the last I heard of\nthem--my brother, Jacques, was a deputy.\"\n\nHis voice had become so low and weak that the girl could scarce\ndistinguish his words. He gasped once or twice, and then tried to speak\nagain. Barbara leaned closer, her ear almost against his lips.\n\n\"Good-bye--dear.\" The words were almost inaudible, and then the body\nstiffened with a little convulsive tremor, and Henri Theriere, Count de\nCadenet, passed over into the keeping of his noble ancestors.\n\n\"He's gone!\" whispered the girl, dry-eyed but suffering. She had not\nloved this man, she realized, but she had learned to think of him as her\none true friend in their little world of scoundrels and murderers. She\nhad cared for him very much--it was entirely possible that some day\nshe might have come to return his evident affection for her. She knew\nnothing of the seamy side of his hard life. She had guessed nothing of\nthe scoundrelly duplicity that had marked his first advances toward her.\nShe thought of him only as a true, brave gentleman, and in that she was\nright, for whatever Henri Theriere might have been in the past the last\nfew days of his life had revealed him in the true colors that birth and\nnature had intended him to wear through a brilliant career. In his death\nhe had atoned for many sins.\n\nAnd in those last few days he had transferred, all unknown to himself\nor the other man, a measure of the gentility and chivalry that were his\nbirthright, for, unrealizing, Billy Byrne was patterning himself after\nthe man he had hated and had come to love.\n\nAfter the girl's announcement the mucker had continued to sit with bowed\nhead staring at the ground. Afternoon had deepened into evening, and\nnow the brief twilight of the tropics was upon them--in a few moments it\nwould be dark.\n\nPresently Byrne looked up. His eyes wandered about the tiny clearing.\nSuddenly he staggered to his feet. Barbara Harding sprang up, startled\nby the evident alarm in the man's attitude.\n\n\"What is it?\" she whispered. \"What is the matter?\"\n\n\"De Chink!\" he cried. \"Where is de Chink?\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, Oda Iseka had disappeared!\n\nThe youthful daimio had taken advantage of the preoccupation of his\ncaptors during the last moments of Theriere to gnaw in two the grass\nrope which bound him to the mucker, and with hands still fast bound\nbehind him had slunk into the jungle path that led toward his village.\n\n\"They will be upon us again now at any moment,\" whispered the girl.\n\"What can we do?\"\n\n\"We better duck,\" replied the mucker. \"I hates to run away from a bunch\nof Chinks, but I guess it's up to us to beat it.\"\n\n\"But poor Mr. Theriere?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"I'll have to bury him close by,\" replied the mucker. \"I don't tink I\ncould pack him very fer tonight--I don't feel jest quite fit agin yet.\nYou wouldn't mind much if I buried him here, would you?\"\n\n\"There is no other way, Mr. Byrne,\" replied the girl. \"You mustn't\nthink of trying to carry him far. We have done all we can for poor\nMr. Theriere--you have almost given your life for him already--and it\nwouldn't do any good to carry his dead body with us.\"\n\n\"I hates to tink o' dem head-huntin' Chinks gettin' him,\" replied Byrne;\n\"but maybe I kin hide his grave so's dey won't tumble to it.\"\n\n\"You are in no condition to carry him at all,\" said the girl. \"I doubt\nif you can go far even without any burden.\"\n\nThe mucker grinned.\n\n\"Youse don't know me, miss,\" he said, and stooping he lifted the body of\nthe Frenchman to his broad shoulder, and started up the hillside through\nthe trackless underbrush.\n\nIt would have been an impossible feat for an ordinary man in the pink\nof condition, but the mucker, weak from pain and loss of blood, strode\nsturdily upward while the marveling girl followed close behind him. A\nhundred yards above the spring they came upon a little level spot, and\nhere with the two swords of Oda Yorimoto which they still carried they\nscooped a shallow grave in which they placed all that was mortal of the\nCount de Cadenet.\n\nBarbara Harding whispered a short prayer above the new-made grave, while\nthe mucker stood with bowed head beside her. Then they turned to their\nflight again up the wild face of the savage mountain. The moon came up\nat last to lighten the way for them, but it was a rough and dangerous\nclimb at best. In many places they were forced to walk hand in hand for\nconsiderable distances, and twice the mucker had lifted the girl bodily\nin his arms to bear her across particularly dangerous or difficult\nstretches.\n\nShortly after midnight they struck a small mountain stream up which they\nfollowed until in a natural cul-de-sac they came upon its source and\nfound their farther progress barred by precipitous cliffs which rose\nabove them, sheer and unscalable.\n\nThey had entered the little amphitheater through a narrow, rocky pass in\nthe bottom of which the tiny stream flowed, and now, weak and tired, the\nmucker was forced to admit that he could go no farther.\n\n\"Who'd o' t'ought dat I was such a sissy?\" he exclaimed disgustedly.\n\n\"I think that you are very wonderful, Mr. Byrne,\" replied the girl. \"Few\nmen could have gone through what you have today and been alive now.\"\n\nThe mucker made a deprecatory gesture.\n\n\"I suppose we gotta make de best of it,\" he said. \"Anyhow, dis ought to\nmake a swell joint to defend.\"\n\nWeak as he was he searched about for some soft grasses which he threw in\na pile beneath a stunted tree that grew well back in the hollow.\n\n\"Here's yer downy,\" he said, with an attempt at jocularity. \"Now you'd\nbetter hit de hay, fer youse must be dead fagged.\"\n\n\"Thanks!\" replied the girl. \"I AM nearly dead.\"\n\nSo tired was she that she was asleep almost as soon as she had found\na comfortable position in the thick mat of grass, so that she gave no\nthought to the strange position in which circumstance had placed her.\n\nThe sun was well up the following morning before the girl awakened, and\nit was several minutes before she could readjust herself to her strange\nsurroundings. At first she thought that she was alone, but finally she\ndiscerned a giant figure standing at the opening which led from their\nmountain retreat.\n\nIt was the mucker, and at sight of him there swept over the girl the\nterrible peril of her position--alone in the savage mountains of a\nsavage island with the murderer of Billy Mallory--the beast that had\nkicked the unconscious Theriere in the face--the mucker who had insulted\nand threatened to strike her! She shuddered at the thought. And then\nshe recalled the man's other side, and for the life of her she could not\ntell whether to be afraid of him or not--it all depended upon what mood\ngoverned him. It would be best to propitiate him. She called a pleasant\ngood morning.\n\nByrne turned. She was shocked at the pallor of his haggard face.\n\n\"Good morning,\" he said. \"How did yeh sleep?\"\n\n\"Oh, just splendidly, and you?\" she replied.\n\n\"So-so,\" he answered.\n\nShe looked at him searchingly as he approached her.\n\n\"Why I don't believe that you have slept at all,\" she cried.\n\n\"I didn't feel very sleepy,\" he replied evasively.\n\n\"You sat up all night on guard!\" she exclaimed. \"You know you did.\"\n\n\"De Chinks might o' been shadowin' us--it wasn't safe to sleep,\" he\nadmitted; \"but I'll tear off a few dis mornin' after we find a feed of\nsome kind.\"\n\n\"What can we find to eat here?\" she asked.\n\n\"Dis crick is full o' fish,\" he explained, \"an' ef youse got a pin I\nguess we kin rig up a scheme to hook a couple.\"\n\nThe girl found a pin that he said would answer very nicely, and with a\nshoe lace for a line and a big locust as bait the mucker set forth to\nangle in the little mountain torrent. The fish, unwary, and hungry thus\nearly in the morning proved easy prey, and two casts brought forth two\nsplendid specimens.\n\n\"I could eat a dozen of dem minnows,\" announced the mucker, and he cast\nagain and again, until in twenty minutes he had a goodly mess of plump,\nshiny trout on the grass beside him.\n\nWith his pocketknife he cleaned and scaled them, and then between two\nrocks he built a fire and passing sticks through the bodies of his catch\nroasted them all. They had neither salt, nor pepper, nor butter, nor any\nother viand than the fish, but it seemed to the girl that never in her\nlife had she tasted so palatable a meal, nor had it occurred to her\nuntil the odor of the cooking fish filled her nostrils that no food had\npassed her lips since the second day before--no wonder that the two ate\nravenously, enjoying every mouthful of their repast.\n\n\"An' now,\" said Billy Byrne, \"I tink I'll poun' my ear fer a few. You\nkin keep yer lamps peeled fer de Chinks, an' de first fony noise youse\nhears, w'y be sure to wake me up,\" and with that he rolled over upon the\ngrass, asleep almost on the instant.\n\nThe girl, to while away the time, explored their rock-bound haven. She\nfound that it had but a single means of ingress, the narrow pass through\nwhich the brook found outlet. Beyond the entrance she did not venture,\nbut through it she saw, beneath, a wooded slope, and twice deer passed\nquite close to her, stopping at the brook to drink.\n\nIt was an ideal spot, one whose beauties appealed to her even under the\nharrowing conditions which had forced her to seek its precarious safety.\nIn another land and with companions of her own kind she could well\nimagine the joy of a fortnight spent in such a sylvan paradise.\n\nThe thought aroused another--how long would the mucker remain a safe\ncompanion? She seemed to be continually falling from the frying pan into\nthe fire. So far she had not been burned, but with returning strength,\nand the knowledge of their utter isolation could she expect this brutal\nthug to place any check upon his natural desires?\n\nWhy there were few men of her own station in life with whom she would\nhave felt safe to spend a fortnight alone upon a savage, uncivilized\nisland! She glanced at the man where he lay stretched in deep slumber.\nWhat a huge fellow he was! How helpless would she be were he to turn\nagainst her! Yet his very size; yes, and the brutality she feared, were\nher only salvation against every other danger than he himself. The man\nwas physically a natural protector, for he was able to cope with odds\nand dangers to which an ordinary man would long since have succumbed. So\nshe found that she was both safer and less safe because the mucker was\nher companion.\n\nAs she pondered the question her eyes roved toward the slope beyond the\nopening to the amphitheater. With a start she came to her feet, shading\nher eyes with her hand and peering intently at something that she\ncould have sworn moved among the trees far below. No, she could not be\nmistaken--it was the figure of a man.\n\nSwiftly she ran to Byrne, shaking him roughly by the shoulder.\n\n\"Someone is coming,\" she cried, in response to his sleepy query.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. THE MUCKER SEES A NEW LIGHT\n\nTOGETHER the girl and the mucker approached the entrance to the\namphitheater. From behind a shoulder of rock they peered down into the\nforest below them. For several minutes neither saw any cause for alarm.\n\n\"I guess youse must o' been seein' things,\" said Byrne, drily.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the girl, \"and I see them again. Look! Quick! Down there--to\nthe right.\"\n\nByrne looked in the direction she indicated.\n\n\"Chinks,\" he commented. \"Gee! Look at 'em comin'. Dere must be a hundred\nof 'em.\"\n\nHe turned a rueful glance back into the amphitheater.\n\n\"I dunno as dis place looks as good to me as it did,\" he remarked. \"Dose\nyaps wid de toad stabbers could hike up on top o' dese cliffs an' make\nit a case o' 'thence by carriages to Calvary' for ours in about two\nshakes.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the girl, \"I'm afraid it's a regular cul-de-sac.\"\n\n\"I dunno nothin' about dat,\" replied the mucker; \"but I do know dat if\nwe wants to get out o' here we gotta get a hump on ourselves good an'\nlively. Come ahead,\" and with his words he ran quickly through\nthe entrance, and turning squarely toward the right skirted the\nperpendicular cliffs that extended as far as they could see to be lost\nto view in the forest that ran up to meet them from below.\n\nThe trees and underbrush hid them from the head-hunters. There had been\ndanger of detection but for the brief instant that they passed through\nthe entrance of the hollow, but at the time they had chosen the enemy\nhad been hidden in a clump of thick brush far down the slope.\n\nFor hours the two fugitives continued their flight, passing over the\ncrest of a ridge and downward toward another valley, until by a small\nbrook they paused to rest, hopeful that they had entirely eluded their\npursuers.\n\nAgain Byrne fished, and again they sat together at a one-course meal. As\nthey ate the man found himself looking at the girl more and more often.\nFor several days the wonder of her beauty had been growing upon him,\nuntil now he found it difficult to take his eyes from her. Thrice she\nsurprised him in the act of staring intently at her, and each time he\nhad dropped his eyes guiltily. At length the girl became nervous, and\nthen terribly frightened--was it coming so soon?\n\nThe man had talked but little during this meal, and for the life of her\nBarbara Harding could not think of any topic with which to distract his\nattention from his thoughts.\n\n\"Hadn't we better be moving on?\" she asked at last.\n\nByrne gave a little start as though surprised in some questionable act.\n\n\"I suppose so,\" he said; \"this ain't no place to spend the night--it's\ntoo open. We gotta find a sort o' hiding place if we can, dat a fellow\nkin barricade wit something.\"\n\nAgain they took up their seemingly hopeless march--an aimless wandering\nin search of they knew not what. Away from one danger to possible\ndangers many fold more terrible. Barbara's heart was very heavy, for\nagain she feared and mistrusted the mucker.\n\nThey followed down the little brook now to where it emptied into a river\nand then down the valley beside the river which grew wider and more\nturbulent with every mile. Well past mid-afternoon they came opposite a\nsmall, rocky island, and as Byrne's eyes fell upon it an exclamation of\ngratification burst from his lips.\n\n\"Jest de place!\" he cried. \"We orter be able to hide dere forever.\"\n\n\"But how are we to get there?\" asked the girl, looking fearfully at the\nturbulent river.\n\n\"It ain't deep,\" Byrne assured her. \"Come ahead; I'll carry yeh acrost,\"\nand without waiting for a reply he gathered her in his arms and started\ndown the bank.\n\nWhat with the thoughts that had occupied his mind off and on during the\nafternoon the sudden and close contact of the girl's warm young body\nclose to his took Billy Byrne's breath away, and sent the hot blood\ncoursing through his veins. It was with the utmost difficulty that he\nrestrained a mad desire to crush her to him and cover her face with\nkisses.\n\nAnd then the fatal thought came to him--why should he restrain himself?\nWhat was this girl to him? Had he not always hated her and her kind? Did\nshe not look with loathing and contempt upon him? And to whom did\nher life belong anyway but to him--had he not saved it twice? What\ndifference would it make? They'd never come out of this savage world\nalive, and if he didn't take her some monkey-faced Chink would get her.\n\nThey were in the middle of the stream now. Byrne's arms already had\ncommenced to tighten upon the girl. With a sudden tug he strove to pull\nher face down to his; but she put both hands upon his shoulders and held\nhis lips at arms' length. And her wide eyes looked full into the glowing\ngray ones of the mucker. And each saw in the other's something that held\ntheir looks for a full minute.\n\nBarbara saw what she had feared, but she saw too something else that\ngave her a quick, pulsing hope--a look of honest love, or could she be\nmistaken? And the mucker saw the true eyes of the woman he loved without\nknowing that he loved her, and he saw the plea for pity and protection\nin them.\n\n\"Don't,\" whispered the girl. \"Please don't, you frighten me.\"\n\nA week ago Billy Byrne would have laughed at such a plea. Doubtless,\ntoo, he would have struck the girl in the face for her resistance. He\ndid neither now, which spoke volumes for the change that was taking\nplace within him, but neither did he relax his hold upon her, or take\nhis burning eyes from her frightened ones.\n\nThus he strode through the turbulent, shallow river to clamber up the\nbank onto the island. In his soul the battle still raged, but he had by\nno means relinquished his intention to have his way with the girl. Fear,\nnumb, freezing fear, was in the girl's eyes now. The mucker read it\nthere as plain as print, and had she not said that she was frightened?\nThat was what he had wanted to accomplish back there upon the\nHalfmoon--to frighten her. He would have enjoyed the sight, but he had\nnot been able to accomplish the thing. Now she not only showed that\nshe was frightened--she had admitted it, and it gave the mucker no\npleasure--on the contrary it made him unaccountably uncomfortable.\n\nAnd then came the last straw--tears welled to those lovely eyes. A\nchoking sob wracked the girl's frame--\"And just when I was learning to\ntrust you so!\" she cried.\n\nThey had reached the top of the bank, now, and the man, still holding\nher in his arms, stood upon a mat of jungle grass beneath a great tree.\nSlowly he lowered her to her feet. The madness of desire still gripped\nhim; but now there was another force at work combating the evil that had\npredominated before.\n\nTheriere's words came back to him: \"Good-bye, Byrne; take good care\nof Miss Harding,\" and his admission to the Frenchman during that last\nconversation with the dying man: \"--a week ago I guess I was a coward.\nDere seems to be more'n one kind o' nerve--I'm just a-learnin' of the\nright kind, I guess.\"\n\nHe had been standing with eyes upon the ground, his heavy hand still\ngripping the girl's arm. He looked into her face again. She was waiting\nthere, her great eyes upon his filled with fear and questioning, like a\nprisoner before the bar awaiting the sentence of her judge.\n\nAs the man looked at Barbara Harding standing there before him he\nsaw her in a strange new light, and a sudden realization of the truth\nflashed upon him. He saw that he could not harm her now, or ever, for he\nloved her!\n\nAnd with the awakening there came to Billy Byrne the withering, numbing\nknowledge that his love must forever be a hopeless one--that this girl\nof the aristocracy could never be for such as he.\n\nBarbara Harding, still looking questioningly at him, saw the change that\ncame across his countenance--she saw the swift pain that shot to the\nman's eyes, and she wondered. His fingers released their grasp upon her\narm. His hands fell limply to his sides.\n\n\"Don't be afraid,\" he said. \"Please don't be afraid o' me. I couldn't\nhurt youse if I tried.\"\n\nA deep sigh of relief broke from the girl's lips--relief and joy; and\nshe realized that its cause was as much that the man had proved true to\nthe new estimate she had recently placed upon him as that the danger to\nherself had passed.\n\n\"Come,\" said Billy Byrne, \"we'd better move in a bit out o' sight o' de\nmainland, an' look fer a place to make camp. I reckon we'd orter rest\nhere for a few days till we git in shape ag'in. I know youse must be\ndead beat, an' I sure am, all right, all right.\"\n\nTogether they sought a favorable site for their new home, and it was\nas though the horrid specter of a few moments before had never risen to\nmenace them, for the girl felt that a great burden of apprehension had\nbeen lifted forever from her shoulders, and though a dull ache gnawed\nat the mucker's heart, still he was happier than he had ever been\nbefore--happy to be near the woman he loved.\n\nWith the long sword of Oda Yorimoto, Billy Byrne cut saplings and bamboo\nand the fronds of fan palms, and with long tough grasses bound them\ntogether into the semblance of a rude hut. Barbara gathered leaves and\ngrasses with which she covered the floor.\n\n\"Number One, Riverside Drive,\" said the mucker, with a grin, when the\nwork was completed; \"an' now I'll go down on de river front an' build de\nBowery.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you from New York?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"Not on yer life,\" replied Billy Byrne. \"I'm from good ol' Chi; but I\nbeen to Noo York twict wit de Goose Island Kid, an' so I knows all about\nit. De roughnecks belongs on de Bowery, so dat's wot we'll call my dump\ndown by de river. You're a highbrow, so youse gotta live on Riverside\nDrive, see?\" and the mucker laughed at his little pleasantry.\n\nBut the girl did not laugh with him. Instead she looked troubled.\n\n\"Wouldn't you rather be a 'highbrow' too?\" she asked, \"and live up on\nRiverside Drive, right across the street from me?\"\n\n\"I don't belong,\" said the mucker gruffly.\n\n\"Wouldn't you rather belong?\" insisted the girl.\n\nAll his life Billy had looked with contempt upon the hated,\npusillanimous highbrows, and now to be asked if he would not rather be\none! It was unthinkable, and yet, strange to relate, he realized an odd\nlonging to be like Theriere, and Billy Mallory; yes, in some respects\nlike Divine, even. He wanted to be more like the men that the woman he\nloved knew best.\n\n\"It's too late fer me ever to belong, now,\" he said ruefully. \"Yeh gotta\nbe borned to it. Gee! Wouldn't I look funny in wite pants, an' one o'\ndem dinky, little 'Willie-off-de-yacht' lids?\"\n\nEven Barbara had to laugh at the picture the man's words raised to her\nimagination.\n\n\"I didn't mean that,\" she hastened to explain. \"I didn't mean that you\nmust necessarily dress like them; but BE like them--act like them--talk\nlike them, as Mr. Theriere did, you know. He was a gentleman.\"\n\n\"An' I'm not,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Oh, I didn't mean THAT,\" the girl hastened to explain.\n\n\"Well, whether youse meant it or not, it's so,\" said the mucker. \"I\nain't no gent--I'm a mucker. I have your word for it, you know--yeh\nsaid so that time on de Halfmoon, an' I ain't fergot it; but youse was\nright--I am a mucker. I ain't never learned how to be anything else. I\nain't never wanted to be anything else until today. Now, I'd like to be\na gent; but it's too late.\"\n\n\"Won't you try?\" asked the girl. \"For my sake?\"\n\n\"Go to't,\" returned the mucker cheerfully; \"I'd even wear side whiskers\nfer youse.\"\n\n\"Horrors!\" exclaimed Barbara Harding. \"I couldn't look at you if you\ndid.\"\n\n\"Well, then, tell me wot youse do want me to do.\"\n\nBarbara discovered that her task was to be a difficult one if she were\nto accomplish it without wounding the man's feelings; but she determined\nto strike while the iron was hot and risk offending him--why she should\nbe interested in the regeneration of Mr. Billy Byrne it never once\noccurred to her to ask herself. She hesitated a moment before speaking.\n\n\"One of the first things you must do, Mr. Byrne,\" she said, \"is to learn\nto speak correctly. You mustn't say 'youse' for 'you,' or 'wot' for\n'what'---you must try to talk as I talk. No one in the world speaks\nany language faultlessly, but there are certain more or less obvious\nirregularities of grammar and pronunciation that are particularly\ndistasteful to people of refinement, and which are easy to guard against\nif one be careful.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Billy Byrne, \"youse--you kin pitch in an' learn me\nwot--whatever you want to an' I'll do me best to talk like a dude--fer\nyour sake.\"\n\nAnd so the mucker's education commenced, and as there was little else\nfor the two to do it progressed rapidly, for once started the man\ngrew keenly interested, spurred on by the evident pleasure which his\nself-appointed tutor took in his progress--further it meant just so much\nmore of close companionship with her.\n\nFor three weeks they never left the little island except to gather fruit\nwhich grew hard by on the adjacent mainland. Byrne's wounds had troubled\nhim considerably--at times he had been threatened with blood poisoning.\nHis temperature had mounted once to alarming heights, and for a whole\nnight Barbara Harding had sat beside him bathing his forehead and easing\nhis sufferings as far as it lay within her power to do; but at last the\nwonderful vitality of the man had saved him. He was much weakened though\nand neither of them had thought it safe to attempt to seek the coast\nuntil he had fully regained his old-time strength.\n\nSo far but little had occurred to give them alarm. Twice they had seen\nnatives on the mainland--evidently hunting parties; but no sign of\npursuit had developed. Those whom they had seen had been pure-blood\nMalays--there had been no samurai among them; but their savage, warlike\nappearance had warned the two against revealing their presence.\n\nThey had subsisted upon fish and fruit principally since they had come\nto the island. Occasionally this diet had been relieved by messes of\nwild fowl and fox that Byrne had been successful in snaring with a\nprimitive trap of his own invention; but lately the prey had become\nwary, and even the fish seemed less plentiful. After two days of fruit\ndiet, Byrne announced his intention of undertaking a hunting trip upon\nthe mainland.\n\n\"A mess of venison wouldn't taste half bad,\" he remarked.\n\n\"Yes,\" cried the girl, \"I'm nearly famished for meat--it seems as though\nI could almost eat it raw.\"\n\n\"I know that I could,\" stated Billy. \"Lord help the deer that gets\nwithin range of this old gat of Theriere's, and you may not get even\na mouthful--I'm that hungry I'll probably eat it all, hoof, hide, and\nhorns, before ever I get any of it back here to you.\"\n\n\"You'd better not,\" laughed the girl. \"Good-bye and good luck; but\nplease don't go very far--I shall be terribly lonely and frightened\nwhile you are away.\"\n\n\"Maybe you'd better come along,\" suggested Billy.\n\n\"No, I should be in the way--you can't hunt deer with a gallery, and get\nany.\"\n\n\"Well, I'll stay within hailing distance, and you can look for me back\nany time between now and sundown. Good-bye,\" and he picked his way down\nthe bank into the river, while from behind a bush upon the mainland two\nwicked, black eyes watched his movements and those of the girl on the\nshore behind him while a long, sinewy, brown hand closed more tightly\nupon a heavy war spear, and steel muscles tensed for the savage spring\nand the swift throw.\n\nThe girl watched Billy Byrne forging his way through the swift rapids.\nWhat a mighty engine of strength and endurance he was! What a man! Yes,\nbrute! And strange to relate Barbara Harding found herself admiring the\nvery brutality that once had been repellent to her. She saw him leap\nlightly to the opposite bank, and then she saw a quick movement in a\nbush close at his side. She did not know what manner of thing had caused\nit, but her intuition warned her that behind that concealing screen lay\nmortal danger to the unconscious man.\n\n\"Billy!\" she cried, the unaccustomed name bursting from her lips\ninvoluntarily. \"In the bush at your left--look out!\"\n\nAt the note of warning in her voice Byrne had turned at her first\nword--it was all that saved his life. He saw the half-naked savage and\nthe out-shooting spear arm, and as he would, instinctively, have ducked\na right-for-the-head in the squared circle of his other days, he ducked\nnow, side stepping to the right, and the heavy weapon sped harmlessly\nover his shoulder.\n\nThe warrior, with a growl of rage, drew his sharp parang, leaping to\nclose quarters. Barbara Harding saw Byrne whip Theriere's revolver from\nits holster, and snap it in the face of the savage; but to her horror\nthe cartridge failed to explode, and before he could fire again the\nwarrior was upon him.\n\nThe girl saw the white man leap to one side to escape the furious cut\naimed at him by his foe, and then she saw him turn with the agility of a\npanther and spring to close quarters with the wild man. Byrne's left arm\nwent around the Malay's neck, and with his heavy right fist he rained\nblow after blow upon the brown face.\n\nThe savage dropped his useless parang--clawing and biting at the mighty\ncreature in whose power he found himself; but never once did those\nterrific, relentless blows cease to fall upon his unprotected face.\n\nThe sole witness to this battle primeval stood spellbound at the sight\nof the fierce, brutal ferocity of the white man, and the lion-like\nstrength he exhibited. Slowly but surely he was beating the face of his\nantagonist into an unrecognizable pulp--with his bare hands he had met\nand was killing an armed warrior. It was incredible! Not even Theriere\nor Billy Mallory could have done such a thing. Billy Mallory! And she\nwas gazing with admiration upon his murderer!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. THE RESCUE\n\nAFTER Byrne had dropped the lifeless form of his enemy to the ground he\nturned and retraced his steps toward the island, a broad grin upon his\nface as he climbed to the girl's side.\n\n\"I guess I'd better overhaul this gat,\" he said, \"and stick around home.\nIt isn't safe to leave you alone here--I can see that pretty plainly.\nGee, supposin' I'd got out of sight before he showed himself!\" And the\nman shuddered visibly at the thought.\n\nThe girl had not spoken and the man looked up suddenly, attracted by her\nsilence. He saw a look of horror in her eyes, such as he had seen there\nonce before when he had kicked the unconscious Theriere that time upon\nthe Halfmoon.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he asked, alarmed. \"What have I done now? I had to\ncroak the stiff--he'd have got me sure if I hadn't, and then he'd have\ngot you, too. I had to do it for your sake--I'm sorry you saw it.\"\n\n\"It isn't that,\" she said slowly. \"That was very brave, and very\nwonderful. It's Mr. Mallory I'm thinking of. O Billy! How could you do\nit?\"\n\nThe man hung his head.\n\n\"Please don't,\" he begged. \"I'd give my life to bring him back again,\nfor your sake. I know now that you loved him, and I've tried to do all I\ncould to atone for what I did to him; just as I tried to play white\nwith Theriere when I found that he loved you, and intended to be on the\nsquare with you. He was your kind, and I hoped that by helping him to\nwin you fairly it might help to wipe out what I had done to Mallory.\nI see that nothing ever can wipe that out. I've got to go through life\nregretting it because you have taught me what a brutal, cowardly thing I\ndid. If it hadn't been for you I'd always have been proud of it--but you\nand Theriere taught me to look at things in a different way than I ever\nhad learned to before. I'm not sorry for that--I'm glad, for if remorse\nis a part of my punishment I'll take it gladly and welcome the chance to\nget a little of what's coming to me. Only please don't look at me that\nway any more--it's more than I can stand, from you.\"\n\nIt was the first time that the man ever had opened his heart in any such\nwhole-souled way to her, and it touched the girl more than she would\nhave cared to admit.\n\n\"It would be silly to tell you that I ever can forget that terrible\naffair,\" she said; \"but somehow I feel that the man who did that was an\nentirely different man from the man who has been so brave and chivalrous\nin his treatment of me during the past few weeks.\"\n\n\"It was me that did it, though,\" he said; \"you can't get away from that.\nIt'll always stick in your memory, so that you can never think of Mr.\nMallory without thinking of the damned beast that murdered him--God! and\nI thought it smart!\n\n\"But you have no idea how I was raised, Miss Harding,\" he went on. \"Not\nthat that's any excuse for the thing I did; but it does make it seem a\nwonder that I ever could have made a start even at being decent. I\nnever was well acquainted with any human being that wasn't a thief, or\na pickpocket, or a murderer--and they were all beasts, each in his own\nparticular way, only they weren't as decent as dumb beasts.\n\n\"I wasn't as crafty as most of them, so I had to hold my own by brute\nforce, and I did it; but, gad, how I accomplished it. The idea of\nfighting fair,\" he laughed at the thought, \"was utterly unknown to me.\nIf I'd ever have tried it I'd have seen my finish in a hurry. No one\nfought fair in my gang, or in any other gang that I ever ran up against.\nIt was an honor to kill a man, and if you accomplished it by kicking him\nto death when he was unconscious it detracted nothing from the glory of\nyour exploit--it was WHAT you did, not HOW you did it, that counted.\n\n\"I could have been decent, though, if I'd wanted to. Other fellows who\nwere born and raised near me were decent enough. They got good jobs and\nstuck to them, and lived straight; but they made me sick--I looked down\non them, and spent my time hanging around saloon corners rushing the can\nand insulting women--I didn't want to be decent--not until I met you,\nand learned to--to,\" he hesitated, stammering, and the red blood crept\nup his neck and across his face, \"and learned to want your respect.\"\n\nIt wasn't what he had intended saying and the girl knew it. There sprang\ninto her mind a sudden wish to hear Billy Byrne say the words that he\nhad dared not say; but she promptly checked the desire, and a moment\nlater a qualm of self-disgust came over her because of the weakness that\nhad prompted her to entertain such a wish in connection with a person of\nthis man's station in life.\n\nDays ran into weeks, and still the two remained upon their little island\nrefuge. Byrne found first one excuse and then another to delay the march\nto the sea. He knew that it must be made sooner or later, and he knew,\ntoo, that its commencement would mark the beginning of the end of his\nassociation with Miss Harding, and that after that was ended life would\nbe a dreary waste.\n\nEither they would be picked up by a passing vessel or murdered by the\nnatives, but in the latter event his separation from the woman he loved\nwould be no more certain or absolute than in her return to her own\npeople, for Billy Byrne knew that he \"didn't belong\" in any society that\nknew Miss Barbara Harding, and he feared that once they had regained\ncivilization there would be a return on the girl's part to the old\nhaughty aloofness, and that again he would be to her only a creature of\na lower order, such as she and her kind addressed with a patronizing air\nas, \"my man.\"\n\nHe intended, of course, to make every possible attempt to restore her to\nher home; but, he argued, was it wrong to snatch a few golden hours of\nhappiness in return for his service, and as partial recompense for the\nlifetime of lonely misery that must be his when the woman he loved had\npassed out of his life forever? Billy thought not, and so he tarried on\nupon \"Manhattan Island,\" as Barbara had christened it, and he lived in\nthe second finest residence in town upon the opposite side of \"Riverside\nDrive\" from the palatial home of Miss Harding.\n\nNearly two months had passed before Billy's stock of excuses and\ndelay ran out, and a definite date was set for the commencement of the\njourney.\n\n\"I believe,\" Miss Harding had said, \"that you do not wish to be rescued\nat all. Most of your reasons for postponing the trip have been trivial\nand ridiculous--possibly you are afraid of the dangers that may lie\nbefore us,\" she added, banteringly.\n\n\"I'm afraid you've hit it off about right,\" he replied with a grin.\n\"I don't want to be rescued, and I am very much afraid of what lies\nbefore--me.\"\n\n\"Before YOU?\"\n\n\"I'm going to lose you, any way you look at it, and--and--oh, can't you\nsee that I love you?\" he blurted out, despite all his good intentions.\n\nBarbara Harding looked at him for a moment, and then she did the one\nthing that could have hurt him most--she laughed.\n\nThe color mounted to Billy Byrne's face, and then he went very white.\n\nThe girl started to say something, and at the same instant there came\nfaintly to them from the mainland the sound of hoarse shouting, and of\nshots.\n\nByrne turned and started on a run in the direction of the firing, the\ngirl following closely behind. At the island's edge he motioned her to\nstop.\n\n\"Wait here, it will be safer,\" he said. \"There may be white men\nthere--those shots sound like it, but again there may not. I want to\nfind out before they see you, whoever they are.\"\n\nThe sound of firing had ceased now, but loud yelling was distinctly\naudible from down the river. Byrne took a step down the bank toward the\nwater.\n\n\"Wait!\" whispered the girl. \"Here they come now, we can see them from\nhere in a moment,\" and she dragged the mucker down behind a bush.\n\nIn silence the two watched the approaching party.\n\n\"They're the Chinks,\" announced Byrne, who insisted on using this word\nto describe the proud and haughty samurai.\n\n\"Yes, and there are two white men with them,\" whispered Barbara Harding,\na note of suppressed excitement in her voice.\n\n\"Prisoners,\" said Byrne. \"Some of the precious bunch from the Halfmoon\ndoubtless.\"\n\nThe samurai were moving straight up the edge of the river. In a few\nminutes they would pass within a hundred feet of the island. Billy and\nthe girl crouched low behind their shelter.\n\n\"I don't recognize them,\" said the man.\n\n\"Why--why--O Mr. Byrne, it can't be possible!\" cried the girl with\nsuppressed excitement. \"Those two men are Captain Norris and Mr. Foster,\nmate of the Lotus!\"\n\nByrne half rose to his feet. The party was opposite their hiding place\nnow.\n\n\"Sit tight,\" he whispered. \"I'm goin' to get 'em,\" and then, fiercely\n\"for your sake, because I love you--now laugh,\" and he was gone.\n\nHe ran lightly down the river bank unnoticed by the samurai who had\nalready passed the island. In one hand he bore the long war spear of\nthe head-hunter he had slain. At his belt hung the long sword of Oda\nYorimoto, and in its holster reposed the revolver of the Count de\nCadenet.\n\nBarbara Harding watched him as be forded the river, and clambered up the\nopposite bank. She saw him spring rapidly after the samurai and their\nprisoners. She saw his spear hand go up, and then from the deep lungs of\nthe man rose a savage yell that would have done credit to a whole tribe\nof Apaches.\n\nThe warriors turned in time to see the heavy spear flying toward them\nand then, as he dashed into their midst, Billy Byrne drew his revolver\nand fired to right and left. The two prisoners took advantage of\nthe consternation of their guards to grapple with them and possess\nthemselves of weapons.\n\nThere had been but six samurai in the party, two had fallen before\nByrne's initial onslaught, but the other four, recovered from their\nfirst surprise, turned now to battle with all the terrific ferocity of\ntheir kind.\n\nAgain, at a crucial moment, had Theriere's revolver missed fire, and in\ndisgust Byrne discarded it, falling back upon the long sword with which\nhe was no match for the samurai. Norris snatched Byrne's spear from the\nground, and ran it through the body of one of the Japs who was pressing\nByrne too closely. Odds were even now--they fought three against three.\n\nNorris still clung to the spear--it was by far the most effective weapon\nagainst the long swords of the samurai. With it he killed his antagonist\nand then rushed to the assistance of Foster.\n\nBarbara Harding from the island saw that Byrne's foe was pressing him\nclosely. The white man had no chance against the superior swordsmanship\nof the samurai. She saw that the mucker was trying to get past the Jap's\nguard and get his hands upon him, but it was evident that the man was\ntoo crafty and skilled a fighter to permit of that. There could be but\none outcome to that duel unless Byrne had assistance, and that mighty\nquickly. The girl grasped the short sword that she constantly wore now,\nand rushed into the river. She had never before crossed it except in\nByrne's arms. She found the current swift and strong. It almost swept\nher off her feet before she was halfway across, but she never for an\ninstant thought of abandoning her effort.\n\nAfter what seemed an eternity she floundered out upon the mainland, and\nwhen she reached the top of the bank she saw to her delight that Byrne\nwas still on his feet, fighting. Foster and Norris were pushing their\nman back--they were in no danger.\n\nQuickly she ran toward Byrne and the samurai. She saw a wicked smile\nupon the brown face of the little warrior, and then she saw his gleaming\nsword twist in a sudden feint, and as Byrne lunged out awkwardly to\nparry the expected blow the keen edge swerved and came down upon his\nhead.\n\nShe was an instant too late to save, but just in time to\navenge--scarcely had the samurai's sword touched the mucker than the\npoint of Oda Yorimoto's short sword, wielded by the fair hand of Barbara\nHarding, plunged into his heart. With a shriek he collapsed beside the\nbody of his victim.\n\nBarbara Harding threw herself beside Byrne. Apparently life was extinct.\nWith a little cry of horror the girl put her ear close to the man's\nlips. She could hear nothing.\n\n\"Come back! Come back!\" she wailed. \"Forgive me that cruel laugh. O\nBilly! Billy! I love you!\" and the daughter of old Anthony Harding,\nmultimillionaire and scion of the oldest aristocracy that America\nboasts, took the head of the Grand Avenue mucker in her arms and covered\nthe white, bloody face with kisses--and in the midst of it Billy Byrne\nopened his eyes.\n\nShe was caught in the act. There was no escape, and as a crimson flush\nsuffused her face Billy Byrne put his arms about her and drew her down\nuntil their lips met, and this time she did not put her hands upon his\nshoulders and push him away. \"I love you, Billy,\" she said simply.\n\n\"Remember who and what I am,\" he cautioned, fearful lest this great\nhappiness be stolen away from him because she had forgotten for the\nmoment.\n\n\"I love you Billy,\" she answered, \"for what you ARE.\"\n\n\"Forever?\"\n\n\"Until death do us part!\"\n\nAnd then Norris and Foster, having dispatched their man, came running\nup.\n\n\"Is he badly hurt, madam?\" cried Captain Norris.\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Miss Harding; \"I'm just trying to help him up,\nCaptain Norris,\" she laboriously explained in an effort to account for\nher arms about Billy's neck.\n\nNorris gave a start of surprise at hearing his name.\n\n\"Who are you?\" he cried. \"How do you know me?\" and as the girl turned\nher face toward him, \"Miss Harding! Thank God, Miss Harding, you are\nsafe.\"\n\n\"But where on earth did you come from?\" asked Barbara.\n\n\"It's a long story, Miss Harding,\" replied the officer, \"and the\nending of it is going to be pretty hard on you--you must try to bear up\nthough.\"\n\n\"You don't mean that father is dead?\" she asked, a look of terror coming\nto her eyes.\n\n\"Not that--we hope,\" replied Norris. \"He has been taken prisoner by\nthese half-breed devils on the island. I doubt if they have killed\nhim--we were going to his rescue when we ourselves were captured. He and\nMr. Mallory were taken three days ago.\"\n\n\"Mallory!\" shouted Billy Byrne, who had entirely recovered from the blow\nthat had merely served to stun him for a moment. \"Is Mallory alive?\"\n\n\"He was yesterday,\" replied Norris; \"these fellows from whom you so\nbravely rescued us told us that much.\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" whispered Billy Byrne.\n\n\"What made you think he was dead?\" inquired the officer, looking closely\nat Byrne as though trying to place him.\n\nAnother man might have attempted to evade the question but the new\nBilly Byrne was no coward in any department of his moral or physical\nstructure.\n\n\"Because I thought that I had killed him,\" he replied, \"the day that we\ntook the Lotus.\"\n\nCaptain Norris looked at the speaker in undisguised horror.\n\n\"You!\" he cried. \"You were one of those damned cut-throats! You the man\nthat nearly killed poor Mr. Mallory! Miss Harding, has he offered you\nany indignities?\"\n\n\"Don't judge him rashly, Captain Norris,\" said the girl. \"But for him\nI should have been dead and worse than dead long since. Some day I will\ntell you of his heroism and his chivalry, and don't forget, Captain,\nthat he has just saved you and Mr. Foster from captivity and probable\ndeath.\"\n\n\"That's right,\" exclaimed the officer, \"and I want to thank him; but I\ndon't understand about Mallory.\"\n\n\"Never mind about him now,\" said Billy Byrne. \"If he's alive that's\nall that counts--I haven't got his blood on my hands. Go on with your\nstory.\"\n\n\"Well, after that gang of pirates left us,\" continued the captain, \"we\nrigged an extra wireless that they didn't know we had, and it wasn't\nlong before we raised the warship Alaska. Her commander put a crew on\nboard the Lotus with machinists and everything necessary to patch her\nup--coaled and provisioned her and then lay by while we got her in\nrunning order. It didn't take near as long as you would have imagined.\nThen we set out in company with the warship to search for the\n'Clarinda,' as your Captain Simms called her. We got on her track\nthrough a pirate junk just north of Luzon--he said he'd heard from the\nnatives of a little out-of-the-way island near Formosa that a brigantine\nhad been wrecked there in the recent typhoon, and his description of the\nvessel led us to believe that it might be the 'Clarinda,' or Halfmoon.\n\n\"We made the island, and after considerable search found the survivors.\nEach of 'em tried to lay the blame on the others, but finally they all\nagreed that a man by the name of Theriere with a seaman called Byrne,\nhad taken you into the interior, and that they had believed you dead\nuntil a few days since they had captured one of the natives and learned\nthat you had all escaped, and were wandering in some part of the island\nunknown to them.\n\n\"Then we set out with a company of marines to find you. Your father,\nimpatient of the seeming slowness of the officer in command, pushed\nahead with Mr. Mallory, Mr. Poster, and myself, and two of the men of\nthe Lotus whom he had brought along with us.\n\n\"Three days ago we were attacked and your father and Mr. Mallory taken\nprisoners. The rest of us escaped, and endeavored to make our way back\nto the marines, but we became confused and have been wandering aimlessly\nabout the island ever since until we were surprised by these natives a\nfew moments ago. Both the seamen were killed in this last fight and Mr.\nFoster and myself taken prisoners--the rest you know.\"\n\nByrne was on his feet now. He found his sword and revolver and replaced\nthem in his belt.\n\n\"You men stay here on the island and take care of Miss Harding,\" he\nsaid. \"If I don't come back the marines will find you sooner or later,\nor you can make your way to the coast, and work around toward the cove.\nGood-bye, Miss Harding.\"\n\n\"Where are you going?\" cried the girl.\n\n\"To get your father--and Mr. Mallory,\" said the mucker.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. THE SUPREME SACRIFICE\n\nTHROUGH the balance of the day and all during the long night Billy Byrne\nswung along his lonely way, retracing the familiar steps of the journey\nthat had brought Barbara Harding and himself to the little island in the\nturbulent river.\n\nJust before dawn he came to the edge of the clearing behind the dwelling\nof the late Oda Yorimoto. Somewhere within the silent village he was\nsure that the two prisoners lay.\n\nDuring the long march he had thrashed over again and again all that the\nsuccess of his rash venture would mean to him. Of all those who might\nconceivably stand between him and the woman he loved--the woman who had\njust acknowledged that she loved him--these two men were the most to be\nfeared.\n\nBilly Byrne did not for a moment believe that Anthony Harding would look\nwith favor upon the Grand Avenue mucker as a prospective son-in-law. And\nthen there was Mallory! He was sure that Barbara had loved this man, and\nnow should he be restored to her as from the grave there seemed little\ndoubt but that the old love would be aroused in the girl's breast. The\ntruth of the matter was that Billy Byrne could not conceive the truth of\nthe testimony of his own ears--even now he scarce dared believe that the\nwonderful Miss Harding loved him--him, the despised mucker!\n\nBut the depth of the man's love for the girl, and the genuineness of\nhis new-found character were proven beyond question by the relentless\nseverity with which he put away every thought of himself and the\nconsequences to him in the matter he had undertaken.\n\nFOR HER SAKE! had become his slogan. What though the results sent him\nto a savage death, or to a life of lonely misery, or to the arms of his\nbeloved! In the face of duty the result was all the same to Billy Byrne.\n\nFor a moment he stood looking at the moon-bathed village, listening for\nany sign of wakefulness or life, then with all the stealth of an Indian,\nand with the trained wariness of the thief that he had been, the mucker\nslunk noiselessly across the clearing to the shadows of the nearest hut.\n\nHe listened beneath the window through which he and Barbara and Theriere\nhad made their escape a few weeks before. There was no sound from\nwithin. Cautiously he raised himself to the sill, and a moment later\ndropped into the inky darkness of the interior.\n\nWith groping hands he felt about the room--it was unoccupied. Then\nhe passed to the door at the far end. Cautiously he opened it until a\nnarrow crack gave him a view of the dimly lighted chamber beyond. Within\nall seemed asleep. The mucker pushed the door still further open and\nstepped within--so must he search every hut within the village until he\nhad found those he sought?\n\nThey were not there, and on silent feet that disturbed not even the\nlightly slumbering curs the man passed out by the front entrance into\nthe street beyond.\n\nThrough a second and third hut he made his precarious way. In the fourth\na man stirred as Byrne stood upon the opposite side of the room from the\ndoor--with a catlike bound the mucker was beside him. Would the fellow\nawake? Billy scarce breathed. The samurai turned restlessly, and then,\nwith a start, sat up with wide-open eyes. At the same instant iron\nfingers closed upon his throat and the long sword of his dead daimio\npassed through his heart.\n\nByrne held the corpse until he was positive that life was extinct, then\nhe dropped it quietly back upon its pallet, and departed to search the\nadjoining dwelling. Here he found a large front room, and a smaller\nchamber in the rear--an arrangement similar to that in the daimio's\nhouse.\n\nThe front room revealed no clue to the missing men. Within the smaller,\nrear room Byrne heard the subdued hum of whispered conversation just as\nhe was about to open the door. Like a graven image he stood in silence,\nhis ear glued to the frail door. For a moment he listened thus and then\nhis heart gave a throb of exultation, and he could have shouted aloud in\nthanksgiving--the men were conversing in English!\n\nQuietly Byrne pushed open the door far enough to admit his body. Those\nwithin ceased speaking immediately. Byrne closed the door behind him,\nadvancing until he felt one of the occupants of the room. The man shrank\nfrom his touch.\n\n\"I guess we're done for, Mallory,\" said the man in a low tone; \"they've\ncome for us.\"\n\n\"Sh-sh,\" warned the mucker. \"Are you and Mallory alone?\"\n\n\"Yes--for God's sake who are you and where did you come from?\" asked the\nsurprised Mr. Harding.\n\n\"Be still,\" admonished Byrne, feeling for the cords that he knew must\nbind the captive.\n\nHe found them presently and with his jackknife cut them asunder. Then he\nreleased Mallory.\n\n\"Follow me,\" he said, \"but go quietly. Take off your shoes if you\nhave 'em on, and hang 'em around your neck--tie the ends of the laces\ntogether.\"\n\nThe men did as he bid and a moment later he was leading them across the\nroom, filled with sleeping men, women, children, and domestic animals.\nAt the far side stood a rack filled with long swords. Byrne removed two\nwithout the faintest suspicion of a noise. He handed one to each of his\ncompanions, cautioning them to silence with a gesture.\n\nBut neither Anthony Harding nor Billy Mallory had had second-story\nexperience, and the former struck his weapon accidentally against the\ndoor frame with a resounding clatter that brought half the inmates\nof the room, wide-eyed, to sitting postures. The sight that met the\nnatives' eyes had them on their feet, yelling like madmen, and dashing\ntoward their escaping prisoners, in an instant.\n\n\"Quick!\" shouted Billy Byrne. \"Follow me!\"\n\nDown the village street the three men ran, but the shouts of the\nnatives had brought armed samurai to every door with a celerity that was\nuncanny, and in another moment the fugitives found themselves surrounded\nby a pack of howling warriors who cut at them with long swords from\nevery side, blocking their retreat and hemming them in in every\ndirection.\n\nByrne called to his companions to close in, back to back, and thus, the\ngangster in advance, the three slowly fought their way toward the end of\nthe narrow street and the jungle beyond. The mucker fought with his long\nsword in one hand and Theriere's revolver in the other--hewing a way\ntoward freedom for the two men whom he knew would take his love from\nhim.\n\nBeneath the brilliant tropic moon that lighted the scene almost as\nbrilliantly as might the sun himself the battle waged, and though the\nodds were painfully uneven the white men moved steadily, though slowly,\ntoward the jungle. It was evident that the natives feared the giant\nwhite who led the three. Anthony Harding, familiar with Japanese, could\ntranslate sufficient of their jargon to be sure of that, had not the\nrespectful distance most of them kept from Byrne been ample proof.\n\nOut of the village street they came at last into the clearing. The\nwarriors danced about them, yelling threats and taunts the while they\nmade occasional dashes to close quarters that they might deliver a swift\nsword cut and retreat again before the great white devil could get them\nwith the sword that had been Oda Yorimoto's, or the strange fire stick\nthat spoke in such a terrifying voice.\n\nFifty feet from the jungle Mallory went down with a spear through the\ncalf of his leg. Byrne saw him fall, and dropping back lifted the man to\nhis feet, supporting him with one arm as the two backed slowly in front\nof the onpressing natives.\n\nThe spears were flying thick and fast now, for the samurai all were upon\nthe same side of the enemy and there was no danger of injuring one of\ntheir own number with their flying weapons as there had been when the\nhost entirely surrounded the three men, and when the whites at last\nentered the tall grasses of the jungle a perfect shower of spears\nfollowed them.\n\nWith the volley Byrne went down--he had been the principal target for\nthe samurai and three of the heavy shafts had pierced his body. Two were\nburied in his chest and one in his abdomen.\n\nAnthony Harding was horrified. Both his companions were down, and the\nsavages were pressing closely on toward their hiding place. Mallory sat\nupon the ground trying to tear the spear from his leg. Finally he was\nsuccessful. Byrne, still conscious, called to Harding to pull the three\nshafts from him.\n\n\"What are we to do?\" cried the older man. \"They will get us again as\nsure as fate.\"\n\n\"They haven't got us yet,\" said Billy. \"Wait, I got a scheme. Can you\nwalk, Mallory?\"\n\nMallory staggered to his feet.\n\n\"I'll see,\" he said, and then: \"Yes, I can make it.\"\n\n\"Good,\" exclaimed Byrne. \"Now listen. Almost due north, across this\nrange of hills behind us is a valley. In the center of the valley is\na river. It is a good fifteen-hour march for a well man--it will take\nMallory and you longer. Follow down the river till you come to a little\nisland--it should be the first one from where you strike the river. On\nthat island you will find Miss Harding, Norris, and Foster. Now hurry.\"\n\n\"But you, man!\" exclaimed Mallory. \"We can't leave you.\"\n\n\"Never!\" said Anthony Harding.\n\n\"You'll have to, though,\" replied Billy. \"That's part of the scheme.\nIt won't work any other way.\" He raised his revolver and fired a single\nshot in the direction of the howling savages. \"That's to let 'em know\nwe're still here,\" he said. \"I'll keep that up, off and on, as long as\nI can. It'll fool 'em into thinking that we're all here, and cover your\nescape. See?\"\n\n\"I won't do it,\" said Mallory.\n\n\"Yes you will,\" replied the mucker. \"It's not any of us that\ncounts--it's Miss Harding. As many as can have got to get back to her\njust as quick as the Lord'll let us. I can't, so you two'll have to. I'm\ndone for--a blind man could see that. It wouldn't do a bit of good for\nyou two to hang around here and get killed, waitin' for me to die; but\nit would do a lot of harm, for it might mean that Miss Harding would be\nlost too.\"\n\n\"You say my daughter is on this island you speak of, with Norris and\nFoster--is she quite safe and well?\" asked Harding.\n\n\"Perfectly,\" said Byrne; \"and now beat it--you're wasting a lot of\nprecious time.\"\n\n\"For Barbara's sake it looks like the only way,\" said Anthony Harding,\n\"but it seems wicked and cowardly to desert a noble fellow like you,\nsir.\"\n\n\"It is wicked,\" said Billy Mallory. \"There must be some other way.\nBy the way, old man, who are you anyhow, and how did you happen to be\nhere?\"\n\nByrne turned his face upward so that the full moon lighted his features\nclearly.\n\n\"There is no other way, Mallory,\" he said. \"Now take a good look at\nme--don't you recognize me?\"\n\nMallory gazed intently at the strong face looking into his. He shook his\nhead.\n\n\"There is something familiar about your face,\" he said; \"but I cannot\nplace you. Nor does it make any difference who you are--you have risked\nyour life to save ours and I shall not leave you. Let Mr. Harding go--it\nis not necessary for both to stay.\"\n\n\"You will both go,\" insisted Byrne; \"and you will find that it does\nmake a big difference who I am. I hadn't intended telling you, but I see\nthere is no other way. I'm the mucker that nearly killed you on board\nthe Lotus, Mallory. I'm the fellow that man-handled Miss Harding until\neven that beast of a Simms made me quit, and Miss Harding has been alone\nwith me on this island for weeks--now go!\"\n\nHe turned away so that they could no longer see his face, with the\nmental anguish that he knew must be writ large upon it, and commenced\nfiring toward the natives once more.\n\nAnthony Harding stood with white face and clinched hands during Byrne's\nrecital of his identity. At its close he took a threatening step toward\nthe prostrate man, raising his long sword, with a muffled oath. Billy\nMallory sprang before him, catching his upraised arm.\n\n\"Don't!\" he whispered. \"Think what we owe him now. Come!\" and the two\nmen turned north into the jungle while Billy Byrne lay upon his belly\nin the tall grass firing from time to time into the direction from which\ncame an occasional spear.\n\nAnthony Harding and Billy Mallory kept on in silence along their dismal\nway. The crack of the mucker's revolver, growing fainter and fainter, as\nthey drew away from the scene of conflict, apprised the men that their\nrescuer still lived.\n\nAfter a time the distant reports ceased. The two walked on in silence\nfor a few minutes.\n\n\"He's gone,\" whispered Mallory.\n\nAnthony Harding made no response. They did not hear any further firing\nbehind them. On and on they trudged. Night turned to day. Day rolled\nslowly on into night once more. And still they staggered on, footsore\nand weary. Mallory suffered excruciating agony from his wound. There\nwere times when it seemed that it would be impossible for him to\ncontinue another yard; but then the thought that Barbara Harding was\nsomewhere ahead of them, and that in a short time now they must be with\nher once more kept him doggedly at his painful task.\n\nThey had reached the river and were following slowly down its bank. The\nmoon, full and gorgeous, flooded the landscape with silvery light.\n\n\"Look!\" exclaimed Mallory. \"The island!\"\n\n\"Thank God!\" whispered Harding, fervently.\n\nOn the bank opposite they stopped and hallooed. Almost instantly three\nfigures rushed from the interior of the island to the shore before\nthem--two men and a woman.\n\n\"Barbara!\" cried Anthony Harding. \"O my daughter! My daughter!\"\n\nNorris and Foster hastened through the river and brought the two men\nto the island. Barbara Harding threw herself into her father's arms. A\nmoment later she had grasped Mallory's outstretched hands, and then she\nlooked beyond them for another.\n\n\"Mr. Byrne?\" she asked. \"Where is Mr. Byrne?\"\n\n\"He is dead,\" said Anthony Harding.\n\nThe girl looked, wide-eyed and uncomprehending, at her father for a full\nminute.\n\n\"Dead!\" she moaned, and fell unconscious at his feet.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. HOME AGAIN\n\nBILLY BYRNE continued to fire intermittently for half an hour after the\ntwo men had left him. Then he fired several shots in quick succession,\nand dragging himself to his hands and knees crawled laboriously and\npainfully back into the jungle in search of a hiding place where he\nmight die in peace.\n\nHe had progressed some hundred yards when he felt the earth give way\nbeneath him. He clutched frantically about for support, but there\nwas none, and with a sickening lunge he plunged downward into Stygian\ndarkness.\n\nHis fall was a short one, and he brought up with a painful thud at the\nbottom of a deer pit--a covered trap which the natives dig to catch\ntheir fleet-footed prey.\n\nThe pain of his wounds after the fall was excruciating. His head whirled\ndizzily. He knew that he was dying, and then all went black.\n\nWhen consciousness returned to the mucker it was daylight. The sky above\nshone through the ragged hole that his falling body had broken in the\npit's covering the night before.\n\n\"Gee!\" muttered the mucker; \"and I thought that I was dead!\"\n\nHis wounds had ceased to bleed, but he was very weak and stiff and sore.\n\n\"I guess I'm too tough to croak!\" he thought.\n\nHe wondered if the two men would reach Barbara in safety. He hoped so.\nMallory loved her, and he was sure that Barbara had loved Mallory. He\nwanted her to be happy. No thought of jealousy entered his mind. Mallory\nwas her kind. Mallory \"belonged.\" He didn't. He was a mucker. How would\nhe have looked training with her bunch. She would have been ashamed of\nhim, and he couldn't have stood that. No, it was better as it had turned\nout. He'd squared himself for the beast he'd been to her, and he'd\nsquared himself with Mallory, too. At least they'd have only decent\nthoughts of him, dead; but alive, that would be an entirely different\nthing. He would be in the way. He would be a constant embarrassment\nto them all, for they would feel that they'd have to be nice to him in\nreturn for what he had done for them. The thought made the mucker sick.\n\n\"I'd rather croak,\" he murmured.\n\nBut he didn't \"croak\"--instead, he waxed stronger, and toward evening\nthe pangs of hunger and thirst drove him to consider means for escaping\nfrom his hiding place, and searching for food and water.\n\nHe waited until after dark, and then he crawled, with utmost difficulty,\nfrom the deep pit. He had heard nothing of the natives since the night\nbefore, and now, in the open, there came to him but the faint sounds of\nthe village life across the clearing.\n\nByrne dragged himself toward the trail that led to the spring where poor\nTheriere had died. It took him a long time to reach it, but at last he\nwas successful. The clear, cold water helped to revive and strengthen\nhim. Then he sought food. Some wild fruit partially satisfied him for\nthe moment, and he commenced the laborious task of retracing his steps\ntoward \"Manhattan Island.\"\n\nThe trail that he had passed over in fifteen hours as he had hastened to\nthe rescue of Anthony Harding and Billy Mallory required the better\npart of three days now. Occasionally he wondered why in the world he was\ntraversing it anyway. Hadn't he wanted to die, and leave Barbara free?\nBut life is sweet, and the red blood still flowed strong in the veins of\nthe mucker.\n\n\"I can go my own way,\" he thought, \"and not bother her; but I'll be\ndinged if I want to croak in this God-forsaken hole--Grand Avenue for\nmine, when it comes to passing in my checks. Gee! but I'd like to hear\nthe rattle of the Lake Street 'L' and see the dolls coming down the\nstation steps by Skidmore's when the crowd comes home from the Loop at\nnight.\"\n\nBilly Byrne was homesick. And then, too, his heart was very heavy and\nsad because of the great love he had found--a love which he realized was\nas hopeless as it was great. He had the memory, though, of the girl's\narms about his neck, and her dear lips crushed to his for a brief\ninstant, and her words--ah, those words! They would ring in Billy's head\nforever: \"I love you, Billy, for what you ARE.\"\n\nAnd a sudden resolve came into the mucker's mind as he whispered those\nwords over and over again to himself. \"I can't have her,\" he said. \"She\nisn't for the likes of me; but if I can't live with her, I can live for\nher--as she'd want me to live, and, s'help me, those words'll keep me\nstraight. If she ever hears of Billy Byrne again it won't be anything\nto make her ashamed that she had her arms around him, kissing him, and\ntelling him that she loved him.\"\n\nAt the river's edge across from the little island Billy came to a halt.\nHe had reached the point near midnight, and hesitated to cross over and\ndisturb the party at that hour. At last, however, he decided to cross\nquietly, and lie down near HER hut until morning.\n\nThe crossing was most difficult, for he was very weak, but at last he\ncame to the opposite bank and drew himself up to lie panting for a few\nminutes on the sloping bank. Then he crawled on again up to the top, and\nstaggering to his feet made his way cautiously toward the two huts. All\nwas quiet. He assumed that the party was asleep, and so he lay down\nnear the rude shelter he had constructed for Barbara Harding, and fell\nasleep.\n\nIt was broad daylight when he awoke--the sun was fully three hours high,\nand yet no one was stirring. For the first time misgivings commenced to\nassail Billy's mind. Could it be possible? He crossed over to his own\nhut and entered--it was deserted. Then he ran to Barbara's--it, too, was\nunoccupied. They had gone!\n\nAll during the painful trip from the village to the island Billy had\nmomentarily expected to meet a party of rescuers coming back for him. He\nhad not been exactly disappointed, but a queer little lump had risen to\nhis throat as the days passed and no help had come, and now this was the\nfinal blow. They had deserted him! Left him wounded and dying on this\nsavage island without taking the trouble to assure themselves that he\nreally was dead! It was incredible!\n\n\"But was it?\" thought Billy. \"Didn't I tell them that I was dying?\nI thought so myself, and there is no reason why they shouldn't have\nthought so too. I suppose I shouldn't blame them, and I don't; but I\nwouldn't have left them that way and not come back. They had a warship\nfull of blue jackets and marines--there wouldn't have been much danger\nto them.\"\n\nPresently it occurred to him that the party may have returned to the\ncoast to get the marines, and that even now they were searching for\nhim. He hastened to return to the mainland, and once more he took up his\nwearisome journey.\n\nThat night he reached the coast. Early the next morning he commenced\nhis search for the man-of-war. By walking entirely around the island he\nshould find her he felt sure.\n\nShortly after noon he scaled a high promontory which jutted out into the\nsea. From its summit he had an unobstructed view of the broad Pacific.\nHis heart leaped to his throat, for there but a short distance out were\na great battleship and a trim white yacht--the Alaska and the Lotus!\nThey were steaming slowly out to sea.\n\nHe was just in time! Filled with happiness the mucker ran to the point\nof the promontory and stripping off his shirt waved it high above his\nhead, the while he shouted at the top of his lungs; but the vessels kept\non their course, giving no answering signal.\n\nFor half an hour the man continued his futile efforts to attract the\nattention of someone on board either craft, but to his dismay he saw\nthem grow smaller and smaller until in a few hours they passed over the\nrim of the world, disappearing from his view forever.\n\nWeak, wounded, and despairing, Billy sank to the ground, burying his\nface in his arms, and there the moon found him when she rose, and he was\nstill there when she passed from the western sky.\n\n\nFor three months Billy Byrne lived his lonely life upon the wild island.\nThe trapping and fishing were good and there was a plentiful supply of\ngood water. He regained his lost strength, recovering entirely from\nhis wounds. The natives did not molest him, for he had stumbled upon a\nsection of the shore which they considered bewitched and to which none\nof them would come under any circumstances.\n\nOne morning, at the beginning of his fourth month of solitude, the\nmucker saw a smudge of smoke upon the horizon. Slowly it increased\nin volume and the speck beneath it resolved itself into the hull of a\nsteamer. Closer and closer to the island it came.\n\nBilly gathered together a quantity of dry brush and lighted a signal\nfire on the lofty point from which he had seen the Alaska and the Lotus\ndisappear. As it commenced to blaze freely he threw fresh, green boughs\nupon it until a vertical column of smoke arose high above the island.\n\nIn breathless suspense Billy watched the movements of the steamer. At\nfirst it seemed that she would pass without taking notice of his signal,\nbut at last he saw that she was changing her course and moving directly\ntoward the island.\n\nClose in she came, for the sea was calm and the water deep, and when\nBilly was sure that those on board saw him and his frantic waving, he\nhurried, stumbling and falling, down the steep face of the cliff to the\ntiny beach at its foot.\n\nAlready a boat had been lowered and was putting in for land. Billy waded\nout to the end of the short shelving beach and waited.\n\nThe sight that met the eyes of the rescuers was one that filled them\nwith awe, for they saw before them a huge, giant of a white man,\nhalf-naked except for a few tattered rags, who wore the long sword of an\nancient samurai at his side, a modern revolver at his hip, and bore in\nhis brawny hand the heavy war spear of a head-hunter. Long black hair,\nand a huge beard covered the man's head and face, but clean gray eyes\nshone from out of the tangle, and a broad grin welcomed them.\n\n\"Oh, you white men!\" shouted the mucker. \"You certainly do look good to\nme.\"\n\n\nSix months later a big, smooth-faced giant in ill-fitting sea togs\nstrolled up Sixth Avenue. It was Billy Byrne--broke, but happy; Grand\nAvenue was less than a thousand miles away!\n\n\"Gee!\" he murmured; \"but it's good to be home again!\"\n\nThere were places in New York where Billy would find acquaintances.\nOne in particular he recalled--a little, third-floor gymnasium not far\ndistant from the Battery. Thither he turned his steps now. As he entered\nthe stuffy room in which two big fellows, stripped to the waist, were\nsparring, a stout, low-browed man sitting in a back-tilted chair\nagainst one wall looked up inquiringly. Billy crossed over to him, with\noutstretched hand.\n\n\"Howdy, Professor!\" he said.\n\n\"Yeh got me, kid,\" replied Professor Cassidy, taking the proffered hand.\n\n\"I was up here with Larry Hilmore and the Goose Island Kid a year or so\nago--my name's Byrne,\" exclaimed Billy.\n\n\"Sure,\" said the professor; \"I gotcha now. You're de guy 'at Larry was a\ntellin' me about. He said you'd be a great heavy if you'd leave de booze\nalone.\"\n\nBilly smiled and nodded.\n\n\"You don't look much like a booze fighter now,\" remarked Cassidy.\n\n\"And I ain't,\" said the mucker. \"I've been on the wagon for most a year,\nand I'm never comin' down.\"\n\n\"That's right, kid,\" said the professor; \"but wots the good word? Wot\nyou doin' in little ol' Noo York?\"\n\n\"Lookin' for a job,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Strip!\" commanded Professor Cassidy. \"I'm lookin' for sparrin' partners\nfor a gink dat's goin' to clean up de Big Smoke--if he'll ever come back\nan' scrap.\"\n\n\"You're on,\" said Billy, commencing to divest himself of his outer\nclothing.\n\nStripped to the waist he displayed as wondrous a set of muscles as even\nProfessor Cassidy had ever seen. The man waxed enthusiastic over them.\n\n\"You sure ought to have some wallop up your sleeve,\" he said,\nadmiringly. He then introduced Billy to the Harlem Hurricane, and\nBattling Dago Pete. \"Pete's de guy I was tellin' you about,\" explained\nProfessor Cassidy. \"He's got such a wallop dat I can't keep no sparrin'\npartners for him. The Hurricane here's de only bloke wit de guts to stay\nwit him--he's a fiend for punishment, Hurricane is; he jest natchrly\neats it.\n\n\"If you're broke I'll give you your keep as long as you stay wit Pete\nan' don't get cold feet, an' I'll fix up a mill for you now an' then\nso's you kin pull down a little coin fer yourself. Are you game?\"\n\n\"You know it,\" said Billy.\n\n\"All to the good then,\" said the professor gaily; \"now you put on the\nmitts an' spell Hurricane for a couple o' rounds.\"\n\nBilly slipped his huge hands into the tight-fitting gloves.\n\n\"It's been more'n a year since I had these on,\" he said, \"an' I may be\na little slow an' stale at first; but after I get warmed up I'll do\nbetter.\"\n\nCassidy grinned and winked at Hurricane. \"He won't never get warmed up,\"\nHurricane confided; \"Pete'll knock his block off in about two minutes,\"\nand the men settled back to watch the fun with ill-concealed amusement\nwritten upon their faces.\n\nWhat happened within the next few minutes in the stuffy little room\nof Professor Cassidy's third-floor \"gymnasium\" marks an epoch in the\nprofessor's life--he still talks of it, and doubtless shall until the\nGreat Referee counts him out in the Last Round.\n\nThe two men sparred for a moment, gaging one another. Then Battling Dago\nPete swung a vicious left that landed square on Billy's face. It was\na blow that might have felled an ox; but Billy only shook his head--it\nscarce seemed to jar him. Pete had half lowered his hands as he\nrecovered from the blow, so sure he was that it would finish his new\nsparring partner, and now before he could regain his guard the mucker\ntore into him like a whirlwind. That single blow to the face seemed to\nhave brought back to Billy Byrne all that he ever had known of the manly\nart of self-defense.\n\nBattling Dago Pete landed a few more before the fight was over, but as\nany old fighter will tell you there is nothing more discouraging than to\ndiscover that your most effective blows do not feeze your opponent,\nand only the knowledge of what a defeat at the hands of a new sparring\npartner would mean to his future, kept him plugging away at the hopeless\ntask of attempting to knock out this mountain of bone and muscle.\n\nFor a few minutes Billy Byrne played with his man, hitting him when and\nwhere he would. He fought, crouching, much as Jeffries used to fight,\nand in his size and strength was much that reminded Cassidy of the\nfallen idol that in his heart of hearts he still worshiped.\n\nAnd then, like a panther, the mucker sprang in with a vicious left hook\nto the jaw, followed, with lightning rapidity, by a right upper cut to\nthe chin that lifted Battling Dago Pete a foot from the floor to drop\nhim, unconscious, against the foot of the further wall.\n\nIt was a clean knock-out, and when Cassidy and Hurricane got\nthrough ministering to the fallen man, and indications of returning\nconsciousness were apparent, the professor turned to Billy.\n\n\"Got any more 'hopes' lyin' around loose?\" asked the mucker with a grin.\n\"I guess the big dinge's safe for a while yet.\"\n\n\"Not if you'll keep on stayin' away from the booze, kid,\" said Professor\nCassidy, \"an' let me handle you.\"\n\n\"I gotcha Steve,\" said Billy; \"go to it; but first, stake me to a feed.\nThe front side of my stomach's wrapped around my back bone.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII. THE GULF BETWEEN\n\nFOR three months Billy met has-beens, and third- and fourth-rate\nfighters from New York and its environs. He thrashed them all--usually\nby the knockout route and finally local sports commenced talking about\nhim a bit, and he was matched up with second-raters from other cities.\n\nThese men he cleaned up as handily as he had the others, so that it was\napparent to fight fandom that the big, quiet \"unknown\" was a comer;\nand pretty soon Professor Cassidy received an offer from another\ntrainer-manager to match Billy against a real \"hope\" who stood in the\nforefront of hopedom.\n\nThis other manager stated that he thought the mill would prove excellent\npractice for his man who was having difficulty in finding opponents.\nProfessor Cassidy thought so too, and grinned for two hours straight\nafter reading the challenge.\n\nThe details of the fight were quickly arranged. In accordance with the\nstate regulations it was to be a ten round, no decision bout--the weight\nof the gloves was prescribed by law.\n\nThe name of the \"white hope\" against whom Billy was to go was sufficient\nto draw a fair house, and there were some there who had seen Billy in\nother fights and looked for a good mill. When the \"coming champion,\"\nas Billy's opponent was introduced, stepped into the ring he received\na hearty round of applause, whereas there was but a scattered ripple\nof handclapping to greet the mucker. It was the first time he ever had\nstepped into a ring with a first-rate fighter, and as he saw the huge\nmuscles of his antagonist and recalled the stories he had heard of\nhis prowess and science, Billy, for the first time in his life, felt a\ntremor of nervousness.\n\nHis eyes wandered across the ropes to the sea of faces turned up toward\nhim, and all of a sudden Billy Byrne went into a blue funk. Professor\nCassidy, shrewd and experienced, saw it even as soon as Billy realized\nit--he saw the fading of his high hopes--he saw his castles in Spain\ntumbling in ruins about his ears--he saw his huge giant lying prone\nwithin that squared circle as the hand of the referee rose and fell in\ncadence to the ticking of seconds that would count his man out.\n\n\"Here,\" he whispered, \"take a swig o' this,\" and he pressed a bottle\ntoward Billy's lips.\n\nBilly shook his head. The stuff had kept him down all his life--he had\nsworn never to touch another drop of it, and he never would, whether he\nlost this and every other fight he ever fought. He had sworn to leave\nit alone for HER sake! And then the gong called him to the center of the\nring.\n\nBilly knew that he was afraid--he thought that he was afraid of the big,\ntrained fighter who faced him; but Cassidy knew that it was a plain case\nof stage fright that had gripped his man. He knew, too, that it would\nbe enough to defeat Billy's every chance for victory, and after the big\n\"white hope\" had felled Billy twice in the first minute of the first\nround Cassidy knew that it was all over but the shouting.\n\nThe fans, many of them, were laughing, and yelling derogatory remarks at\nBilly.\n\n\"Stan' up an' fight, yeh big stiff!\" and \"Back to de farm fer youse!\"\nand then, high above the others a shrill voice cried \"Coward! Coward!\"\n\nThe word penetrated Billy's hopeless, muddled brain. Coward! SHE had\ncalled him that once, and then she had changed her mind. Theriere had\nthought him a coward, yet as he died he had said that he was the bravest\nman he ever had known. Billy recalled the yelling samurai with their\nkeen swords and terrible spears. He saw the little room in the \"palace\"\nof Oda Yorimoto, and again he faced the brown devils who had hacked\nand hewed and stabbed at him that day as he fought to save the woman he\nloved. Coward! What was there in this padded ring for a man to fear\nwho had faced death as Billy had faced it, and without an instant's\nconsciousness of the meaning of the word fear? What was wrong with him,\nand then the shouts and curses and taunts of the crowd smote upon his\nears, and he knew. It was the crowd! Again the heavy fist of the \"coming\nchampion\" brought Billy to the mat, and then, before further damage\ncould be done him, the gong saved him.\n\nIt was a surprised and chastened mucker that walked with bent head to\nhis corner after the first round. The \"white hope\" was grinning and\nconfident, and so he returned to the center of the ring for the second\nround. During the short interval Billy had thrashed the whole thing out.\nThe crowd had gotten on his nerves. He was trying to fight the whole\ncrowd instead of just one man--he would do better in this round; but the\nfirst thing that happened after he faced his opponent sent the fans into\ndelirious ecstasies of shouting and hooting.\n\nBilly swung his right for his foe's jaw--a terrible blow that would have\nended the fight had it landed--but the man side-stepped it, and Billy's\nmomentum carried him sprawling upon his face. When he regained his feet\nthe \"white hope\" was waiting for him, and Billy went down again to lie\nthere, quite still, while the hand of the referee marked the seconds:\nOne. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Billy opened his eyes. Seven. Billy\nsat up. Eight. The meaning of that monotonous count finally percolated\nto the mucker's numbed perceptive faculties. He was being counted out!\nNine! Like a flash he was on his feet. He had forgotten the crowd.\nRage--cool, calculating rage possessed him--not the feverish, hysterical\nvariety that takes its victim's brains away.\n\nThey had been counting out the man whom Barbara Harding had once\nloved!--the man she had thought the bravest in the world!--they were\nmaking a monkey and a coward of him! He'd show them!\n\nThe \"white hope\" was waiting for him. Billy was scarce off his knees\nbefore the man rushed at him wickedly, a smile playing about his lips.\nIt was to be the last of that smile, however. Billy met the rush with\nhis old familiar crouch, and stopped his man with a straight to the\nbody.\n\nCassidy saw it and almost smiled. He didn't think that Billy could come\nback--but at least he was fighting for a minute in his old form.\n\nThe surprised \"hope\" rushed in to punish his presuming foe. The crowd\nwas silent. Billy ducked beneath a vicious left swing and put a right to\nthe side of the \"hope's\" head that sent the man to his knees. Then came\nthe gong.\n\nIn the third round Billy fought carefully. He had made up his mind that\nhe would show this bunch of pikers that he knew how to box, so that none\nmight say that he had won with a lucky punch, for Billy intended to win.\n\nThe round was one which might fill with delight the soul of the fan who\nknows the finer points of the game. And when it was over, while little\ndamage had been done on either side, it left no shadow of a doubt in the\nminds of those who knew that the unknown fighter was the more skilful\nboxer.\n\nThen came the fourth round. Of course there was no question in the minds\nof the majority of the spectators as to who would win the fight. The\nstranger had merely shown one of those sudden and ephemeral bursts of\nform that occasionally are witnessed in every branch of sport; but he\ncouldn't last against such a man as the \"white hope\"!--they looked for a\nknock-out any minute now. Nor did they look in vain.\n\nBilly was quite satisfied with the work he had done in the preceding\nround. Now he would show them another style of fighting! And he did.\nFrom the tap of the gong he rushed his opponent about the ring at will.\nHe hit him when and where he pleased. The man was absolutely helpless\nbefore him. With left and right hooks Billy rocked the \"coming\nchampion's\" head from side to side. He landed upon the swelling optics\nof his victim as he listed.\n\nThrice he rushed him to the ropes, and once the man fell through them\ninto the laps of the hooting spectators--only now they were not hooting\nBilly. Until the gong Billy played with his man as a cat might play with\na mouse; yet not once had he landed a knock-out blow.\n\n\"Why didn't you finish him?\" cried Professor Cassidy, as Billy returned\nto his corner after the round. \"You had 'im goin' man--why in the world\ndidn't yeh finish him?\"\n\n\"I didn't want to,\" said Billy; \"not in that round. I'm reserving the\nfinish for the fifth round, and if you want to win some money you can\ntake the hunch!\"\n\n\"Do you mean it?\" asked Cassidy.\n\n\"Sure,\" said Billy. \"You might make more by laying that I'd make him\ntake the count in the first minute of the round--you can place a hundred\nof mine on that, if you will, please.\"\n\nCassidy took the hunch, and a moment later as the two men faced each\nother he regretted his act, for to his surprise the \"white hope\" came up\nfor the fifth round smiling and confident once more.\n\n\"Someone's been handin' him an earful,\" grumbled Cassidy, \"an' it might\nbe all he needed to take 'im through the first minute of the round, and\nmaybe the whole round--I've seen that did lots o' times.\"\n\nAs the two men met the \"white hope\" was the aggressor. He rushed in\nto close quarters aiming a stinging blow at Billy's face, and then to\nCassidy's chagrin and the crowd's wonder, the mucker lowered his guard\nand took the wallop full on the jaw. The blow seemed never to jar him\nthe least. The \"hope\" swung again, and there stood Billy Byrne, like\na huge bronze statue taking blow after blow that would have put an\nordinary man down for the count.\n\nThe fans saw and appreciated the spectacular bravado of the act, and\nthey went wild. Cheer on cheer rose, hoarse and deafening, to the\nrafters. The \"white hope\" lost his self-control and what little remained\nof his short temper, and deliberately struck Billy a foul blow, but\nbefore the referee could interfere the mucker swung another just such\nblow as he had missed and fallen with in the second round; but this time\nhe did not miss--his mighty fist caught the \"coming champion\" on the\npoint of the chin, lifted him off his feet and landed him halfway\nthrough the ropes. There he lay while the referee tolled off the count\nof ten, and as the official took Billy's hand in his and raised it\naloft in signal that he had won the fight the fickle crowd cheered and\nscreamed in a delirium of joy.\n\nCassidy crawled through the ropes and threw his arms around Billy.\n\n\"I knew youse could do it, kid!\" he screamed. \"You're as good as made\nnow, an' you're de next champ, or I never seen one.\"\n\nThe following morning the sporting sheets hailed \"Sailor\" Byrne as the\ngreatest \"white hope\" of them all. Flashlights of him filled a quarter\nof a page. There were interviews with him. Interviews with the man he\nhad defeated. Interviews with Cassidy. Interviews with the referee.\nInterviews with everybody, and all were agreed that he was the most\nlikely heavy since Jeffries. Corbett admitted that, while in his prime\nhe could doubtless have bested the new wonder, he would have found him a\ntough customer.\n\nEveryone said that Byrne's future was assured. There was not a man in\nsight who could touch him, and none who had seen him fight the night\nbefore but would have staked his last dollar on him in a mill with the\nblack champion.\n\nCassidy wired a challenge to the Negro's manager, and received an answer\nthat was most favorable. The terms were, as usual, rather one-sided\nbut Cassidy accepted them, and it seemed before noon that a fight was\nassured.\n\nBilly was more nearly happy again than he had been since the day he had\nrenounced Barbara Harding to the man he thought she loved. He read\nand re-read the accounts in the papers, and then searching for more\nreferences to himself off the sporting page he ran upon the very name\nthat had been constantly in his thoughts for all these months--Harding.\n\n\nPersistent rumor has it that the engagement of the beautiful Miss\nHarding to Wm. J. Mallory has been broken. Miss Harding could not be\nseen at her father's home up to a late hour last night. Mr. Mallory\nrefused to discuss the matter, but would not deny the rumor.\n\n\nThere was more, but that was all that Billy Byrne read. The paper\ndropped from his hand. Battles and championships faded from his\nthoughts. He sat with his eyes bent upon the floor, and his mind was\nthousands of miles away across the broad Pacific upon a little island in\nthe midst of a turbulent stream.\n\nAnd far uptown another sat with the same paper in her hand. Barbara\nHarding was glancing through the sporting sheet in search of the scores\nof yesterday's woman's golf tournament. And as she searched her eyes\nsuddenly became riveted upon the picture of a giant man, and she forgot\nabout tournaments and low scores. Hastily she searched the heads and\ntext until she came upon the name--\"'Sailor' Byrne!\"\n\nYes! It must be he. Greedily she read and re-read all that had been\nwritten about him. Yes, she, Barbara Harding, scion of an aristocratic\nhouse--ultra-society girl, read and re-read the accounts of a brutal\nprize fight.\n\nA half hour later a messenger boy found \"Sailor\" Byrne the center of\nan admiring throng in Professor Cassidy's third-floor gymnasium. With\nworshiping eyes taking in his new hero from head to foot the youth\nhanded Byrne a note.\n\nHe stood staring at the heavy weight until he had perused it.\n\n\"Any answer?\" he asked.\n\n\"No answer, kid,\" replied Byrne, \"that I can't take myself,\" and he\ntossed a dollar to the worshiping boy.\n\nAn hour later Billy Byrne was ascending the broad, white steps that led\nto the entrance of Anthony Harding's New York house. The servant who\nanswered his ring eyed him suspiciously, for Billy Byrne still dressed\nlike a teamster on holiday. He had no card!\n\n\"Tell Miss Harding that Mr. Byrne has come,\" he said.\n\nThe servant left him standing in the hallway, and started to ascend the\ngreat staircase, but halfway up he met Miss Harding coming down.\n\n\"Never mind, Smith,\" she said. \"I am expecting Mr. Byrne,\" and then\nseeing that the fellow had not seated her visitor she added, \"He is a\nvery dear friend.\" Smith faded quickly from the scene.\n\n\"Billy!\" cried the girl, rushing toward him with out-stretched hands.\n\"O Billy, we thought you were dead. How long have you been here? Why\nhaven't you been to see me?\"\n\nByrne hesitated.\n\nA great, mad hope had been surging through his being since he had read\nof the broken engagement and received the girl's note. And now in her\neyes, in her whole attitude, he could read, as unmistakably as though\nher lips had formed the words that he had not hoped in vain.\n\nBut some strange influence had seemed suddenly to come to work upon\nhim. Even in the brief moment of his entrance into the magnificence of\nAnthony Harding's home he had felt a strange little stricture of the\nthroat--a choking, half-suffocating sensation.\n\nThe attitude of the servant, the splendor of the furnishings, the\nstateliness of the great hall, and the apartments opening upon it--all\nhad whispered to him that he did not \"belong.\"\n\nAnd now Barbara, clothed in some wondrous foreign creation, belied by\nher very appearance the expression that suffused her eyes.\n\nNo, Billy Byrne, the mucker, did not belong there. Nor ever could he\nbelong, more than Barbara ever could have \"belonged\" on Grand Avenue.\nAnd Billy Byrne knew it now. His heart went cold. The bottom seemed\nsuddenly to have dropped out of his life.\n\nBravely he had battled to forget this wonderful creature, or, rather,\nhis hopeless love for her--her he could never forget. But the note from\nher, and the sight of her had but served to rekindle the old fire within\nhis breast.\n\nHe thought quickly. His own life or happiness did not count. Nothing\ncounted now but Barbara. He had seen the lovelight in her eyes. He\nthanked God that he had realized what it all would have meant, before he\nlet her see that he had seen it.\n\n\"I've been back several months,\" he said presently, in answer to her\nquestion; \"but I got sense enough to stay where I belong. Gee! Wouldn't\nI look great comin' up here buttin' in, wit youse bunch of highlifes?\"\n\n\nBilly slapped his thigh resoundingly and laughed in stentorian tones\nthat caused the eyebrows of the sensitive Smith on the floor above to\nelevate in shocked horror.\n\n\"Den dere was de mills. I couldn't break away from me work, could I, to\nchase a bunch of skirts?\"\n\nBarbara felt a qualm of keen disappointment that Billy had fallen again\ninto the old dialect that she had all but eradicated during those days\nupon distant \"Manhattan Island.\"\n\n\"I wouldn't o' come up atal,\" he went on, \"if I hadn't o' read in de\npoiper how youse an' Mallory had busted. I t'ought I'd breeze in an' see\nwot de trouble was.\"\n\nHis eyes had been averted, mostly, as he talked. Now he swung suddenly\nupon her.\n\n\"He's on de square, ain't he?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Barbara. She was not quite sure whether to feel offended, or\nnot. But the memory of Billy's antecedents came to his rescue. Of course\nhe didn't know that it was such terribly bad form to broach such a\nsubject to her, she thought.\n\n\"Well, then,\" continued the mucker, \"wot's up? Mallory's de guy fer\nyouse. Youse loved him or youse wouldn't have got engaged to him.\"\n\nThe statement was almost an interrogation.\n\nBarbara nodded affirmatively.\n\n\"You see, Billy,\" she started, \"I have always known Mr. Mallory, and\nalways thought that I loved him until--until--\" There was no answering\nlight in Billy's eyes--no encouragement for the words that were on\nher lips. She halted lamely. \"Then,\" she went on presently, \"we became\nengaged after we reached New York. We all thought you dead,\" she\nconcluded simply.\n\n\"Do you think as much of him now as you did when you promised to marry\nhim?\" he asked, ignoring her reference to himself and all that it\nimplied.\n\nBarbara nodded.\n\n\"What is at the bottom of this row?\" persisted Billy. He had fallen back\ninto the decent pronunciation that Barbara had taught him, but neither\nnoticed the change. For a moment he had forgotten that he was playing a\npart. Then he recollected.\n\n\"Nothing much,\" replied the girl. \"I couldn't rid myself of the feeling\nthat they had murdered you, by leaving you back there alone and wounded.\nI began to think 'coward' every time I saw Mr. Mallory. I couldn't marry\nhim, feeling that way toward him, and, Billy, I really never LOVED him\nas--as--\" Again she stumbled, but the mucker made no attempt to grasp\nthe opportunity opened before him.\n\nInstead he crossed the library to the telephone. Running through the\nbook he came presently upon the number he sought. A moment later he had\nhis connection.\n\n\"Is this Mallory?\" he asked.\n\n\"I'm Byrne--Billy Byrne. De guy dat cracked your puss fer youse on de\nLotus.\"\n\n\"Dead, hell! Not me. Say, I'm up here at Barbara's.\"\n\n\"Yes, dat's wot I said. She wants youse to beat it up here's swift as\nyouse kin beat it.\"\n\nBarbara Harding stepped forward. Her eyes were blazing.\n\n\"How dare you?\" she cried, attempting to seize the telephone from\nBilly's grasp.\n\nHe turned his huge frame between her and the instrument. \"Git a move!\"\nhe shouted into the mouthpiece. \"Good-bye!\" and he hung up.\n\nThen he turned back toward the angry girl.\n\n\"Look here,\" he said. \"Once youse was strong on de sob stuff wit me,\ntellin' me how noble I was, an' all de different tings youse would do\nfer me to repay all I done fer youse. Now youse got de chanct.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the girl, puzzled. \"What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Youse kin do dis fer me. When Mallory gits here youse kin tell him dat\nde engagement is all on again--see!\"\n\nIn the wide eyes of the girl Billy read a deeper hurt than he had\ndreamed of. He had thought that it would not be difficult for her to\nturn back from the vulgar mucker to the polished gentleman. And when he\nsaw that she was suffering, and guessed that it was because he had tried\nto crush her love by brute force he could carry the game no further.\n\n\"O Barbara,\" he cried, \"can't you see that Mallory is your kind--that HE\nis a fit mate for you. I have learned since I came into this house a few\nminutes ago the unbridgeable chasm that stretches between Billy Byrne,\nthe mucker, and such as you. Once I aspired; but now I know just as you\nmust have always known, that a single lifetime is far too short for a\nman to cover the distance from Grand Avenue to Riverside Drive.\n\n\"I want you to be happy, Barbara, just as I intend to be. Back there in\nChicago there are plenty of girls on Grand Avenue as straight and clean\nand fine as they make 'em on Riverside Drive. Girls of my own kind, they\nare, and I'm going back there to find the one that God intended for me.\nYou've taught me what a good girl can do toward making a man of a beast.\nYou've taught me pride and self-respect. You've taught me so much that\nI'd rather that I'd died back there beneath the spears of Oda Iseka's\nwarriors than live here beneath the sneers and contempt of servants, and\nthe pity and condescension of your friends.\n\n\"I want you to be happy, Barbara, and so I want you to promise me that\nyou'll marry Billy Mallory. There isn't any man on earth quite good\nenough for you; but Mallory comes nearer to it than anyone I know. I've\nheard 'em talking about him around town since I came back--and there\nisn't a rotten story chalked up against him nowhere, and that's a lot\nmore than you can say for ninety-nine of a hundred New Yorkers that are\ntalked about at all.\n\n\"And Mallory's a man, too--the kind that every woman ought to have, only\nthey ain't enough of 'em to go 'round. Do you remember how he stood up\nthere on the deck of the Lotus and fought fair against my dirty tricks?\nHe's a man and a gentleman, Barbara--the sort you can be proud of, and\nthat's the sort you got to have. You see I know you.\n\n\"And he fought against those fellows of Yoka in the street of Oda\nIseka's village like a man should fight. There ain't any yellow in him,\nBarbara, and he didn't leave me until there seemed no other way, even\nin the face of the things I told them to make them go. Don't harbor that\nagainst him--I only wonder that he didn't croak me; your dad wanted to,\nand Mallory wouldn't let him.\"\n\n\"They never told me that,\" said Barbara.\n\nThe bell rang.\n\n\"Here he is now,\" said Billy. \"Good-bye--I'd rather not see him.\nSmith'll let me out the servants' door. Guess that'll make him feel\nbetter. You'll do as I ask, Barbara?\"\n\nHe had paused at the door, turning toward her as he asked the final\nquestion.\n\nThe girl stood facing him. Her eyes were dim with unshed tears. Billy\nByrne swam before them in a hazy mist.\n\n\"You'll do as I ask, Barbara!\" he repeated, but this time it was a\ncommand.\n\nAs Mallory entered the room Barbara heard the door of the servants'\nentrance slam behind Billy Byrne.\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I. THE MURDER TRIAL.\n\nBILLY BYRNE squared his broad shoulders and filled his deep lungs with\nthe familiar medium which is known as air in Chicago. He was standing\nupon the platform of a New York Central train that was pulling into the\nLa Salle Street Station, and though the young man was far from happy\nsomething in the nature of content pervaded his being, for he was coming\nhome.\n\nAfter something more than a year of world wandering and strange\nadventure Billy Byrne was coming back to the great West Side and Grand\nAvenue.\n\nNow there is not much upon either side or down the center of long and\ntortuous Grand Avenue to arouse enthusiasm, nor was Billy particularly\nenthusiastic about that more or less squalid thoroughfare.\n\nThe thing that exalted Billy was the idea that he was coming back to\nSHOW THEM. He had left under a cloud and with a reputation for genuine\ntoughness and rowdyism that has seen few parallels even in the ungentle\ndistrict of his birth and upbringing.\n\nA girl had changed him. She was as far removed from Billy's sphere as\nthe stars themselves; but Billy had loved her and learned from her, and\nin trying to become more as he knew the men of her class were he had\nsloughed off much of the uncouthness that had always been a part of him,\nand all of the rowdyism. Billy Byrne was no longer the mucker.\n\nHe had given her up because he imagined the gulf between Grand Avenue\nand Riverside Drive to be unbridgeable; but he still clung to the ideals\nshe had awakened in him. He still sought to be all that she might wish\nhim to be, even though he realized that he never should see her again.\n\nGrand Avenue would be the easiest place to forget his sorrow--her he\ncould never forget. And then, his newly awakened pride urged him back to\nthe haunts of his former life that he might, as he would put it himself,\nshow them. He wanted the gang to see that he, Billy Byrne, wasn't afraid\nto be decent. He wanted some of the neighbors to realize that he could\nwork steadily and earn an honest living, and he looked forward with\ndelight to the pleasure and satisfaction of rubbing it in to some of the\nsaloon keepers and bartenders who had helped keep him drunk some five\ndays out of seven, for Billy didn't drink any more.\n\nBut most of all he wanted to vindicate himself in the eyes of the\nonce-hated law. He wanted to clear his record of the unjust charge of\nmurder which had sent him scurrying out of Chicago over a year before,\nthat night that Patrolman Stanley Lasky of the Lake Street Station had\ntipped him off that Sheehan had implicated him in the murder of old man\nSchneider.\n\nNow Billy Byrne had not killed Schneider. He had been nowhere near the\nold fellow's saloon at the time of the holdup; but Sheehan, who had been\narrested and charged with the crime, was an old enemy of Billy's, and\nSheehan had seen a chance to divert some of the suspicion from himself\nand square accounts with Byrne at the same time.\n\nThe new Billy Byrne was ready to accept at face value everything which\nseemed to belong in any way to the environment of that exalted realm\nwhere dwelt the girl he loved. Law, order, and justice appeared to Billy\nin a new light since he had rubbed elbows with the cultured and refined.\n\nHe no longer distrusted or feared them. They would give him what he\nsought--a square deal.\n\nIt seemed odd to Billy that he should be seeking anything from the law\nor its minions. For years he had waged a perpetual battle with both. Now\nhe was coming back voluntarily to give himself up, with every conviction\nthat he should be exonerated quickly. Billy, knowing his own innocence,\nrealizing his own integrity, assumed that others must immediately\nappreciate both.\n\n\"First,\" thought Billy, \"I'll go take a look at little old Grand Ave.,\nthen I'll give myself up. The trial may take a long time, an' if it does\nI want to see some of the old bunch first.\"\n\nSo Billy entered an \"L\" coach and leaning on the sill of an open\nwindow watched grimy Chicago rattle past until the guard's \"Granavenoo\"\nannounced the end of his journey.\n\nMaggie Shane was sitting on the upper step of the long flight of stairs\nwhich lean precariously against the scarred face of the frame residence\nupon the second floor front of which the lares and penates of the Shane\nfamily are crowded into three ill-smelling rooms.\n\nIt was Saturday and Maggie was off. She sat there rather disconsolate\nfor there was a dearth of beaux for Maggie, none having arisen to fill\nthe aching void left by the sudden departure of \"Coke\" Sheehan since\nthat worthy gentleman had sought a more salubrious clime--to the\nconsternation of both Maggie Shane and Mr. Sheehan's bondsmen.\n\nMaggie scowled down upon the frowsy street filled with frowsy women and\nfrowsy children. She scowled upon the street cars rumbling by with their\nfrowsy loads. Occasionally she varied the monotony by drawing out her\nchewing gum to wondrous lengths, holding one end between a thumb and\nfinger and the other between her teeth.\n\nPresently Maggie spied a rather pleasing figure sauntering up the\nsidewalk upon her side of the street. The man was too far away for\nher to recognize his features, but his size and bearing and general\nappearance appealed to the lonesome Maggie. She hoped it was someone she\nknew, or with whom she might easily become acquainted, for Maggie was\nbored to death.\n\nShe patted the hair at the back of her head and righted the mop which\nhung over one eye. Then she rearranged her skirts and waited. As the man\napproached she saw that he was better looking than she had even dared\nto hope, and that there was something extremely familiar about his\nappearance. It was not, though, until he was almost in front of the\nhouse that he looked up at the girl and she recognized him.\n\nThen Maggie Shane gasped and clutched the handrail at her side.\nAn instant later the man was past and continuing his way along the\nsidewalk.\n\nMaggie Shane glared after him for a minute, then she ran quickly down\nthe stairs and into a grocery store a few doors west, where she asked if\nshe might use the telephone.\n\n\"Gimme West 2063,\" she demanded of the operator, and a moment later: \"Is\nthis Lake Street?\"\n\n\"Well say, Billy Byrne's back. I just see him.\"\n\n\"Yes an' never mind who I am; but if youse guys want him he's walkin'\nwest on Grand Avenoo right now. I just this minute seen him near\nLincoln,\" and she smashed the receiver back into its hook.\n\nBilly Byrne thought that he would look in on his mother, not that he\nexpected to be welcomed even though she might happen to be sober, or\nnot that he cared to see her; but Billy's whole manner of thought had\naltered within the year, and something now seemed to tell him that it\nwas his duty to do the thing he contemplated. Maybe he might even be of\nhelp to her.\n\nBut when he reached the gloomy neighborhood in which his childhood had\nbeen spent it was to learn that his mother was dead and that another\nfamily occupied the tumble-down cottage that had been his home.\n\nIf Billy Byrne felt any sorrow because of his mother's death he did\nnot reveal it outwardly. He owed her nothing but for kicks and cuffs\nreceived, and for the surroundings and influences that had started him\nupon a life of crime at an age when most boys are just entering grammar\nschool.\n\nReally the man was relieved that he had not had to see her, and it was\nwith a lighter step that he turned back to retrace his way along Grand\nAvenue. No one of the few he had met who recognized him had seemed\nparticularly delighted at his return. The whole affair had been\nsomething of a disappointment. Therefore Billy determined to go at once\nto the Lake Street Station and learn the status of the Schneider murder\ncase. Possibly they had discovered the real murderer, and if that was\nthe case Billy would be permitted to go his way; but if not then he\ncould give himself up and ask for a trial, that he might be exonerated.\n\nAs he neared Wood Street two men who had been watching his approach\nstepped into the doorway of a saloon, and as he passed they stepped out\nagain behind him. One upon either side they seized him.\n\nBilly turned to remonstrate.\n\n\"Come easy now, Byrne,\" admonished one of the men, \"an' don't make no\nfuss.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Billy, \"it's you, is it? Well, I was just goin' over to the\nstation to give myself up.\"\n\nBoth men laughed, skeptically. \"We'll just save you the trouble,\" said\none of them. \"We'll take you over. You might lose your way if you tried\nto go alone.\"\n\nBilly went along in silence the rest of the way to where the patrol\nwaited at another corner. He saw there was nothing to be gained by\ntalking to these detectives; but he found the lieutenant equally\ninclined to doubt his intentions. He, too, only laughed when Billy\nassured him that he was on his way to the station at the very instant of\narrest.\n\nAs the weeks dragged along, and Billy Byrne found no friendly interest\nin himself or his desire to live on the square, and no belief in his\nprotestations that he had had naught to do with the killing of Schneider\nhe began to have his doubts as to the wisdom of his act.\n\nHe also commenced to entertain some of his former opinions of the\npolice, and of the law of which they are supposed to be the guardians. A\ncell-mate told him that the papers had scored the department heavily\nfor their failure to apprehend the murderer of the inoffensive old\nSchneider, and that public opinion had been so aroused that a general\npolice shakeup had followed.\n\nThe result was that the police were keen to fasten the guilt upon\nsomeone--they did not care whom, so long as it was someone who was in\ntheir custody.\n\n\"You may not o' done it,\" ventured the cell-mate; \"but they'll send you\nup for it, if they can't hang you. They're goin' to try to get the death\nsentence. They hain't got no love for you, Byrne. You caused 'em a lot\no' throuble in your day an' they haven't forgot it. I'd hate to be in\nyour boots.\"\n\nBilly Byrne shrugged. Where were his dreams of justice? They seemed to\nhave faded back into the old distrust and hatred. He shook himself and\nconjured in his mind the vision of a beautiful girl who had believed in\nhim and trusted him--who had inculcated within him a love for all that\nwas finest and best in true manhood, for the very things that he had\nmost hated all the years of his life before she had come into his\nexistence to alter it and him.\n\nAnd then Billy would believe again--believe that in the end justice\nwould triumph and that it would all come out right, just the way he had\npictured it.\n\nWith the coming of the last day of the trial Billy found it more and\nmore difficult to adhere to his regard for law, order, and justice. The\nprosecution had shown conclusively that Billy was a hard customer. The\npolice had brought witnesses who did not hesitate to perjure themselves\nin their testimony--testimony which it seemed to Billy the densest of\njurymen could plainly see had been framed up and learned by rote until\nit was letter-perfect.\n\nThese witnesses could recall with startling accuracy every detail\nthat had occurred between seventeen minutes after eight and twenty-one\nminutes past nine on the night of September 23 over a year before; but\nwhere they had been and what they had done ten minutes earlier or ten\nminutes later, or where they were at nine o'clock in the evening last\nFriday they couldn't for the lives of them remember.\n\nAnd Billy was practically without witnesses.\n\nThe result was a foregone conclusion. Even Billy had to admit it, and\nwhen the prosecuting attorney demanded the death penalty the prisoner\nhad an uncanny sensation as of the tightening of a hempen rope about his\nneck.\n\nAs he waited for the jury to return its verdict Billy sat in his cell\ntrying to read a newspaper which a kindly guard had given him. But his\neyes persisted in boring through the white paper and the black type to\nscenes that were not in any paper. He saw a turbulent river tumbling\nthrough a savage world, and in the swirl of the water lay a little\nisland. And he saw a man there upon the island, and a girl. The girl was\nteaching the man to speak the language of the cultured, and to view life\nas people of refinement view it.\n\nShe taught him what honor meant among her class, and that it was better\nto lose any other possession rather than lose honor. Billy realized that\nit had been these lessons that had spurred him on to the mad scheme that\nwas to end now with the verdict of \"Guilty\"--he had wished to vindicate\nhis honor. A hard laugh broke from his lips; but instantly he sobered\nand his face softened.\n\nIt had been for her sake after all, and what mattered it if they did\nsend him to the gallows? He had not sacrificed his honor--he had done\nhis best to assert it. He was innocent. They could kill him but they\ncouldn't make him guilty. A thousand juries pronouncing him so could not\nmake it true that he had killed Schneider.\n\nBut it would be hard, after all his hopes, after all the plans he had\nmade to live square, to SHOW THEM. His eyes still boring through the\npaper suddenly found themselves attracted by something in the text\nbefore them--a name, Harding.\n\nBilly Byrne shook himself and commenced to read:\n\n\nThe marriage of Barbara, daughter of Anthony Harding, the\nmultimillionaire, to William Mallory will take place on the twenty-fifth\nof June.\n\n\nThe article was dated New York. There was more, but Billy did not\nread it. He had read enough. It is true that he had urged her to marry\nMallory; but now, in his lonesomeness and friendlessness, he felt almost\nas though she had been untrue to him.\n\n\"Come along, Byrne,\" a bailiff interrupted his thoughts, \"the jury's\nreached a verdict.\"\n\nThe judge was emerging from his chambers as Billy was led into the\ncourtroom. Presently the jury filed in and took their seats. The foreman\nhanded the clerk a bit of paper. Even before it was read Billy knew\nthat he had been found guilty. He did not care any longer, so he told\nhimself. He hoped that the judge would send him to the gallows. There\nwas nothing more in life for him now anyway. He wanted to die. But\ninstead he was sentenced to life imprisonment in the penitentiary at\nJoliet.\n\nThis was infinitely worse than death. Billy Byrne was appalled at the\nthought of remaining for life within the grim stone walls of a prison.\nOnce more there swept over him all the old, unreasoning hatred of the\nlaw and all that pertained to it. He would like to close his steel\nfingers about the fat neck of the red-faced judge. The smug jurymen\nroused within him the lust to kill. Justice! Billy Byrne laughed aloud.\n\nA bailiff rapped for order. One of the jurymen leaned close to a\nneighbor and whispered. \"A hardened criminal,\" he said. \"Society will be\nsafer when he is behind the bars.\"\n\nThe next day they took Billy aboard a train bound for Joliet. He was\nhandcuffed to a deputy sheriff. Billy was calm outwardly; but inwardly\nhe was a raging volcano of hate.\n\n\nIn a certain very beautiful home on Riverside Drive, New York City,\na young lady, comfortably backed by downy pillows, sat in her bed and\nalternated her attention between coffee and rolls, and a morning paper.\n\nOn the inside of the main sheet a heading claimed her languid attention:\nCHICAGO MURDERER GIVEN LIFE SENTENCE. Of late Chicago had aroused in\nBarbara Harding a greater proportion of interest than ever it had in the\npast, and so it was that she now permitted her eyes to wander casually\ndown the printed column.\n\n\nMurderer of harmless old saloon keeper is finally brought to justice.\nThe notorious West Side rowdy, \"Billy\" Byrne, apprehended after more\nthan a year as fugitive from justice, is sent to Joliet for life.\n\n\nBarbara Harding sat stony-eyed and cold for what seemed many minutes.\nThen with a stifled sob she turned and buried her face in the pillows.\n\nThe train bearing Billy Byrne and the deputy sheriff toward Joliet had\ncovered perhaps half the distance between Chicago and Billy's permanent\ndestination when it occurred to the deputy sheriff that he should like\nto go into the smoker and enjoy a cigar.\n\nNow, from the moment that he had been sentenced Billy Byrne's mind had\nbeen centered upon one thought--escape. He knew that there probably\nwould be not the slightest chance for escape; but nevertheless the idea\nwas always uppermost in his thoughts.\n\nHis whole being revolted, not alone against the injustice which had\nsent him into life imprisonment, but at the thought of the long years of\nawful monotony which lay ahead of him.\n\nHe could not endure them. He would not! The deputy sheriff rose, and\nmotioning his prisoner ahead of him, started for the smoker. It was two\ncars ahead. The train was vestibuled. The first platform they crossed\nwas tightly enclosed; but at the second Billy saw that a careless porter\nhad left one of the doors open. The train was slowing down for some\nreason--it was going, perhaps, twenty miles an hour.\n\nBilly was the first upon the platform. He was the first to see the open\ndoor. It meant one of two things--a chance to escape, or, death. Even\nthe latter was to be preferred to life imprisonment.\n\nBilly did not hesitate an instant. Even before the deputy sheriff\nrealized that the door was open, his prisoner had leaped from the moving\ntrain dragging his guard after him.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II. THE ESCAPE\n\nBYRNE had no time to pick any particular spot to jump for. When he did\njump he might have been directly over a picket fence, or a bottomless\npit--he did not know. Nor did he care.\n\nAs it happened he was over neither. The platform chanced to be passing\nacross a culvert at the instant. Beneath the culvert was a slimy pool.\nInto this the two men plunged, alighting unharmed.\n\nByrne was the first to regain his feet. He dragged the deputy sheriff to\nhis knees, and before that frightened and astonished officer of the law\ncould gather his wits together he had been relieved of his revolver and\nfound himself looking into its cold and business-like muzzle.\n\nThen Billy Byrne waded ashore, prodding the deputy sheriff in the ribs\nwith cold steel, and warning him to silence. Above the pool stood a\nlittle wood, thick with tangled wildwood. Into this Byrne forced his\nprisoner.\n\nWhen they had come deep enough into the concealment of the foliage to\nmake discovery from the outside improbable Byrne halted.\n\n\"Now say yer prayers,\" he commanded. \"I'm a-going to croak yeh.\"\n\nThe deputy sheriff looked up at him in wild-eyed terror.\n\n\"My God!\" he cried. \"I ain't done nothin' to you, Byrne. Haven't I\nalways been your friend? What've I ever done to you? For God's sake\nByrne you ain't goin' to murder me, are you? They'll get you, sure.\"\n\nBilly Byrne let a rather unpleasant smile curl his lips.\n\n\"No,\" he said, \"youse ain't done nothin' to me; but you stand for the\nlaw, damn it, and I'm going to croak everything I meet that stands for\nthe law. They wanted to send me up for life--me, an innocent man. Your\nkind done it--the cops. You ain't no cop; but you're just as rotten. Now\nsay yer prayers.\"\n\nHe leveled the revolver at his victim's head. The deputy sheriff slumped\nto his knees and tried to embrace Billy Byrne's legs as he pleaded for\nhis life.\n\n\"Cut it out, you poor boob,\" admonished Billy. \"You've gotta die and if\nyou was half a man you'd wanna die like one.\"\n\nThe deputy sheriff slipped to the ground. His terror had overcome him,\nleaving him in happy unconsciousness. Byrne stood looking down upon the\nman for a moment. His wrist was chained to that of the other, and the\npull of the deputy's body was irritating.\n\nByrne stooped and placed the muzzle of the revolver back of the man's\near. \"Justice!\" he muttered, scornfully, and his finger tightened upon\nthe trigger.\n\nThen, conjured from nothing, there rose between himself and the\nunconscious man beside him the figure of a beautiful girl. Her face was\nbrave and smiling, and in her eyes was trust and pride--whole worlds of\nthem. Trust and pride in Billy Byrne.\n\nBilly closed his eyes tight as though in physical pain. He brushed his\nhand quickly across his face.\n\n\"Gawd!\" he muttered. \"I can't do it--but I came awful close to it.\"\n\nDropping the revolver into his side pocket he kneeled beside the deputy\nsheriff and commenced to go through the man's clothes. After a moment he\ncame upon what he sought--a key ring confining several keys.\n\nBilly found the one he wished and presently he was free. He still stood\nlooking at the deputy sheriff.\n\n\"I ought to croak you,\" he murmured. \"I'll never make my get-away if I\ndon't; but SHE won't let me--God bless her.\"\n\nSuddenly a thought came to Billy Byrne. If he could have a start he\nmight escape. It wouldn't hurt the man any to stay here for a few hours,\nor even for a day. Billy removed the deputy's coat and tore it into\nstrips. With these he bound the man to a tree. Then he fastened a gag in\nhis mouth.\n\nDuring the operation the deputy regained consciousness. He looked\nquestioningly at Billy.\n\n\"I decided not to croak you,\" explained the young man. \"I'm just a-goin'\nto leave you here for a while. They'll be lookin' all along the right o'\nway in a few hours--it won't be long afore they find you. Now so long,\nand take care of yerself, bo,\" and Billy Byrne had gone.\n\nA mistake that proved fortunate for Billy Byrne caused the penitentiary\nauthorities to expect him and his guard by a later train, so no\nsuspicion was aroused when they failed to come upon the train they\nreally had started upon. This gave Billy a good two hours' start that he\nwould not otherwise have had--an opportunity of which he made good use.\n\nWherefore it was that by the time the authorities awoke to the fact\nthat something had happened Billy Byrne was fifty miles west of Joliet,\nbowling along aboard a fast Santa Fe freight. Shortly after night had\nfallen the train crossed the Mississippi. Billy Byrne was hungry and\nthirsty, and as the train slowed down and came to a stop out in the\nmidst of a dark solitude of silent, sweet-smelling country, Billy opened\nthe door of his box car and dropped lightly to the ground.\n\nSo far no one had seen Billy since he had passed from the ken of the\ntrussed deputy sheriff, and as Billy had no desire to be seen he slipped\nover the edge of the embankment into a dry ditch, where he squatted upon\nhis haunches waiting for the train to depart. The stop out there in the\ndark night was one of those mysterious stops which trains are prone to\nmake, unexplained and doubtless unexplainable by any other than a higher\nintelligence which directs the movements of men and rolling stock. There\nwas no town, and not even a switch light. Presently two staccato blasts\nbroke from the engine's whistle, there was a progressive jerking at\ncoupling pins, which started up at the big locomotive and ran rapidly\ndown the length of the train, there was the squeaking of brake shoes\nagainst wheels, and the train moved slowly forward again upon its\nlong journey toward the coast, gaining momentum moment by moment until\nfinally the way-car rolled rapidly past the hidden fugitive and the\nfreight rumbled away to be swallowed up in the darkness.\n\nWhen it had gone Billy rose and climbed back upon the track, along which\nhe plodded in the wake of the departing train. Somewhere a road would\npresently cut across the track, and along the road there would be\nfarmhouses or a village where food and drink might be found.\n\nBilly was penniless, yet he had no doubt but that he should eat when he\nhad discovered food. He was thinking of this as he walked briskly toward\nthe west, and what he thought of induced a doubt in his mind as to\nwhether it was, after all, going to be so easy to steal food.\n\n\"Shaw!\" he exclaimed, half aloud, \"she wouldn't think it wrong for a guy\nto swipe a little grub when he was starvin'. It ain't like I was goin'\nto stick a guy up for his roll. Sure she wouldn't see nothin' wrong for\nme to get something to eat. I ain't got no money. They took it all away\nfrom me, an' I got a right to live--but, somehow, I hate to do it. I\nwisht there was some other way. Gee, but she's made a sissy out o' me!\nFunny how a feller can change. Why I almost like bein' a sissy,\" and\nBilly Byrne grinned at the almost inconceivable idea.\n\nBefore Billy came to a road he saw a light down in a little depression\nat one side of the track. It was not such a light as a lamp shining\nbeyond a window makes. It rose and fell, winking and flaring close to\nthe ground.\n\nIt looked much like a camp fire, and as Billy drew nearer he saw that\nsuch it was, and he heard a voice, too. Billy approached more carefully.\nHe must be careful always to see before being seen. The little fire\nburned upon the bank of a stream which the track bridged upon a concrete\narch.\n\nBilly dropped once more from the right of way, and climbed a fence into\na thin wood. Through this he approached the camp fire with small chance\nof being observed. As he neared it the voice resolved itself into\narticulate words, and presently Billy leaned against a tree close behind\nthe speaker and listened.\n\nThere was but a single figure beside the small fire--that of a man\nsquatting upon his haunches roasting something above the flames. At one\nedge of the fire was an empty tin can from which steam arose, and an\naroma that was now and again wafted to Billy's nostrils.\n\nCoffee! My, how good it smelled. Billy's mouth watered. But the\nvoice--that interested Billy almost as much as the preparations for the\ncoming meal.\n\n  We'll dance a merry saraband from here to drowsy Samarcand.\n    Along the sea, across the land, the birds are flying South,\n  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me,\n    With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.\n\n\nThe words took hold of Billy somewhere and made him forget his hunger.\nLike a sweet incense which induces pleasant daydreams they were wafted\nin upon him through the rich, mellow voice of the solitary camper, and\nthe lilt of the meter entered his blood.\n\nBut the voice. It was the voice of such as Billy Byrne always had\nloathed and ridiculed until he had sat at the feet of Barbara Harding\nand learned many things, including love. It was the voice of culture\nand refinement. Billy strained his eyes through the darkness to have a\ncloser look at the man. The light of the camp fire fell upon frayed and\nbagging clothes, and upon the back of a head covered by a shapeless, and\ndisreputable soft hat.\n\nObviously the man was a hobo. The coffee boiling in a discarded tin can\nwould have been proof positive of this without other evidence; but there\nseemed plenty more. Yes, the man was a hobo. Billy continued to stand\nlistening.\n\n  The mountains are all hid in mist, the valley is like amethyst,\n  The poplar leaves they turn and twist, oh, silver, silver green!\n  Out there somewhere along the sea a ship is waiting patiently,\n  While up the beach the bubbles slip with white afloat between.\n\n\n\"Gee!\" thought Billy Byrne; \"but that's great stuff. I wonder where he\ngets it. It makes me want to hike until I find that place he's singin'\nabout.\"\n\nBilly's thoughts were interrupted by a sound in the wood to one side of\nhim. As he turned his eyes in the direction of the slight noise which\nhad attracted him he saw two men step quietly out and cross toward the\nman at the camp fire.\n\nThese, too, were evidently hobos. Doubtless pals of the poetical one.\nThe latter did not hear them until they were directly behind him. Then\nhe turned slowly and rose as they halted beside his fire.\n\n\"Evenin', bo,\" said one of the newcomers.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen,\" replied the camper, \"welcome to my humble\nhome. Have you dined?\"\n\n\"Naw,\" replied the first speaker, \"we ain't; but we're goin' to. Now can\nthe chatter an' duck. There ain't enough fer one here, let alone\nthree. Beat it!\" and the man, who was big and burly, assumed a menacing\nattitude and took a truculent step nearer the solitary camper.\n\nThe latter was short and slender. The larger man looked as though\nhe might have eaten him at a single mouthful; but the camper did not\nflinch.\n\n\"You pain me,\" he said. \"You induce within me a severe and highly\nlocalized pain, and furthermore I don't like your whiskers.\"\n\nWith which apparently irrelevant remark he seized the matted beard of\nthe larger tramp and struck the fellow a quick, sharp blow in the face.\nInstantly the fellow's companion was upon him; but the camper retained\nhis death grip upon the beard of the now yelling bully and continued to\nrain blow after blow upon head and face.\n\nBilly Byrne was an interested spectator. He enjoyed a good fight as he\nenjoyed little else; but presently when the first tramp succeeded in\ntangling his legs about the legs of his chastiser and dragging him to\nthe ground, and the second tramp seized a heavy stick and ran forward to\ndash the man's brains out, Billy thought it time to interfere.\n\nStepping forward he called aloud as he came: \"Cut it out, boes! You\ncan't pull off any rough stuff like that with this here sweet singer.\nCan it! Can it!\" as the second tramp raised his stick to strike the now\nprostrate camper.\n\nAs he spoke Billy Byrne broke into a run, and as the stick fell he\nreached the man's side and swung a blow to the tramp's jaw that sent\nthe fellow spinning backward to the river's brim, where he tottered\ndrunkenly for a moment and then plunged backward into the shallow water.\n\nThen Billy seized the other attacker by the shoulder and dragged him to\nhis feet.\n\n\"Do you want some, too, you big stiff?\" he inquired.\n\nThe man spluttered and tried to break away, striking at Billy as he did\nso; but a sudden punch, such a punch as Billy Byrne had once handed the\nsurprised Harlem Hurricane, removed from the mind of the tramp the last\nvestige of any thought he might have harbored to do the newcomer bodily\ninjury, and with it removed all else from the man's mind, temporarily.\n\nAs the fellow slumped, unconscious, to the ground, the camper rose to\nhis feet.\n\n\"Some wallop you have concealed in your sleeve, my friend,\" he said;\n\"place it there!\" and he extended a slender, shapely hand.\n\nBilly took it and shook it.\n\n\"It don't get under the ribs like those verses of yours, though, bo,\" he\nreturned.\n\n\"It seems to have insinuated itself beneath this guy's thick skull,\"\nreplied the poetical one, \"and it's a cinch my verses, nor any other\nwould ever get there.\"\n\nThe tramp who had plumbed the depths of the creek's foot of water and\ntwo feet of soft mud was crawling ashore.\n\n\"Whadda YOU want now?\" inquired Billy Byrne. \"A piece o' soap?\"\n\n\"I'll get youse yet,\" spluttered the moist one through his watery\nwhiskers.\n\n\"Ferget it,\" admonished Billy, \"an' hit the trail.\" He pointed toward\nthe railroad right of way. \"An' you, too, John L,\" he added turning\nto the other victim of his artistic execution, who was now sitting up.\n\"Hike!\"\n\nMumbling and growling the two unwashed shuffled away, and were presently\nlost to view along the vanishing track.\n\nThe solitary camper had returned to his culinary effort, as unruffled\nand unconcerned, apparently, as though naught had occurred to disturb\nhis peaceful solitude.\n\n\"Sit down,\" he said after a moment, looking up at Billy, \"and have a\nbite to eat with me. Take that leather easy chair. The Louis Quatorze is\ntoo small and spindle-legged for comfort.\" He waved his hand invitingly\ntoward the sward beside the fire.\n\nFor a moment he was entirely absorbed in the roasting fowl impaled upon\na sharp stick which he held in his right hand. Then he presently broke\nagain into verse.\n\n  Around the world and back again; we saw it all.  The mist and rain\n\n   In England and the hot old plain from Needles to Berdoo.\n  We kept a-rambling all the time.  I rustled grub, he rustled rhyme--\n   Blind-baggage, hoof it, ride or climb--we always put it through.\n\n\n\"You're a good sort,\" he broke off, suddenly. \"There ain't many boes\nthat would have done as much for a fellow.\"\n\n\"It was two against one,\" replied Billy, \"an' I don't like them odds.\nBesides I like your poetry. Where d'ye get it--make it up?\"\n\n\"Lord, no,\" laughed the other. \"If I could do that I wouldn't be\npan-handling. A guy by the name of Henry Herbert Knibbs did them. Great,\nain't they?\"\n\n\"They sure is. They get me right where I live,\" and then, after a pause;\n\"sure you got enough fer two, bo?\"\n\n\"I have enough for you, old top,\" replied the host, \"even if I only had\nhalf as much as I have. Here, take first crack at the ambrosia. Sorry\nI have but a single cup; but James has broken the others. James is very\ncareless. Sometimes I almost feel that I shall have to let him go.\"\n\n\"Who's James?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"James? Oh, James is my man,\" replied the other.\n\nBilly looked up at his companion quizzically, then he tasted the dark,\nthick concoction in the tin can.\n\n\"This is coffee,\" he announced. \"I thought you said it was ambrose.\"\n\n\"I only wished to see if you would recognize it, my friend,\" replied the\npoetical one politely. \"I am highly complimented that you can guess what\nit is from its taste.\"\n\nFor several minutes the two ate in silence, passing the tin can back and\nforth, and slicing--hacking would be more nearly correct--pieces of meat\nfrom the half-roasted fowl. It was Billy who broke the silence.\n\n\"I think,\" said he, \"that you been stringin' me--'bout James and\nambrose.\"\n\nThe other laughed good-naturedly.\n\n\"You are not offended, I hope,\" said he. \"This is a sad old world, you\nknow, and we're all looking for amusement. If a guy has no money to buy\nit with, he has to manufacture it.\"\n\n\"Sure, I ain't sore,\" Billy assured him. \"Say, spiel that part again\n'bout Penelope with the kisses on her mouth, an' you can kid me till the\ncows come home.\"\n\nThe camper by the creek did as Billy asked him, while the latter sat\nwith his eyes upon the fire seeing in the sputtering little flames the\noval face of her who was Penelope to him.\n\nWhen the verse was completed he reached forth his hand and took the tin\ncan in his strong fingers, raising it before his face.\n\n\"Here's to--to his Knibbs!\" he said, and drank, passing the battered\nthing over to his new friend.\n\n\"Yes,\" said the other; \"here's to his Knibbs, and--Penelope!\"\n\n\"Drink hearty,\" returned Billy Byrne.\n\nThe poetical one drew a sack of tobacco from his hip pocket and a\nrumpled package of papers from the pocket of his shirt, extending both\ntoward Billy.\n\n\"Want the makings?\" he asked.\n\n\"I ain't stuck on sponging,\" said Billy; \"but maybe I can get even some\nday, and I sure do want a smoke. You see I was frisked. I ain't got\nnothin'--they didn't leave me a sou markee.\"\n\nBilly reached across one end of the fire for the tobacco and cigarette\npapers. As he did so the movement bared his wrist, and as the firelight\nfell upon it the marks of the steel bracelet showed vividly. In the fall\nfrom the train the metal had bitten into the flesh.\n\nHis companion's eyes happened to fall upon the telltale mark. There\nwas an almost imperceptible raising of the man's eyebrows; but he said\nnothing to indicate that he had noticed anything out of the ordinary.\n\nThe two smoked on for many minutes without indulging in conversation.\nThe camper quoted snatches from Service and Kipling, then he came back\nto Knibbs, who was evidently his favorite. Billy listened and thought.\n\n\"Goin' anywheres in particular?\" he asked during a momentary lull in the\nrecitation.\n\n\"Oh, south or west,\" replied the other. \"Nowhere in particular--any\nplace suits me just so it isn't north or east.\"\n\n\"That's me,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Let's travel double, then,\" said the poetical one. \"My name's Bridge.\"\n\n\"And mine's Billy. Here, shake,\" and Byrne extended his hand.\n\n\"Until one of us gets wearied of the other's company,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"You're on,\" replied Billy. \"Let's turn in.\"\n\n\"Good,\" exclaimed Bridge. \"I wonder what's keeping James. He should have\nbeen here long since to turn down my bed and fix my bath.\"\n\nBilly grinned and rolled over on his side, his head uphill and his feet\ntoward the fire. A couple of feet away Bridge paralleled him, and in\nfive minutes both were breathing deeply in healthy slumber.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III. \"FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS REWARD\"\n\n\"'WE KEPT a-rambling all the time. I rustled grub, he rustled rhyme,'\"\nquoted Billy Byrne, sitting up and stretching himself.\n\nHis companion roused and came to one elbow. The sun was topping the\nscant wood behind them, glinting on the surface of the little creek. A\nrobin hopped about the sward quite close to them, and from the branch\nof a tree a hundred yards away came the sweet piping of a song bird.\nFarther off were the distance-subdued noises of an awakening farm. The\nlowing of cows, the crowing of a rooster, the yelping of a happy dog\njust released from a night of captivity.\n\nBridge yawned and stretched. Billy rose to his feet and shook himself.\n\n\"This is the life,\" said Bridge. \"Where you going?\"\n\n\"To rustle grub,\" replied Billy. \"That's my part o' the sketch.\"\n\nThe other laughed. \"Go to it,\" he said. \"I hate it. That's the part that\nhas come nearest making me turn respectable than any other. I hate to\nask for a hand-out.\"\n\nBilly shrugged. He'd done worse things than that in his life, and off he\ntrudged, whistling. He felt happier than he had for many a day. He never\nhad guessed that the country in the morning could be so beautiful.\n\nBehind him his companion collected the material for a fire, washed\nhimself in the creek, and set the tin can, filled with water, at the\nedge of the kindling, and waited. There was nothing to cook, so it was\nuseless to light the fire. As he sat there, thinking, his mind reverted\nto the red mark upon Billy's wrist, and he made a wry face.\n\nBilly approached the farmhouse from which the sounds of awakening still\nemanated. The farmer saw him coming, and ceasing his activities about\nthe barnyard, leaned across a gate and eyed him, none too hospitably.\n\n\"I wanna get something to eat,\" explained Billy.\n\n\"Got any money to pay for it with?\" asked the farmer quickly.\n\n\"No,\" said Billy; \"but me partner an' me are hungry, an' we gotta eat.\"\n\nThe farmer extended a gnarled forefinger and pointed toward the rear\nof the house. Billy looked in the direction thus indicated and espied a\nwoodpile. He grinned good naturedly.\n\nWithout a word he crossed to the corded wood, picked up an ax which was\nstuck in a chopping block, and, shedding his coat, went to work. The\nfarmer resumed his chores. Half an hour later he stopped on his way in\nto breakfast and eyed the growing pile that lay beside Billy.\n\n\"You don't hev to chop all the wood in the county to get a meal from Jed\nWatson,\" he said.\n\n\"I wanna get enough for me partner, too,\" explained Billy.\n\n\"Well, yew've chopped enough fer two meals, son,\" replied the farmer,\nand turning toward the kitchen door, he called: \"Here, Maw, fix this boy\nup with suthin' t'eat--enough fer a couple of meals fer two on 'em.\"\n\nAs Billy walked away toward his camp, his arms laden with milk, butter,\neggs, a loaf of bread and some cold meat, he grinned rather contentedly.\n\n\"A year or so ago,\" he mused, \"I'd a stuck 'em up fer this, an' thought\nI was smart. Funny how a feller'll change--an' all fer a skirt. A skirt\nthat belongs to somebody else now, too. Hell! what's the difference,\nanyhow? She'd be glad if she knew, an' it makes me feel better to act\nlike she'd want. That old farmer guy, now. Who'd ever have taken him fer\nhavin' a heart at all? Wen I seen him first I thought he'd like to sic\nthe dog on me, an' there he comes along an' tells 'Maw' to pass me a\nhand-out like this! Gee! it's a funny world. She used to say that most\neverybody was decent if you went at 'em right, an' I guess she knew.\nShe knew most everything, anyway. Lord, I wish she'd been born on Grand\nAve., or I on Riverside Drive!\"\n\nAs Billy walked up to his waiting companion, who had touched a match to\nthe firewood as he sighted the numerous packages in the forager's arms,\nhe was repeating, over and over, as though the words held him in the\nthrall of fascination: \"There ain't no sweet Penelope somewhere that's\nlonging much for me.\"\n\nBridge eyed the packages as Billy deposited them carefully and one at\na time upon the grass beside the fire. The milk was in a clean little\ngraniteware pail, the eggs had been placed in a paper bag, while the\nother articles were wrapped in pieces of newspaper.\n\nAs the opening of each revealed its contents, fresh, clean, and\ninviting, Bridge closed one eye and cocked the other up at Billy.\n\n\"Did he die hard?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Did who die hard?\" demanded the other.\n\n\"Why the dog, of course.\"\n\n\"He ain't dead as I know of,\" replied Billy.\n\n\"You don't mean to say, my friend, that they let you get away with all\nthis without sicing the dog on you,\" said Bridge.\n\nBilly laughed and explained, and the other was relieved--the red mark\naround Billy's wrist persisted in remaining uppermost in Bridge's mind.\n\nWhen they had eaten they lay back upon the grass and smoked some more of\nBridge's tobacco.\n\n\"Well,\" inquired Bridge, \"what's doing now?\"\n\n\"Let's be hikin',\" said Billy.\n\nBridge rose and stretched. \"'My feet are tired and need a change. Come\non! It's up to you!'\" he quoted.\n\nBilly gathered together the food they had not yet eaten, and made two\nequal-sized packages of it. He handed one to Bridge.\n\n\"We'll divide the pack,\" he explained, \"and here, drink the rest o' this\nmilk, I want the pail.\"\n\n\"What are you going to do with the pail?\" asked Bridge.\n\n\"Return it,\" said Billy. \"'Maw' just loaned it to me.\"\n\nBridge elevated his eyebrows a trifle. He had been mistaken, after all.\nAt the farmhouse the farmer's wife greeted them kindly, thanked Billy\nfor returning her pail--which, if the truth were known, she had not\nexpected to see again--and gave them each a handful of thick, light,\ngolden-brown cookies, the tops of which were encrusted with sugar.\n\nAs they walked away Bridge sighed. \"Nothing on earth like a good woman,\"\nhe said.\n\n\"'Maw,' or 'Penelope'?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"Either, or both,\" replied Bridge. \"I have no Penelope, but I did have a\nmighty fine 'maw'.\"\n\nBilly made no reply. He was thinking of the slovenly, blear-eyed woman\nwho had brought him into the world. The memory was far from pleasant. He\ntried to shake it off.\n\n\"'Bridge,'\" he said, quite suddenly, and apropos of nothing, in an\neffort to change the subject. \"That's an odd name. I've heard of Bridges\nand Bridger; but I never heard Bridge before.\"\n\n\"Just a name a fellow gave me once up on the Yukon,\" explained Bridge.\n\"I used to use a few words he'd never heard before, so he called me 'The\nUnabridged,' which was too long. The fellows shortened it to 'Bridge'\nand it stuck. It has always stuck, and now I haven't any other. I even\nthink of myself, now, as Bridge. Funny, ain't it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Billy, and that was the end of it. He never thought\nof asking his companion's true name, any more than Bridge would have\nquestioned him as to his, or of his past. The ethics of the roadside\nfire and the empty tomato tin do not countenance such impertinences.\n\nFor several days the two continued their leisurely way toward Kansas\nCity. Once they rode a few miles on a freight train, but for the most\npart they were content to plod joyously along the dusty highways. Billy\ncontinued to \"rustle grub,\" while Bridge relieved the monotony by an\noccasional burst of poetry.\n\n\"You know so much of that stuff,\" said Billy as they were smoking by\ntheir camp fire one evening, \"that I'd think you'd be able to make some\nup yourself.\"\n\n\"I've tried,\" admitted Bridge; \"but there always seems to be something\nlacking in my stuff--it don't get under your belt--the divine afflatus\nis not there. I may start out all right, but I always end up where I\ndidn't expect to go, and where nobody wants to be.\"\n\n\"'Member any of it?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"There was one I wrote about a lake where I camped once,\" said Bridge,\nreminiscently; \"but I can only recall one stanza.\"\n\n\"Let's have it,\" urged Billy. \"I bet it has Knibbs hangin' to the\nropes.\"\n\nBridge cleared his throat, and recited:\n\n\n  Silver are the ripples,\n  Solemn are the dunes,\n  Happy are the fishes,\n  For they are full of prunes.\n\n\nHe looked up at Billy, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.\n\"How's that?\" he asked.\n\nBilly scratched his head.\n\n\"It's all right but the last line,\" said Billy, candidly. \"There is\nsomething wrong with that last line.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Bridge, \"there is.\"\n\n\"I guess Knibbs is safe for another round at least,\" said Billy.\n\nBridge was eying his companion, noting the broad shoulders, the deep\nchest, the mighty forearm and biceps which the other's light cotton\nshirt could not conceal.\n\n\"It is none of my business,\" he said presently; \"but from your general\nappearance, from bits of idiom you occasionally drop, and from the way\nyou handled those two boes the night we met I should rather surmise that\nat some time or other you had been less than a thousand miles from the\nw.k. roped arena.\"\n\n\"I seen a prize fight once,\" admitted Billy.\n\nIt was the day before they were due to arrive in Kansas City that Billy\nearned a hand-out from a restaurant keeper in a small town by doing some\nodd jobs for the man. The food he gave Billy was wrapped in an old copy\nof the Kansas City Star. When Billy reached camp he tossed the package\nto Bridge, who, in addition to his honorable post as poet laureate, was\nalso cook. Then Billy walked down to the stream, near-by, that he might\nwash away the grime and sweat of honest toil from his hands and face.\n\nAs Bridge unwrapped the package and the paper unfolded beneath his eyes\nan article caught his attention--just casually at first; but presently\nto the exclusion of all else. As he read his eyebrows alternated\nbetween a position of considerable elevation to that of a deep frown.\nOccasionally he nodded knowingly. Finally he glanced up at Billy who was\njust rising from his ablutions. Hastily Bridge tore from the paper the\narticle that had attracted his interest, folded it, and stuffed it into\none of his pockets--he had not had time to finish the reading and he\nwanted to save the article for a later opportunity for careful perusal.\n\nThat evening Bridge sat for a long time scrutinizing Billy through\nhalf-closed lids, and often he found his eyes wandering to the red ring\nabout the other's wrist; but whatever may have been within his thoughts\nhe kept to himself.\n\nIt was noon when the two sauntered into Kansas City. Billy had a\ndollar in his pocket--a whole dollar. He had earned it assisting an\nautomobilist out of a ditch.\n\n\"We'll have a swell feed,\" he had confided to Bridge, \"an' sleep in a\nbed just to learn how much nicer it is sleepin' out under the black sky\nand the shiny little stars.\"\n\n\"You're a profligate, Billy,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"I dunno what that means,\" said Billy; \"but if it's something I\nshouldn't be I probably am.\"\n\nThe two went to a rooming-house of which Bridge knew, where they could\nget a clean room with a double bed for fifty cents. It was rather a high\nprice to pay, of course, but Bridge was more or less fastidious, and\nhe admitted to Billy that he'd rather sleep in the clean dirt of the\nroadside than in the breed of dirt one finds in an unclean bed.\n\nAt the end of the hall was a washroom, and toward this Bridge made his\nway, after removing his coat and throwing it across the foot of the\nbed. After he had left the room Billy chanced to notice a folded bit of\nnewspaper on the floor beneath Bridge's coat. He picked it up to lay\nit on the little table which answered the purpose of a dresser when a\nsingle word caught his attention. It was a name: Schneider.\n\nBilly unfolded the clipping and as his eyes took in the heading a\nstrange expression entered them--a hard, cold gleam such as had not\ntouched them since the day that he abandoned the deputy sheriff in the\nwoods midway between Chicago and Joliet.\n\nThis is what Billy read:\n\n\nBilly Byrne, sentenced to life imprisonment in Joliet penitentiary for\nthe murder of Schneider, the old West Side saloon keeper, hurled himself\nfrom the train that was bearing him to Joliet yesterday, dragging with\nhim the deputy sheriff to whom he was handcuffed.\n\nThe deputy was found a few hours later bound and gagged, lying in the\nwoods along the Santa Fe, not far from Lemont. He was uninjured. He\nsays that Byrne got a good start, and doubtless took advantage of it to\nreturn to Chicago, where a man of his stamp could find more numerous and\nsafer retreats than elsewhere.\n\n\nThere was much more--a detailed account of the crime for the commission\nof which Billy had been sentenced, a full and complete description of\nBilly, a record of his long years of transgression, and, at last, the\nmention of a five-hundred-dollar reward that the authorities had offered\nfor information that would lead to his arrest.\n\nWhen Billy had concluded the reading he refolded the paper and placed it\nin a pocket of the coat hanging upon the foot of the bed. A moment\nlater Bridge entered the room. Billy caught himself looking often at\nhis companion, and always there came to his mind the termination of\nthe article he had found in Bridge's pocket--the mention of the\nfive-hundred-dollar reward.\n\n\"Five hundred dollars,\" thought Billy, \"is a lot o' coin. I just wonder\nnow,\" and he let his eyes wander to his companion as though he might\nread upon his face the purpose which lay in the man's heart. \"He don't\nlook it; but five hundred dollars is a lot o' coin--fer a bo, and\nwotinell did he have that article hid in his clothes fer? That's wot I'd\nlike to know. I guess it's up to me to blow.\"\n\nAll the recently acquired content which had been Billy's since he\nhad come upon the poetic Bridge and the two had made their carefree,\nleisurely way along shaded country roadsides, or paused beside cool\nbrooklets that meandered lazily through sweet-smelling meadows, was\ndissipated in the instant that he had realized the nature of the article\nhis companion had been carrying and hiding from him.\n\nFor days no thought of pursuit or capture had arisen to perplex him. He\nhad seemed such a tiny thing out there amidst the vastness of rolling\nhills, of woods, and plain that there had been induced within him an\nunconscious assurance that no one could find him even though they might\nseek for him.\n\nThe idea of meeting a plain clothes man from detective headquarters\naround the next bend of a peaceful Missouri road was so preposterous\nand incongruous that Billy had found it impossible to give the matter\nserious thought.\n\nHe never before had been in the country districts of his native land. To\nhim the United States was all like Chicago or New York or Milwaukee, the\nthree cities with which he was most familiar. His experience of unurban\nlocalities had been gained amidst the primeval jungles of far-away Yoka.\nThere had been no detective sergeants there--unquestionably there could\nbe none here. Detective sergeants were indigenous to the soil that\ngrew corner saloons and poolrooms, and to none other--as well expect\nto discover one of Oda Yorimoto's samurai hiding behind a fire plug\non Michigan Boulevard, as to look for one of those others along a\nfarm-bordered road.\n\nBut here in Kansas City, amidst the noises and odors that meant a large\ncity, it was different. Here the next man he met might be looking for\nhim, or if not then the very first policeman they encountered could\narrest him upon a word from Bridge--and Bridge would get five hundred\ndollars. Just then Bridge burst forth into poetry:\n\n\n  In a flannel shirt from earth's clean dirt,\n    Here, pal, is my calloused hand!\n  Oh, I love each day as a rover may,\n    Nor seek to understand.\n  To enjoy is good enough for me;\n    The gypsy of God am I.\n  Then here's a hail to--\n\n\n\"Say,\" he interrupted himself; \"what's the matter with going out now and\nwrapping ourselves around that swell feed you were speaking of?\"\n\nBilly rose. It didn't seem possible that Bridge could be going to\ndouble-cross him.\n\n\n  In a flannel shirt from earth's clean dirt,\n    Here, pal, is my calloused hand!\n\n\nBilly repeated the lines half aloud. They renewed his confidence in\nBridge, somehow.\n\n\"Like them?\" asked the latter.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Billy; \"s'more of Knibbs?\"\n\n\"No, Service. Come on, let's go and dine. How about the Midland?\" and he\ngrinned at his little joke as he led the way toward the street.\n\nIt was late afternoon. The sun already had set; but it still was too\nlight for lamps. Bridge led the way toward a certain eating-place of\nwhich he knew where a man might dine well and from a clean platter for\ntwo bits. Billy had been keeping his eyes open for detectives. They\nhad passed no uniformed police--that would be the crucial test, thought\nhe--unless Bridge intended tipping off headquarters on the quiet and\nhaving the pinch made at night after Billy had gone to bed.\n\nAs they reached the little restaurant, which was in a basement, Bridge\nmotioned Billy down ahead of him. Just for an instant he, himself,\npaused at the head of the stairs and looked about. As he did so a man\nstepped from the shadow of a doorway upon the opposite side of the\nstreet.\n\nIf Bridge saw him he apparently gave no sign, for he turned slowly and\nwith deliberate steps followed Billy down into the eating-place.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV. ON THE TRAIL. AS THEY entered the place Billy, who was\nahead, sought a table; but as he was about to hang up his cap and seat\nhimself Bridge touched his elbow.\n\n\"Let's go to the washroom and clean up a bit,\" he said, in a voice that\nmight be heard by those nearest.\n\n\"Why, we just washed before we left our room,\" expostulated Billy.\n\n\"Shut up and follow me,\" Bridge whispered into his ear.\n\nImmediately Billy was all suspicion. His hand flew to the pocket in\nwhich the gun of the deputy sheriff still rested. They would never\ntake him alive, of that Billy was positive. He wouldn't go back to life\nimprisonment, not after he had tasted the sweet freedom of the wide\nspaces--such a freedom as the trammeled city cannot offer.\n\nBridge saw the movement.\n\n\"Cut it,\" he whispered, \"and follow me, as I tell you. I just saw a\nChicago dick across the street. He may not have seen you, but it looked\nalmighty like it. He'll be down here in about two seconds now. Come\non--we'll beat it through the rear--I know the way.\"\n\nBilly Byrne heaved a great sigh of relief. Suddenly he was almost\nreconciled to the thought of capture, for in the instant he had realized\nthat it had not been so much his freedom that he had dreaded to lose as\nhis faith in the companion in whom he had believed.\n\nWithout sign of haste the two walked the length of the room and\ndisappeared through the doorway leading into the washroom. Before them\nwas a window opening upon a squalid back yard. The building stood upon\na hillside, so that while the entrance to the eating-place was below the\nlevel of the street in front, its rear was flush with the ground.\n\nBridge motioned Billy to climb through the window while he shot the bolt\nupon the inside of the door leading back into the restaurant. A moment\nlater he followed the fugitive, and then took the lead.\n\nDown narrow, dirty alleys, and through litter-piled back yards he made\nhis way, while Billy followed at his heels. Dusk was gathering, and\nbefore they had gone far darkness came.\n\nThey neither paused nor spoke until they had left the business portion\nof the city behind and were well out of the zone of bright lights.\nBridge was the first to break the silence.\n\n\"I suppose you wonder how I knew,\" he said.\n\n\"No,\" replied Billy. \"I seen that clipping you got in your pocket--it\nfell out on the floor when you took your coat off in the room this\nafternoon to go and wash.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Bridge, \"I see. Well, as far as I'm concerned that's the end\nof it--we won't mention it again, old man. I don't need to tell you that\nI'm for you.\"\n\n\"No, not after tonight,\" Billy assured him.\n\nThey went on again for some little time without speaking, then Billy\nsaid:\n\n\"I got two things to tell you. The first is that after I seen that\nnewspaper article in your clothes I thought you was figurin' on\ndouble-crossin' me an' claimin' the five hun. I ought to of known\nbetter. The other is that I didn't kill Schneider. I wasn't near his\nplace that night--an' that's straight.\"\n\n\"I'm glad you told me both,\" said Bridge. \"I think we'll understand each\nother better after this--we're each runnin' away from something. We'll\nrun together, eh?\" and he extended his hand. \"In flannel shirt from\nearth's clean dirt, here, pal, is my calloused hand!\" he quoted,\nlaughing.\n\nBilly took the other's hand. He noticed that Bridge hadn't said what HE\nwas running away from. Billy wondered; but asked no questions.\n\nSouth they went after they had left the city behind, out into the sweet\nand silent darkness of the country. During the night they crossed the\nline into Kansas, and morning found them in a beautiful, hilly country\nto which all thoughts of cities, crime, and police seemed so utterly\nforeign that Billy could scarce believe that only a few hours before a\nChicago detective had been less than a hundred feet from him.\n\nThe new sun burst upon them as they topped a grassy hill. The\ndew-bespangled blades scintillated beneath the gorgeous rays which would\npresently sweep them away again into the nothingness from which they had\nsprung.\n\nBridge halted and stretched himself. He threw his head back and let the\nwarm sun beat down upon his bronzed face.\n\n\n  There's sunshine in the heart of me,\n  My blood sings in the breeze;\n  The mountains are a part of me,\n  I'm fellow to the trees.\n  My golden youth I'm squandering,\n  Sun-libertine am I,\n  A-wandering, a-wandering,\n  Until the day I die.\n\n\nAnd then he stood for minutes drinking in deep breaths of the pure,\nsweet air of the new day. Beside him, a head taller, savagely strong,\nstood Billy Byrne, his broad shoulders squared, his great chest\nexpanding as he inhaled.\n\n\"It's great, ain't it?\" he said, at last. \"I never knew the country was\nlike this, an' I don't know that I ever would have known it if it hadn't\nbeen for those poet guys you're always spouting.\n\n\"I always had an idea they was sissy fellows,\" he went on; \"but a guy\ncan't be a sissy an' think the thoughts they musta thought to write\nstuff that sends the blood chasin' through a feller like he'd had a\ndrink on an empty stomach.\n\n\"I used to think everybody was a sissy who wasn't a tough guy. I was a\ntough guy all right, an' I was mighty proud of it. I ain't any more an'\nhaven't been for a long time; but before I took a tumble to myself I'd\nhave hated you, Bridge. I'd a-hated your fine talk, an' your poetry, an'\nthe thing about you that makes you hate to touch a guy for a hand-out.\n\n\"I'd a-hated myself if I'd thought that I could ever talk mushy like I\nam now. Gee, Bridge, but I was the limit! A girl--a nice girl--called\nme a mucker once, an' a coward. I was both; but I had the reputation of\nbein' the toughest guy on the West Side, an' I thought I was a man. I\nnearly poked her face for her--think of it, Bridge! I nearly did; but\nsomething stopped me--something held my hand from it, an' lately I've\nliked to think that maybe what stopped me was something in me that had\nalways been there--something decent that was really a part of me. I hate\nto think that I was such a beast at heart as I acted like all my life\nup to that minute. I began to change then. It was mighty slow, an' I'm\nstill a roughneck; but I'm gettin' on. She helped me most, of course,\nan' now you're helpin' me a lot, too--you an' your poetry stuff. If some\ndick don't get me I may get to be a human bein' before I die.\"\n\nBridge laughed.\n\n\"It IS odd,\" he said, \"how our viewpoints change with changed\nenvironment and the passing of the years. Time was, Billy, when I'd have\nhated you as much as you would have hated me. I don't know that I should\nhave said hate, for that is not exactly the word. It was more contempt\nthat I felt for men whom I considered as not belonging upon that\nintellectual or social plane to which I considered I had been born.\n\n\"I thought of people who moved outside my limited sphere as 'the great\nunwashed.' I pitied them, and I honestly believe now that in the bottom\nof my heart I considered them of different clay than I, and with souls,\nif they possessed such things, about on a par with the souls of sheep\nand cows.\n\n\"I couldn't have seen the man in you, Billy, then, any more than you\ncould have seen the man in me. I have learned much since then, though\nI still stick to a part of my original articles of faith--I do believe\nthat all men are not equal; and I know that there are a great many more\nwith whom I would not pal than there are those with whom I would.\n\n\"Because one man speaks better English than another, or has read\nmore and remembers it, only makes him a better man in that particular\nrespect. I think none the less of you because you can't quote Browning\nor Shakespeare--the thing that counts is that you can appreciate, as I\ndo, Service and Kipling and Knibbs.\n\n\"Now maybe we are both wrong--maybe Knibbs and Kipling and Service\ndidn't write poetry, and some people will say as much; but whatever it\nis it gets you and me in the same way, and so in this respect we are\nequals. Which being the case let's see if we can't rustle some grub, and\nthen find a nice soft spot whereon to pound our respective ears.\"\n\nBilly, deciding that he was too sleepy to work for food, invested half\nof the capital that was to have furnished the swell feed the night\nbefore in what two bits would purchase from a generous housewife on a\nnear-by farm, and then, stretching themselves beneath the shade of\na tree sufficiently far from the road that they might not attract\nunnecessary observation, they slept until after noon.\n\nBut their precaution failed to serve their purpose entirely. A\nlittle before noon two filthy, bearded knights of the road clambered\nlaboriously over the fence and headed directly for the very tree under\nwhich Billy and Bridge lay sleeping. In the minds of the two was the\nsame thought that had induced Billy Byrne and the poetic Bridge to seek\nthis same secluded spot.\n\nThere was in the stiff shuffle of the men something rather familiar.\nWe have seen them before--just for a few minutes it is true; but under\ncircumstances that impressed some of their characteristics upon us. The\nvery last we saw of them they were shuffling away in the darkness along\na railroad track, after promising that eventually they would wreak dire\nvengeance upon Billy, who had just trounced them.\n\nNow as they came unexpectedly upon the two sleepers they did not\nimmediately recognize in them the objects of their recent hate. They\njust stood looking stupidly down on them, wondering in what way they\nmight turn their discovery to their own advantage.\n\nNothing in the raiment either of Billy or Bridge indicated that here was\nany particularly rich field for loot, and, too, the athletic figure\nof Byrne would rather have discouraged any attempt to roll him without\nfirst handing him the \"k.o.\", as the two would have naively put it.\n\nBut as they gazed down upon the features of the sleepers the eyes of one\nof the tramps narrowed to two ugly slits while those of his companion\nwent wide in incredulity and surprise.\n\n\"Do youse know dem guys?\" asked the first, and without waiting for a\nreply he went on: \"Dem's de guys dat beat us up back dere de udder side\no' K. C. Do youse get 'em?\"\n\n\"Sure?\" asked the other.\n\n\"Sure, I'd know dem in a t'ous'n'. Le's hand 'em a couple an' beat it,\"\nand he stooped to pick up a large stone that lay near at hand.\n\n\"Cut it!\" whispered the second tramp. \"Youse don't know dem guys at all.\nDey may be de guys dat beats us up; but dat big stiff dere is more dan\ndat. He's wanted in Chi, an' dere's half a t'ou on 'im.\"\n\n\"Who put youse jerry to all dat?\" inquired the first tramp, skeptically.\n\n\"I was in de still wit 'im--he croaked some guy. He's a lifer. On de way\nto de pen he pushes dis dick off'n de rattler an' makes his get-away.\nDat peter-boy we meets at Quincy slips me an earful about him. Here's\nw'ere we draws down de five hundred if we're cagey.\"\n\n\"Whaddaya mean, cagey?\"\n\n\"Why we leaves 'em alone an' goes to de nex' farm an' calls up K. C. an'\ntips off de dicks, see?\"\n\n\"Youse don't tink we'll get any o' dat five hun, do youse, wit de dicks\nin on it?\"\n\nThe other scratched his head.\n\n\"No,\" he said, rather dubiously, after a moment's deep thought; \"dey\ndon't nobody get nothin' dat de dicks see first; but we'll get even with\ndese blokes, annyway.\"\n\n\"Maybe dey'll pass us a couple bucks,\" said the other hopefully. \"Dey'd\norter do dat much.\"\n\nDetective Sergeant Flannagan of Headquarters, Chicago, slouched in a\nchair in the private office of the chief of detectives of Kansas City,\nMissouri. Sergeant Flannagan was sore. He would have said as much\nhimself. He had been sent west to identify a suspect whom the Kansas\nCity authorities had arrested; but had been unable to do so, and had\nbeen preparing to return to his home city when the brilliant aureola of\nan unusual piece of excellent fortune had shone upon him for a\nmoment, and then faded away through the grimy entrance of a basement\neating-place.\n\nHe had been walking along the street the previous evening thinking\nof nothing in particular; but with eyes and ears alert as becomes a\nsuccessful police officer, when he had espied two men approaching upon\nthe opposite sidewalk.\n\nThere was something familiar in the swing of the giant frame of one of\nthe men. So, true to years of training, Sergeant Flannagan melted into\nthe shadows of a store entrance and waited until the two should have\ncome closer.\n\nThey were directly opposite him when the truth flashed upon him--the big\nfellow was Billy Byrne, and there was a five-hundred-dollar reward out\nfor him.\n\nAnd then the two turned and disappeared down the stairway that led to\nthe underground restaurant. Sergeant Flannagan saw Byrne's companion\nturn and look back just as Flannagan stepped from the doorway to cross\nthe street after them.\n\nThat was the last Sergeant Flannagan had seen either of Billy Byrne or\nhis companion. The trail had ceased at the open window of the washroom\nat the rear of the restaurant, and search as he would be had been unable\nto pick it up again.\n\nNo one in Kansas City had seen two men that night answering the\ndescriptions Flannagan had been able to give--at least no one whom\nFlannagan could unearth.\n\nFinally he had been forced to take the Kansas City chief into his\nconfidence, and already a dozen men were scouring such sections of\nKansas City in which it seemed most likely an escaped murderer would\nchoose to hide.\n\nFlannagan had been out himself for a while; but now he was in to learn\nwhat progress, if any, had been made. He had just learned that three\nsuspects had been arrested and was waiting to have them paraded before\nhim.\n\nWhen the door swung in and the three were escorted into his presence\nSergeant Flannagan gave a snort of disgust, indicative probably not\nonly of despair; but in a manner registering his private opinion of the\nmental horse power and efficiency of the Kansas City sleuths, for of\nthe three one was a pasty-faced, chestless youth, even then under the\ninfluence of cocaine, another was an old, bewhiskered hobo, while the\nthird was unquestionably a Chinaman.\n\nEven professional courtesy could scarce restrain Sergeant Flannagan's\ndesire toward bitter sarcasm, and he was upon the point of launching\nforth into a vitriolic arraignment of everything west of Chicago up to\nand including, specifically, the Kansas City detective bureau, when the\ntelephone bell at the chief's desk interrupted him. He had wanted the\nchief to hear just what he thought, so he waited.\n\nThe chief listened for a few minutes, asked several questions and\nthen, placing a fat hand over the transmitter, he wheeled about toward\nFlannagan.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I guess I got something for you at last. There's a\nbo on the wire that says he's just seen your man down near Shawnee. He\nwants to know if you'll split the reward with him.\"\n\nFlannagan yawned and stretched.\n\n\"I suppose,\" he said, ironically, \"that if I go down there I'll\nfind he's corraled a nigger,\" and he looked sorrowfully at the three\nspecimens before him.\n\n\"I dunno,\" said the chief. \"This guy says he knows Byrne well, an' that\nhe's got it in for him. Shall I tell him you'll be down--and split the\nreward?\"\n\n\"Tell him I'll be down and that I'll treat him right,\" replied\nFlannagan, and after the chief had transmitted the message, and hung up\nthe receiver: \"Where is this here Shawnee, anyhow?\"\n\n\"I'll send a couple of men along with you. It isn't far across the line,\nan' there won't be no trouble in getting back without nobody knowin'\nanything about it--if you get him.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Flannagan, his visions of five hundred already\ndwindled to a possible one.\n\nIt was but a little past one o'clock that a touring car rolled south out\nof Kansas City with Detective Sergeant Flannagan in the front seat with\nthe driver and two burly representatives of Missouri law in the back.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V. ONE TURN DESERVES ANOTHER\n\nWHEN the two tramps approached the farmhouse at which Billy had\npurchased food a few hours before the farmer's wife called the dog that\nwas asleep in the summer kitchen and took a shotgun down from its hook\nbeside the door.\n\nFrom long experience the lady was a reader of character--of hobo\ncharacter at least--and she saw nothing in the appearance of either\nof these two that inspired even a modicum of confidence. Now the young\nfellow who had been there earlier in the day and who, wonder of wonders,\nhad actually paid for the food she gave him, had been of a different\nstamp. His clothing had proclaimed him a tramp, but, thanks to the razor\nBridge always carried, he was clean shaven. His year of total abstinence\nhad given him clear eyes and a healthy skin. There was a freshness and\nvigor in his appearance and carriage that inspired confidence rather\nthan suspicion.\n\nShe had not mistrusted him; but these others she did mistrust. When they\nasked to use the telephone she refused and ordered them away, thinking\nit but an excuse to enter the house; but they argued the matter,\nexplaining that they had discovered an escaped murderer hiding\nnear-by--in fact in her own meadow--and that they wished only to call\nup the Kansas City police.\n\nFinally she yielded, but kept the dog by her side and the shotgun in her\nhand while the two entered the room and crossed to the telephone upon\nthe opposite side.\n\nFrom the conversation which she overheard the woman concluded that,\nafter all, she had been mistaken, not only about these two, but about\nthe young man who had come earlier in the day and purchased food from\nher, for the description the tramp gave of the fugitive tallied exactly\nwith that of the young man.\n\nIt seemed incredible that so honest looking a man could be a murderer.\nThe good woman was shocked, and not a little unstrung by the thought\nthat she had been in the house alone when he had come and that if he had\nwished to he could easily have murdered her.\n\n\"I hope they get him,\" she said, when the tramp had concluded his talk\nwith Kansas City. \"It's awful the carryings on they is nowadays. Why a\nbody can't never tell who to trust, and I thought him such a nice young\nman. And he paid me for what he got, too.\"\n\nThe dog, bored by the inaction, had wandered back into the summer\nkitchen and resumed his broken slumber. One of the tramps was leaning\nagainst the wall talking with the farmer woman. The other was busily\nengaged in scratching his right shin with what remained of the heel of\nhis left shoe. He supported himself with one hand on a small table upon\nthe top of which was a family Bible.\n\nQuite unexpectedly he lost his balance, the table tipped, he was thrown\nstill farther over toward it, and all in the flash of an eye tramp,\ntable, and family Bible crashed to the floor.\n\nWith a little cry of alarm the woman rushed forward to gather up the\nHoly Book, in her haste forgetting the shotgun and leaving it behind her\nleaning against the arm of a chair.\n\nAlmost simultaneously the two tramps saw the real cause of her\nperturbation. The large book had fallen upon its back, open; and as\nseveral of the leaves turned over before coming to rest their eyes went\nwide at what was revealed between.\n\nUnited States currency in denominations of five, ten, and twenty-dollar\nbills lay snugly inserted between the leaves of the Bible. The tramp who\nlay on the floor, as yet too surprised to attempt to rise, rolled over\nand seized the book as a football player seizes the pigskin after a\nfumble, covering it with his body, his arms, and sticking out his elbows\nas a further protection to the invaluable thing.\n\nAt the first cry of the woman the dog rose, growling, and bounded into\nthe room. The tramp leaning against the wall saw the brute coming--a\nmongrel hound-dog, bristling and savage.\n\nThe shotgun stood almost within the man's reach--a step and it was in\nhis hands. As though sensing the fellow's intentions the dog wheeled\nfrom the tramp upon the floor, toward whom he had leaped, and sprang for\nthe other ragged scoundrel.\n\nThe muzzle of the gun met him halfway. There was a deafening roar. The\ndog collapsed to the floor, his chest torn out. Now the woman began to\nscream for help; but in an instant both the tramps were upon her choking\nher to silence.\n\nOne of them ran to the summer kitchen, returning a moment later with\na piece of clothesline, while the other sat astride the victim, his\nfingers closed about her throat. Once he released his hold and she\nscreamed again. Presently she was secured and gagged. Then the two\ncommenced to rifle the Bible.\n\nEleven hundred dollars in bills were hidden there, because the woman\nand her husband didn't believe in banks--the savings of a lifetime. In\nagony, as she regained consciousness, she saw the last of their little\nhoard transferred to the pockets of the tramps, and when they had\nfinished they demanded to know where she kept the rest, loosening her\ngag that she might reply.\n\nShe told them that that was all the money she had in the world, and\nbegged them not to take it.\n\n\"Youse've got more coin dan dis,\" growled one of the men, \"an' youse had\nbetter pass it over, or we'll find a way to make youse.\"\n\nBut still she insisted that that was all. The tramp stepped into the\nkitchen. A wood fire was burning in the stove. A pair of pliers lay upon\nthe window sill. With these he lifted one of the hot stove-hole covers\nand returned to the parlor, grinning.\n\n\"I guess she'll remember she's got more wen dis begins to woik,\" he\nsaid. \"Take off her shoes, Dink.\"\n\nThe other growled an objection.\n\n\"Yeh poor boob,\" he said. \"De dicks'll be here in a little while. We'd\nbetter be makin' our get-away wid w'at we got.\"\n\n\"Gee!\" exclaimed his companion. \"I clean forgot all about de dicks,\"\nand then after a moment's silence during which his evil face underwent\nvarious changes of expression from fear to final relief, he turned an\nugly, crooked grimace upon his companion.\n\n\"We got to croak her,\" he said. \"Dey ain't no udder way. If dey finds\nher alive she'll blab sure, an' dey won't be no trouble 'bout gettin' us\nor identifyin' us neither.\"\n\nThe other shrugged.\n\n\"Le's beat it,\" he whined. \"We can't more'n do time fer dis job if we\nstop now; but de udder'll mean--\" and he made a suggestive circle with a\ngrimy finger close to his neck.\n\n\"No it won't nothin' of de kind,\" urged his companion. \"I got it all\ndoped out. We got lots o' time before de dicks are due. We'll croak de\nskirt, an' den we'll beat it up de road AN' MEET DE DICKS--see?\"\n\nThe other was aghast.\n\n\"Wen did youse go nuts?\" he asked.\n\n\"I ain't gone nuts. Wait 'til I gets t'rough. We meets de dicks,\ninnocent-like; but first we caches de dough in de woods. We tells 'em we\nhurried right on to lead 'em to dis Byrne guy, an' wen we gets back here\nto de farmhouse an' finds wot's happened here we'll be as flabbergasted\nas dey be.\"\n\n\"Oh, nuts!\" exclaimed the other disgustedly. \"Youse don't tink youse\ncan put dat over on any wise guy from Chi, do youse? Who will dey tink\ncroaked de old woman an' de ki-yi? Will dey tink dey kilt deyreselves?\"\n\n\"Dey'll tink Byrne an' his pardner croaked 'em, you simp,\" replied\nCrumb.\n\nDink scratched his head, and as the possibilities of the scheme filtered\ninto his dull brain a broad grin bared his yellow teeth.\n\n\"You're dere, pal,\" he exclaimed, real admiration in his tone. \"But\nwho's goin' to do it?\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" said Crumb. \"Dere ain't no chanct of gettin' in bad for\nit, so I jest as soon do the job. Get me a knife, or an ax from de\nkitchen--de gat makes too much noise.\"\n\n\nSomething awoke Billy Byrne with a start. Faintly, in the back of his\nconsciousness, the dim suggestion of a loud noise still reverberated. He\nsat up and looked about him.\n\n\"I wonder what that was?\" he mused. \"It sounded like the report of a\ngun.\"\n\nBridge awoke about the same time, and turned lazily over, raising\nhimself upon an elbow. He grinned at Billy.\n\n\"Good morning,\" he said, and then:\n\nSays I, \"Then let's be on the float.  You certainly have got my goat;\nYou make me hungry in my throat for seeing things that's new. Out there\nsomewhere we'll ride the range a-looking for the new and strange; My\nfeet are tired and need a change.  Come on!  It's up to you!\"\n\n\"Come on, then,\" agreed Billy, coming to his feet.\n\nAs he rose there came, faintly, but distinct, the unmistakable scream\nof a frightened woman. From the direction of the farmhouse it came--from\nthe farmhouse at which Billy had purchased their breakfast.\n\nWithout waiting for a repetition of the cry Billy wheeled and broke into\na rapid run in the direction of the little cluster of buildings. Bridge\nleaped to his feet and followed him, dropping behind though, for he\nhad not had the road work that Billy recently had been through in his\ntraining for the battle in which he had defeated the \"white hope\" that\ntime in New York when Professor Cassidy had wagered his entire pile upon\nhim, nor in vain.\n\nDink searched about the summer kitchen for an ax or hatchet; but failing\nto find either rummaged through a table drawer until he came upon a\nlarge carving knife. This would do the job nicely. He thumbed the edge\nas he carried it back into the parlor to Crumb.\n\nThe poor woman, lying upon the floor, was quite conscious. Her eyes were\nwide and rolling in horror. She struggled with her bonds, and tried to\nforce the gag from her mouth with her tongue; but her every effort was\nuseless. She had heard every word that had passed between the two men.\nShe knew that they would carry out the plan they had formulated and that\nthere was no chance that they would be interrupted in their gruesome\nwork, for her husband had driven over to a farm beyond Holliday, leaving\nbefore sunrise, and there was little prospect that he would return\nbefore milking time in the evening. The detectives from Kansas City\ncould not possibly reach the farm until far too late to save her.\n\nShe saw Dink return from the summer kitchen with the long knife. She\nrecalled the day she had bought that knife in town, and the various uses\nto which she had put it. That very morning she had sliced some bacon\nwith it. How distinctly such little things recurred to her at this\nfrightful moment. And now the hideous creature standing beside her was\ngoing to use it to cut her throat.\n\nShe saw Crumb take the knife and feel of the blade, running his thumb\nalong it. She saw him stoop, his eyes turned down upon hers. He grasped\nher chin and forced it upward and back, the better to expose her throat.\n\nOh, why could she not faint? Why must she suffer all these hideous\npreliminaries? Why could she not even close her eyes?\n\nCrumb raised the knife and held the blade close above her bared neck. A\nshudder ran through her, and then the door crashed open and a man sprang\ninto the room. It was Billy Byrne. Through the window he had seen what\nwas passing in the interior.\n\nHis hand fell upon Crumb's collar and jerked him backward from his prey.\nDink seized the shotgun and turned it upon the intruder; but he was too\nclose. Billy grasped the barrel of the weapon and threw the muzzle up\ntoward the ceiling as the tramp pulled the trigger. Then he wrenched it\nfrom the man's hands, swung it once above his head and crashed the stock\ndown upon Dink's skull.\n\nDink went down and out for the count--for several counts, in fact. Crumb\nstumbled to his feet and made a break for the door. In the doorway he\nran full into Bridge, winded, but ready. The latter realizing that the\nmatted one was attempting to escape, seized a handful of his tangled\nbeard, and, as he had done upon another occasion, held the tramp's head\nin rigid position while he planted a series of blows in the fellow's\nface--blows that left Crumb as completely out of battle as was his\nmildewed comrade.\n\n\"Watch 'em,\" said Billy, handing Bridge the shotgun. Then he turned his\nattention to the woman. With the carving knife that was to have ended\nher life he cut her bonds. Removing the gag from her mouth he lifted\nher in his strong arms and carried her to the little horsehair sofa that\nstood in one corner of the parlor, laying her upon it very gently.\n\nHe was thinking of \"Maw\" Watson. This woman resembled her just a\nlittle--particularly in her comfortable, motherly expansiveness, and she\nhad had a kind word and a cheery good-bye for him that morning as he had\ndeparted.\n\nThe woman lay upon the sofa, breathing hard, and moaning just a little.\nThe shock had been almost too much even for her stolid nerves. Presently\nshe turned her eyes toward Billy.\n\n\"You are a good boy,\" she said, \"and you come just in the nick o' time.\nThey got all my money. It's in their clothes,\" and then a look of terror\noverspread her face. For the moment she had forgotten what she had heard\nabout this man--that he was an escaped convict--a convicted murderer.\nWas she any better off now that she had let him know about the money\nthan she was with the others after they discovered it?\n\nAt her words Bridge kneeled and searched the two tramps. He counted the\nbills as he removed them from their pockets.\n\n\"Eleven hundred?\" he asked, and handed the money to Billy.\n\n\"Eleven hundred, yes,\" breathed the woman, faintly, her eyes\nhorror-filled and fearful as she gazed upon Billy's face. She didn't\ncare for the money any more--they could have it all if they would only\nlet her live.\n\nBilly turned toward her and held the rumpled green mass out.\n\n\"Here,\" he said; \"but that's an awful lot o' coin for a woman to have\nabout de house--an' her all alone. You ought not to a-done it.\"\n\nShe took the money in trembling fingers. It seemed incredible that the\nman was returning it to her.\n\n\"But I knew it,\" she said finally.\n\n\"Knew what?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"I knew you was a good boy. They said you was a murderer.\"\n\nBilly's brows contracted, and an expression of pain crossed his face.\n\n\"How did they come to say that?\" he asked.\n\n\"I heard them telephonin' to Kansas City to the police,\" she replied,\nand then she sat bolt upright. \"The detectives are on their way here\nnow,\" she almost screamed, \"and even if you ARE a murderer I don't care.\nI won't stand by and see 'em get you after what you have done for me. I\ndon't believe you're a murderer anyhow. You're a good boy. My boy would\nbe about as old and as big as you by now--if he lives. He ran away a\nlong time ago--maybe you've met him. His name's Eddie--Eddie Shorter. I\nain't heard from him fer years.\n\n\"No,\" she went on, \"I don't believe what they said--you got too good\na face; but if you are a murderer you get out now before they come an'\nI'll send 'em on a wild-goose chase in the wrong direction.\"\n\n\"But these,\" said Billy. \"We can't leave these here.\"\n\n\"Tie 'em up and give me the shotgun,\" she said. \"I'll bet they don't\ncome any more funny business on me.\" She had regained both her composure\nand her nerve by this time.\n\nTogether Billy and Bridge trussed up the two tramps. An elephant\ncouldn't have forced the bonds they placed upon them. Then they carried\nthem down cellar and when they had come up again Mrs. Shorter barred the\ncellar door.\n\n\"I reckon they won't get out of there very fast,\" she said. \"And now you\ntwo boys run along. Got any money?\" and without waiting for a reply she\ncounted twenty-five dollars from the roll she had tucked in the front of\nher waist and handed them to Billy.\n\n\"Nothin' doin',\" said he; \"but t'anks just the same.\"\n\n\"You got to take it,\" she insisted. \"Let me make believe I'm givin' it\nto my boy, Eddie--please,\" and the tears that came to her eyes proved\nfar more effective than her generous words.\n\n\"Aw, all right,\" said Billy. \"I'll take it an' pass it along to Eddie if\nI ever meet him, eh?\"\n\n\"Now please hurry,\" she urged. \"I don't want you to be caught--even if\nyou are a murderer. I wish you weren't though.\"\n\n\"I'm not,\" said Billy; \"but de law says I am an' what de law says,\ngoes.\"\n\nHe turned toward the doorway with Bridge, calling a goodbye to the\nwoman, but as he stepped out upon the veranda the dust of a fast-moving\nautomobile appeared about a bend in the road a half-mile from the house.\n\n\"Too late,\" he said, turning to Bridge. \"Here they come!\"\n\nThe woman brushed by them and peered up the road.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"it must be them. Lordy! What'll we do?\"\n\n\"I'll duck out the back way, that's what I'll do,\" said Billy.\n\n\"It wouldn't do a mite of good,\" said Mrs. Shorter, with a shake of\nher head. \"They'll telephone every farmer within twenty mile of here in\nevery direction, an' they'll get you sure. Wait! I got a scheme. Come\nwith me,\" and she turned and bustled through the little parlor, out of a\ndoorway into something that was half hall and half storeroom. There was\na flight of stairs leading to the upper story, and she waddled up them\nas fast as her legs would carry her, motioning the two men to follow\nher.\n\nIn a rear room was a trapdoor in the ceiling.\n\n\"Drag that commode under this,\" she told them. \"Then climb into the\nattic, and close the trapdoor. They won't never find you there.\"\n\nBilly pulled the ancient article of furniture beneath the opening,\nand in another moment the two men were in the stuffy atmosphere of the\nunventilated loft. Beneath them they heard Mrs. Shorter dragging\nthe commode back to its accustomed place, and then the sound of her\nfootsteps descending the stair.\n\nPresently there came to them the rattling of a motor without, followed\nby the voices of men in the house. For an hour, half asphyxiated by the\ncloseness of the attic, they waited, and then again they heard the sound\nof the running engine, diminishing as the machine drew away.\n\nShortly after, Mrs. Shorter's voice rose to them from below:\n\n\"You ken come down now,\" she said, \"they've gone.\"\n\nWhen they had descended she led them to the kitchen.\n\n\"I got a bite to eat ready for you while they was here,\" she explained.\n\"When you've done you ken hide in the barn 'til dark, an' after that\nI'll have my ol' man take you 'cross to Dodson, that's a junction, an'\nyou'd aughter be able to git away easy enough from there. I told 'em you\nstarted for Olathe--there's where they've gone with the two tramps.\n\n\"My, but I did have a time of it! I ain't much good at story-tellin' but\nI reckon I told more stories this arternoon than I ever tole before in\nall my life. I told 'em that they was two of you, an' that the biggest\none hed red hair, an' the little one was all pock-marked. Then they said\nyou prob'ly wasn't the man at all, an' my! how they did swear at them\ntwo tramps fer gettin' 'em way out here on a wild-goose chase; but\nthey're goin' to look fer you jes' the same in Olathe, only they won't\nfind you there,\" and she laughed, a bit nervously though.\n\nIt was dusk when Mr. Shorter returned from Holliday, but after he had\nheard his wife's story he said that he'd drive \"them two byes\" all the\nway to Mexico, if there wasn't any better plan.\n\n\"Dodson's far enough,\" Bridge assured him, and late that night the\ngrateful farmer set them down at their destination.\n\nAn hour later they were speeding south on the Missouri Pacific.\n\nBridge lay back, luxuriously, on the red plush of the smoker seat.\n\n\"Some class to us, eh, bo?\" asked Billy.\n\nBridge stretched.\n\n   The tide-hounds race far up the shore--the hunt is on!  The breakers roar!\n Her spars are tipped with gold, and o'er her deck the spray is flung,\n   The buoys that frolic in the bay, they nod the way, they nod the way!\n The hunt is up!  I am the prey!  The hunter's bow is strung!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI. \"BABY BANDITS\"\n\n\nIT WAS twenty-four hours before Detective Sergeant Flannagan awoke to\nthe fact that something had been put over on him, and that a Kansas\nfarmer's wife had done the putting.\n\nHe managed to piece it out finally from the narratives of the two\ntramps, and when he had returned to the Shorter home and listened to the\ncontradictory and whole-souled improvisations of Shorter pere and mere\nhe was convinced.\n\nWhereupon he immediately telegraphed Chicago headquarters and obtained\nthe necessary authority to proceed upon the trail of the fugitive,\nByrne.\n\nAnd so it was that Sergeant Flannagan landed in El Paso a few days\nlater, drawn thither by various pieces of intelligence he had gathered\nen route, though with much delay and consequent vexation.\n\nEven after he had quitted the train he was none too sure that he was\nupon the right trail though he at once repaired to a telegraph office\nand wired his chief that he was hot on the trail of the fugitive.\n\nAs a matter of fact he was much hotter than he imagined, for Billy and\nBridge were that very minute not two squares from him, debating as to\nthe future and the best manner of meeting it before it arrived.\n\n\"I think,\" said Billy, \"that I'll duck across the border. I won't never\nbe safe in little old U. S., an' with things hoppin' in Mexico the way\nthey have been for the last few years I orter be able to lose myself\npretty well.\n\n\"Now you're all right, ol' top. You don't have to duck nothin' for you\nain't did nothin'. I don't know what you're runnin' away from; but I\nknow it ain't nothin' the police is worryin' about--I can tell that by\nthe way you act--so I guess we'll split here. You'd be a boob to cross\nif you don't have to, fer if Villa don't get you the Carranzistas will,\nunless the Zapatistas nab you first.\n\n\"Comin' or goin' some greasy-mugged highbinder's bound to croak you if\nyou cross, from what little I've heard since we landed in El Paso.\n\n\"We'll feed up together tonight, fer the last time. Then I'll pull my\nfreight.\" He was silent for a while, and then: \"I hate to do it, bo, fer\nyou're the whitest guy I ever struck,\" which was a great deal for Billy\nByrne of Grand Avenue to say.\n\nBridge finished rolling a brown paper cigarette before he spoke.\n\n\"Your words are pure and unadulterated wisdom, my friend,\" he said. \"The\nchances are scarcely even that two gringo hoboes would last the week\nout afoot and broke in Viva Mexico; but it has been many years since I\nfollowed the dictates of wisdom. Therefore I am going with you.\"\n\nBilly grinned. He could not conceal his pleasure.\n\n\"You're past twenty-one,\" he said, \"an' dry behind the ears. Let's go\nan' eat. There is still some of that twenty-five left.\"\n\nTogether they entered a saloon which Bridge remembered as permitting\na very large consumption of free lunch upon the purchase of a single\nschooner of beer.\n\nThere were round tables scattered about the floor in front of the bar,\nand after purchasing their beer they carried it to one of these that\nstood in a far corner of the room close to a rear door.\n\nHere Bridge sat on guard over the foaming open sesame to food while\nBilly crossed to the free lunch counter and appropriated all that a\nzealous attendant would permit him to carry off.\n\nWhen he returned to the table he took a chair with his back to the wall\nin conformity to a habit of long standing when, as now, it had stood him\nin good stead to be in a position to see the other fellow at least as\nsoon as the other fellow saw him. The other fellow being more often\nthan not a large gentleman with a bit of shiny metal pinned to his left\nsuspender strap.\n\n\"That guy's a tight one,\" said Billy, jerking his hand in the direction\nof the guardian of the free lunch. \"I scoops up about a good, square\nmeal for a canary bird, an' he makes me cough up half of it. Wants to\nknow if I t'ink I can go into the restaurant business on a fi'-cent\nschooner of suds.\"\n\nBridge laughed.\n\n\"Well, you didn't do so badly at that,\" he said. \"I know places where\nthey'd indict you for grand larceny if you took much more than you have\nhere.\"\n\n\"Rotten beer,\" commented Billy.\n\n\"Always is rotten down here,\" replied Bridge. \"I sometimes think they\nput moth balls in it so it won't spoil.\"\n\nBilly looked up and smiled. Then he raised his tall glass before him.\n\n\"Here's to,\" he started; but he got no further. His eyes traveling\npast his companion fell upon the figure of a large man entering the low\ndoorway.\n\nAt the same instant the gentleman's eyes fell upon Billy. Recognition\nlit those of each simultaneously. The big man started across the room on\na run, straight toward Billy Byrne.\n\nThe latter leaped to his feet. Bridge, guessing what had happened, rose\ntoo.\n\n\"Flannagan!\" he exclaimed.\n\nThe detective was tugging at his revolver, which had stuck in his hip\npocket. Byrne reached for his own weapon. Bridge laid a hand on his arm.\n\n\"Not that, Billy!\" he cried. \"There's a door behind you. Here,\" and he\npulled Billy backward toward the doorway in the wall behind them.\n\nByrne still clung to his schooner of beer, which he had transferred to\nhis left hand as he sought to draw his gun. Flannagan was close to them.\nBridge opened the door and strove to pull Billy through; but the latter\nhesitated just an instant, for he saw that it would be impossible to\nclose and bar the door, provided it had a bar, before Flannagan would be\nagainst it with his great shoulders.\n\nThe policeman was still struggling to disentangle his revolver from the\nlining of his pocket. He was bellowing like a bull--yelling at Billy\nthat he was under arrest. Men at the tables were on their feet. Those at\nthe bar had turned around as Flannagan started to run across the floor.\nNow some of them were moving in the direction of the detective and\nhis prey, but whether from curiosity or with sinister intentions it is\ndifficult to say.\n\nOne thing, however, is certain--if all the love that was felt for\npolicemen in general by the men in that room could have been combined\nin a single individual it still scarcely would have constituted a grand\npassion.\n\nFlannagan felt rather than saw that others were closing in on him,\nand then, fortunately for himself, he thought, he managed to draw his\nweapon. It was just as Billy was fading through the doorway into the\nroom beyond. He saw the revolver gleam in the policeman's hand and then\nit became evident why Billy had clung so tenaciously to his schooner\nof beer. Left-handed and hurriedly he threw it; but even Flannagan must\nhave been constrained to admit that it was a good shot. It struck the\ndetective directly in the midst of his features, gave him a nasty cut on\nthe cheek as it broke and filled his eyes full of beer--and beer never\nwas intended as an eye wash.\n\nSpluttering and cursing, Flannagan came to a sudden stop, and when he\nhad wiped the beer from his eyes he found that Billy Byrne had passed\nthrough the doorway and closed the door after him.\n\nThe room in which Billy and Bridge found themselves was a small one in\nthe center of which was a large round table at which were gathered\na half-dozen men at poker. Above the table swung a single arc lamp,\ncasting a garish light upon the players beneath.\n\nBilly looked quickly about for another exit, only to find that besides\nthe doorway through which he had entered there was but a single aperture\nin the four walls--a small window, heavily barred. The place was a\nveritable trap.\n\nAt their hurried entrance the men had ceased their play, and one or two\nhad risen in profane questioning and protest. Billy ignored them. He was\nstanding with his shoulder against the door trying to secure it against\nthe detective without; but there was neither bolt nor bar.\n\nFlannagan hurtling against the opposite side exerted his noblest efforts\nto force an entrance to the room; but Billy Byrne's great weight held\nfirm as Gibraltar. His mind revolved various wild plans of escape; but\nnone bade fair to offer the slightest foothold to hope.\n\nThe men at the table were clamoring for an explanation of the\ninterruption. Two of them were approaching Billy with the avowed\nintention of \"turning him out,\" when he turned his head suddenly toward\nthem.\n\n\"Can de beef, you poor boobs,\" he cried. \"Dere's a bunch o' dicks out\ndere--de joint's been pinched.\"\n\nInstantly pandemonium ensued. Cards, chips, and money were swept as\nby magic from the board. A dozen dog-eared and filthy magazines and\nnewspapers were snatched from a hiding place beneath the table, and in\nthe fraction of a second the room was transformed from a gambling place\nto an innocent reading-room.\n\nBilly grinned broadly. Flannagan had ceased his efforts to break down\nthe door, and was endeavoring to persuade Billy that he might as well\ncome out quietly and submit to arrest. Byrne had drawn his revolver\nagain. Now he motioned to Bridge to come to his side.\n\n\"Follow me,\" he whispered. \"Don't move 'til I move--then move sudden.\"\nThen, turning to the door again, \"You big stiff,\" he cried, \"you\ncouldn't take a crip to a hospital, let alone takin' Billy Byrne to the\nstill. Beat it, before I come out an' spread your beezer acrost your\nmap.\"\n\nIf Billy had desired to arouse the ire of Detective Sergeant Flannagan\nby this little speech he succeeded quite as well as he could have hoped.\nFlannagan commenced to growl and threaten, and presently again hurled\nhimself against the door.\n\nInstantly Byrne wheeled and fired a single shot into the arc lamp, the\nshattered carbon rattled to the table with fragments of the globe,\nand Byrne stepped quickly to one side. The door flew open and Sergeant\nFlannagan dove headlong into the darkened room. A foot shot out from\nbehind the opened door, and Flannagan, striking it, sprawled upon his\nface amidst the legs of the literary lights who held dog-eared magazines\nrightside up or upside down, as they chanced to have picked them up.\n\nSimultaneously Billy Byrne and Bridge dodged through the open doorway,\nbanged the door to behind them, and sped across the barroom toward the\nstreet.\n\nAs Flannagan shot into their midst the men at the table leaped to their\nfeet and bolted for the doorway; but the detective was up and after them\nso quickly that only two succeeded in getting out of the room. One of\nthese generously slammed the door in the faces of his fellows, and there\nthey pulled and hauled at each other until Flannagan was among them.\n\nIn the pitch darkness he could recognize no one; but to be on the safe\nside he hit out promiscuously until he had driven them all from the\ndoor, then he stood with his back toward it--the inmates of the room his\nprisoners.\n\nThus he remained for a moment threatening to shoot at the first sound\nof movement in the room, and then he opened the door again, and stepping\njust outside ordered the prisoners to file out one at a time.\n\nAs each man passed him Flannagan scrutinized his face, and it was not\nuntil they had all emerged and he had reentered the room with a light\nthat he discovered that once again his quarry had eluded him. Detective\nSergeant Flannagan was peeved.\n\nThe sun smote down upon a dusty road. A heat-haze lay upon the arid land\nthat stretched away upon either hand toward gray-brown hills. A little\nadobe hut, backed by a few squalid outbuildings, stood out, a screaming\nhigh-light in its coat of whitewash, against a background that was\ngarish with light.\n\nTwo men plodded along the road. Their coats were off, the brims of their\ntattered hats were pulled down over eyes closed to mere slits against\nsun and dust.\n\nOne of the men, glancing up at the distant hut, broke into verse:\n\n  Yet then the sun was shining down, a-blazing on the little town,\n A mile or so 'way down the track a-dancing in the sun.\n   But somehow, as I waited there, there came a shiver in the air,\n \"The birds are flying south,\" he said.  \"The winter has  begun.\"\n\n\nHis companion looked up at him who quoted.\n\n\"There ain't no track,\" he said, \"an' that 'dobe shack don't look much\nlike a town; but otherwise his Knibbs has got our number all right, all\nright. We are the birds a-flyin' south, and Flannagan was the shiver\nin the air. Flannagan is a reg'lar frost. Gee! but I betcha dat guy's\nsore.\"\n\n\"Why is it, Billy,\" asked Bridge, after a moment's silence, \"that upon\noccasion you speak king's English after the manner of the boulevard, and\nagain after that of the back alley? Sometimes you say 'that' and 'dat'\nin the same sentence. Your conversational clashes are numerous. Surely\nsomething or someone has cramped your original style.\"\n\n\"I was born and brought up on 'dat,'\" explained Billy. \"SHE taught me\nthe other line of talk. Sometimes I forget. I had about twenty years of\nthe other and only one of hers, and twenty to one is a long shot--more\napt to lose than win.\"\n\n\"'She,' I take it, is PENELOPE,\" mused Bridge, half to himself. \"She\nmust have been a fine girl.\"\n\n\"'Fine' isn't the right word,\" Billy corrected him. \"If a thing's fine\nthere may be something finer, and then something else finest. She was\nbetter than finest. She--she was--why, Bridge, I'd have to be a walking\ndictionary to tell you what she was.\"\n\nBridge made no reply, and the two trudged on toward the whitewashed hut\nin silence for several minutes. Then Bridge broke it:\n\n And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me\n With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.\n\n\nBilly sighed and shook his head.\n\n\"There ain't no such luck for me,\" he said. \"She's married to another\ngink now.\"\n\nThey came at last to the hut, upon the shady side of which they found a\nMexican squatting puffing upon a cigarette, while upon the doorstep sat\na woman, evidently his wife, busily engaged in the preparation of some\nmanner of foodstuff contained in a large, shallow vessel. About them\nplayed a couple of half-naked children. A baby sprawled upon a blanket\njust within the doorway.\n\nThe man looked up, suspiciously, as the two approached. Bridge saluted\nhim in fairly understandable Spanish, asking for food, and telling the\nman that they had money with which to pay for a little--not much, just a\nlittle.\n\nThe Mexican slowly unfolded himself and arose, motioning the strangers\nto follow him into the interior of the hut. The woman, at a word from\nher lord and master, followed them, and at his further dictation brought\nthem frijoles and tortillas.\n\nThe price he asked was nominal; but his eyes never left Bridge's hands\nas the latter brought forth the money and handed it over. He appeared\njust a trifle disappointed when no more money than the stipulated\npurchase price was revealed to sight.\n\n\"Where you going?\" he asked.\n\n\"We're looking for work,\" explained Bridge. \"We want to get jobs on one\nof the American ranches or mines.\"\n\n\"You better go back,\" warned the Mexican. \"I, myself, have nothing\nagainst the Americans, senor; but there are many of my countrymen who\ndo not like you. The Americans are all leaving. Some already have been\nkilled by bandits. It is not safe to go farther. Pesita's men are all\nabout here. Even Mexicans are not safe from him. No one knows whether\nhe is for Villa or Carranza. If he finds a Villa ranchero, then Pesita\ncries Viva Carranza! and his men kill and rob. If, on the other hand, a\nneighbor of the last victim hears of it in time, and later Pesita comes\nto him, he assures Pesita that he is for Carranza, whereupon Pesita\ncries Viva Villa! and falls upon the poor unfortunate, who is lucky\nif he escapes with his life. But Americans! Ah, Pesita asks them no\nquestions. He hates them all, and kills them all, whenever he can lay\nhis hands upon them. He has sworn to rid Mexico of the gringos.\"\n\n\"Wot's the Dago talkin' about?\" asked Billy.\n\nBridge gave his companion a brief synopsis of the Mexican's\nconversation.\n\n\"Only the gentleman is not an Italian, Billy,\" he concluded. \"He's a\nMexican.\"\n\n\"Who said he was an Eyetalian?\" demanded Byrne.\n\nAs the two Americans and the Mexican conversed within the hut there\napproached across the dusty flat, from the direction of the nearer\nhills, a party of five horsemen.\n\nThey rode rapidly, coming toward the hut from the side which had neither\ndoor nor window, so that those within had no warning of their coming.\nThey were swarthy, ragged ruffians, fully armed, and with an equipment\nwhich suggested that they might be a part of a quasi-military\norganization.\n\nClose behind the hut four of them dismounted while the fifth, remaining\nin his saddle, held the bridle reins of the horses of his companions.\nThe latter crept stealthily around the outside of the building, toward\nthe door--their carbines ready in their hands.\n\nIt was one of the little children who first discovered the presence of\nthe newcomers. With a piercing scream she bolted into the interior and\nran to cling to her mother's skirts.\n\nBilly, Bridge, and the Mexican wheeled toward the doorway simultaneously\nto learn the cause of the girl's fright, and as they did so found\nthemselves covered by four carbines in the hands of as many men.\n\nAs his eyes fell upon the faces of the intruders the countenance of\nthe Mexican fell, while his wife dropped to the floor and embraced his\nknees, weeping.\n\n\"Wotinell?\" ejaculated Billy Byrne. \"What's doin'?\"\n\n\"We seem to have been made prisoners,\" suggested Bridge; \"but whether by\nVillistas or Carranzistas I do not know.\"\n\nTheir host understood his words and turned toward the two Americans.\n\n\"These are Pesita's men,\" he said.\n\n\"Yes,\" spoke up one of the bandits, \"we are Pesita's men, and Pesita\nwill be delighted, Miguel, to greet you, especially when he sees the\nsort of company you have been keeping. You know how much Pesita loves\nthe gringos!\"\n\n\"But this man does not even know us,\" spoke up Bridge. \"We stopped here\nto get a meal. He never saw us before. We are on our way to the El Orobo\nRancho in search of work. We have no money and have broken no laws. Let\nus go our way in peace. You can gain nothing by detaining us, and as for\nMiguel here--that is what you called him, I believe--I think from what\nhe said to us that he loves a gringo about as much as your revered chief\nseems to.\"\n\nMiguel looked his appreciation of Bridge's defense of him; but it was\nevident that he did not expect it to bear fruit. Nor did it. The brigand\nspokesman only grinned sardonically.\n\n\"You may tell all this to Pesita himself, senor,\" he said. \"Now\ncome--get a move on--beat it!\" The fellow had once worked in El Paso and\ntook great pride in his \"higher English\" education.\n\nAs he started to herd them from the hut Billy demurred. He turned toward\nBridge.\n\n\"Most of this talk gets by me,\" he said. \"I ain't jerry to all the Dago\njabber yet, though I've copped off a little of it in the past two weeks.\nPut me wise to the gink's lay.\"\n\n\"Elementary, Watson, elementary,\" replied Bridge. \"We are captured by\nbandits, and they are going to take us to their delightful chief who\nwill doubtless have us shot at sunrise.\"\n\n\"Bandits?\" snapped Billy, with a sneer. \"Youse don't call dese little\nrunts bandits?\"\n\n\"Baby bandits, Billy, baby bandits,\" replied Bridge.\n\n\"An' you're goin' to stan' fer lettin' 'em pull off this rough stuff\nwithout handin' 'em a come-back?\" demanded Byrne.\n\n\"We seem to be up against just that very thing,\" said Bridge. \"There are\nfour carbines quite ready for us. It would mean sudden death to resist\nnow. Later we may find an opportunity--I think we'd better act simple\nand wait.\" He spoke in a quick, low whisper, for the spokesman of the\nbrigands evidently understood a little English and was on the alert for\nany trickery.\n\nBilly shrugged, and when their captors again urged them forward he\nwent quietly; but the expression on his face might have perturbed the\nMexicans had they known Billy Byrne of Grand Avenue better--he was\nsmiling happily.\n\nMiguel had two ponies in his corral. These the brigands appropriated,\nplacing Billy upon one and Miguel and Bridge upon the other. Billy's\ngreat weight rendered it inadvisable to double him up with another\nrider.\n\nAs they were mounting Billy leaned toward Bridge and whispered:\n\n\"I'll get these guys, pal--watch me,\" he said.\n\n\"I am with thee, William!--horse, foot, and artillery,\" laughed Bridge.\n\n\"Which reminds me,\" said Billy, \"that I have an ace-in-the-hole--the\nboobs never frisked me.\"\n\n\"And I am reminded,\" returned Bridge, as the horses started off to the\nyank of hackamore ropes in the hands of the brigands who were leading\nthem, \"of a touching little thing of Service's:\n\n  Just think!  Some night the stars will gleam\n    Upon a cold gray stone,\n  And trace a name with silver beam,\n    And lo! 'twill be your own.\"\n\n\n\"You're a cheerful guy,\" was Billy's only comment.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII. IN PESITA'S CAMP\n\nPESITA was a short, stocky man with a large, dark mustache. He attired\nhimself after his own ideas of what should constitute the uniform of a\ngeneral--ideas more or less influenced and modified by the chance and\ncaprice of fortune.\n\nAt the moment that Billy, Bridge, and Miguel were dragged into his\npresence his torso was enwrapped in a once resplendent coat covered with\nyards of gold braid. Upon his shoulders were brass epaulets such as are\nconnected only in one's mind with the ancient chorus ladies of the light\noperas of fifteen or twenty years ago. Upon his legs were some rusty and\nragged overalls. His feet were bare.\n\nHe scowled ferociously at the prisoners while his lieutenant narrated\nthe thrilling facts of their capture--thrilling by embellishment.\n\n\"You are Americanos?\" he asked of Bridge and Billy.\n\nBoth agreed that they were. Then Pesita turned toward Miguel.\n\n\"Where is Villa?\" he asked.\n\n\"How should I know, my general?\" parried Miguel. \"Who am I--a poor man\nwith a tiny rancho--to know of the movements of the great ones of the\nearth? I did not even know where was the great General Pesita until now\nI am brought into his gracious presence, to throw myself at his feet\nand implore that I be permitted to serve him in even the meanest of\ncapacities.\"\n\nPesita appeared not to hear what Miguel had said. He turned his shoulder\ntoward the man, and addressed Billy in broken English.\n\n\"You were on your way to El Orobo Rancho, eh? Are you acquainted there?\"\nhe asked.\n\nBilly replied that they were not--merely looking for employment upon an\nAmerican-owned ranch or in an American mine.\n\n\"Why did you leave your own country?\" asked Pesita. \"What do you want\nhere in Mexico?\"\n\n\"Well, ol' top,\" replied Billy, \"you see de birds was flyin' south an'\nwinter was in de air, an a fat-head dick from Chi was on me trail--so I\nducks.\"\n\n\"Ducks?\" queried Pesita, mystified. \"Ah, the ducks--they fly south, I\nsee.\"\n\n\"Naw, you poor simp--I blows,\" explained Billy.\n\n\"Ah, yes,\" agreed Pesita, not wishing to admit any ignorance of plain\nAmerican even before a despised gringo. \"But the large-faced dick--what\nmight that be? I have spend much time in the States, but I do not know\nthat.\"\n\n\"I said 'fat-head dick'--dat's a fly cop,\" Billy elucidated.\n\n\"It is he then that is the bird.\" Pesita beamed at this evidence of his\nown sagacity. \"He fly.\"\n\n\"Flannagan ain't no bird--Flannagan's a dub.\"\n\nBridge came to the rescue.\n\n\"My erudite friend means,\" he explained, \"that the police chased him out\nof the United States of America.\"\n\nPesita raised his eyebrows. All was now clear to him.\n\n\"But why did he not say so?\" he asked.\n\n\"He tried to,\" said Bridge. \"He did his best.\"\n\n\"Quit yer kiddin',\" admonished Billy.\n\nA bright light suddenly burst upon Pesita. He turned upon Bridge.\n\n\"Your friend is not then an American?\" he asked. \"I guessed it. That\nis why I could not understand him. He speaks the language of the gringo\nless well even than I. From what country is he?\"\n\nBilly Byrne would have asserted with some show of asperity that he was\nnothing if not American; but Bridge was quick to see a possible loophole\nfor escape for his friend in Pesita's belief that Billy was no gringo,\nand warned the latter to silence by a quick motion of his head.\n\n\"He's from 'Gran' Avenoo,'\" he said. \"It is not exactly in Germany; but\nthere are a great many Germans there. My friend is a native, so he don't\nspeak German or English either--they have a language of their own in\n'Gran' Avenoo'.\"\n\n\"I see,\" said Pesita--\"a German colony. I like the Germans--they furnish\nme with much ammunition and rifles. They are my very good friends. Take\nMiguel and the gringo away\"--this to the soldiers who had brought the\nprisoners to him--\"I will speak further with this man from Granavenoo.\"\n\nWhen the others had passed out of hearing Pesita addressed Billy.\n\n\"I am sorry, senor,\" he said, \"that you have been put to so much\ninconvenience. My men could not know that you were not a gringo; but I\ncan make it all right. I will make it all right. You are a big man. The\ngringos have chased you from their country as they chased me. I hate\nthem. You hate them. But enough of them. You have no business in Mexico\nexcept to seek work. I give you work. You are big. You are strong. You\nare like a bull. You stay with me, senor, and I make you captain. I need\nmen what can talk some English and look like gringo. You do fine.\nWe make much money--you and I. We make it all time while we fight to\nliberate my poor Mexico. When Mexico liberate we fight some more to\nliberate her again. The Germans they give me much money to liberate\nMexico, and--there are other ways of getting much money when one is\nriding around through rich country with soldiers liberating his poor,\nbleeding country. Sabe?\"\n\n\"Yep, I guess I savvy,\" said Billy, \"an' it listens all right to me's\nfar's you've gone. My pal in on it?\"\n\n\"Eh?\"\n\n\"You make my frien' a captain, too?\"\n\nPesita held up his hands and rolled his eyes in holy horror. Take a\ngringo into his band? It was unthinkable.\n\n\"He shot,\" he cried. \"I swear to kill all gringo. I become savior of my\ncountry. I rid her of all Americanos.\"\n\n\"Nix on the captain stuff fer me, then,\" said Billy, firmly. \"That guy's\na right one. If any big stiff thinks he can croak little ol' Bridge\nwhile Billy Byrne's aroun' he's got anudder t'ink comin'. Why, me an'\nhim's just like brudders.\"\n\n\"You like this gringo?\" asked Pesita.\n\n\"You bet,\" cried Billy.\n\nPesita thought for several minutes. In his mind was a scheme which\nrequired the help of just such an individual as this stranger--someone\nwho was utterly unknown in the surrounding country and whose presence in\na town could not by any stretch of the imagination be connected in any\nway with the bandit, Pesita.\n\n\"I tell you,\" he said. \"I let your friend go. I send him under safe\nescort to El Orobo Rancho. Maybe he help us there after a while. If you\nstay I let him go. Otherwise I shoot you both with Miguel.\"\n\n\"Wot you got it in for Mig fer?\" asked Billy. \"He's a harmless sort o'\nguy.\"\n\n\"He Villista. Villista with gringos run Mexico--gringos and the church.\nJust like Huerta would have done it if they'd given him a chance, only\nHuerta more for church than for gringos.\"\n\n\"Aw, let the poor boob go,\" urged Billy, \"an' I'll come along wit you.\nWhy he's got a wife an' kids--you wouldn't want to leave them without no\none to look after them in this God-forsaken country!\"\n\nPesita grinned indulgently.\n\n\"Very well, Senor Captain,\" he said, bowing low. \"I let Miguel and your\nhonorable friend go. I send safe escort with them.\"\n\n\"Bully fer you, ol' pot!\" exclaimed Billy, and Pesita smiled delightedly\nin the belief that some complimentary title had been applied to him in\nthe language of \"Granavenoo.\" \"I'll go an' tell 'em,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pesita, \"and say to them that they will start early in the\nmorning.\"\n\nAs Billy turned and walked in the direction that the soldiers had led\nBridge and Miguel, Pesita beckoned to a soldier who leaned upon his gun\nat a short distance from his \"general\"--a barefooted, slovenly attempt\nat a headquarters orderly.\n\n\"Send Captain Rozales to me,\" directed Pesita.\n\nThe soldier shuffled away to where a little circle of men in\nwide-brimmed, metal-encrusted hats squatted in the shade of a tree,\nchatting, laughing, and rolling cigarettes. He saluted one of these and\ndelivered his message, whereupon the tall, gaunt Captain Rozales arose\nand came over to Pesita.\n\n\"The big one who was brought in today is not a gringo,\" said Pesita, by\nway of opening the conversation. \"He is from Granavenoo. He can be of\ngreat service to us, for he is very friendly with the Germans--yet he\nlooks like a gringo and could pass for one. We can utilize him. Also he\nis very large and appears to be equally strong. He should make a good\nfighter and we have none too many. I have made him a captain.\"\n\nRozales grinned. Already among Pesita's following of a hundred men there\nwere fifteen captains.\n\n\"Where is Granavenoo?\" asked Rozales.\n\n\"You mean to say, my dear captain,\" exclaimed Pesita, \"that a man of\nyour education does not know where Granavenoo is? I am surprised. Why,\nit is a German colony.\"\n\n\"Yes, of course. I recall it well now. For the moment it had slipped my\nmind. My grandfather who was a great traveler was there many times. I\nhave heard him speak of it often.\"\n\n\"But I did not summon you that we might discuss European geography,\"\ninterrupted Pesita. \"I sent for you to tell you that the stranger would\nnot consent to serve me unless I liberated his friend, the gringo, and\nthat sneaking spy of a Miguel. I was forced to yield, for we can use the\nstranger. So I have promised, my dear captain, that I shall send them\nupon their road with a safe escort in the morning, and you shall command\nthe guard. Upon your life respect my promise, Rozales; but if some of\nVilla's cutthroats should fall upon you, and in the battle, while you\nwere trying to defend the gringo and Miguel, both should be slain by the\nbullets of the Villistas--ah, but it would be deplorable, Rozales, but\nit would not be your fault. Who, indeed, could blame you who had fought\nwell and risked your men and yourself in the performance of your sacred\nduty? Rozales, should such a thing occur what could I do in token of my\ngreat pleasure other than make you a colonel?\"\n\n\"I shall defend them with my life, my general,\" cried Rozales, bowing\nlow.\n\n\"Good!\" cried Pesita. \"That is all.\"\n\nRozales started back toward the ring of smokers.\n\n\"Ah, Captain!\" cried Pesita. \"Another thing. Will you make it known to\nthe other officers that the stranger from Granavenoo is a captain and\nthat it is my wish that he be well treated, but not told so much as\nmight injure him, or his usefulness, about our sacred work of liberating\npoor, bleeding unhappy Mexico.\"\n\nAgain Rozales bowed and departed. This time he was not recalled.\n\nBilly found Bridge and Miguel squatting on the ground with two\ndirty-faced peons standing guard over them. The latter were some\nlittle distance away. They made no objection when Billy approached the\nprisoners though they had looked in mild surprise when they saw him\ncrossing toward them without a guard.\n\nBilly sat down beside Bridge, and broke into a laugh.\n\n\"What's the joke?\" asked Bridge. \"Are we going to be hanged instead of\nbeing shot?\"\n\n\"We ain't goin' to be either,\" said Billy, \"an' I'm a captain. Whaddaya\nknow about that?\"\n\nHe explained all that had taken place between himself and Pesita while\nBridge and Miguel listened attentively to his every word.\n\n\"I t'ought it was about de only way out fer us,\" said Billy. \"We were in\nworse than I t'ought.\"\n\n\"Can the Bowery stuff, Billy,\" cried Bridge, \"and talk like a white man.\nYou can, you know.\"\n\n\"All right, bo,\" cried Billy, good-naturedly. \"You see I forget when\nthere is anything pressing like this, to chew about. Then I fall back\ninto the old lingo. Well, as I was saying, I didn't want to do it unless\nyou would stay too, but he wouldn't have you. He has it in for all\ngringos, and that bull you passed him about me being from a foreign\ncountry called Grand Avenue! He fell for it like a rube for the\ntapped-wire stuff. He said if I wouldn't stay and help him he'd croak\nthe bunch of us.\"\n\n\"How about that ace-in-the-hole, you were telling me about?\" asked\nBridge.\n\n\"I still got it,\" and Billy fondled something hard that swung under his\nleft arm beneath his shirt; \"but, Lord, man! what could I do against\nthe whole bunch? I might get a few of them; but they'd get us all in the\nend. This other way is better, though I hate to have to split with you,\nold man.\"\n\nHe was silent then for a moment, looking hard at the ground. Bridge\nwhistled, and cleared his throat.\n\n\"I've always wanted to spend a year in Rio,\" he said. \"We'll meet there,\nwhen you can make your get-away.\"\n\n\"You've said it,\" agreed Byrne. \"It's Rio as soon as we can make it.\nPesita's promised to set you both loose in the morning and send you\nunder safe escort--Miguel to his happy home, and you to El Orobo Rancho.\nI guess the old stiff isn't so bad after all.\"\n\nMiguel had pricked up his ears at the sound of the word ESCORT. He\nleaned far forward, closer to the two Americans, and whispered.\n\n\"Who is to command the escort?\" he asked.\n\n\"I dunno,\" said Billy. \"What difference does it make?\"\n\n\"It makes all the difference between life and death for your friend and\nfor me,\" said Miguel. \"There is no reason why I should need an escort.\nI know my way throughout all Chihuahua as well as Pesita or any of\nhis cutthroats. I have come and gone all my life without an escort.\nOf course your friend is different. It might be well for him to have\ncompany to El Orobo. Maybe it is all right; but wait until we learn who\ncommands the escort. I know Pesita well. I know his methods. If Rozales\nrides out with us tomorrow morning you may say good-bye to your friend\nforever, for you will never see him in Rio, or elsewhere. He and I will\nbe dead before ten o'clock.\"\n\n\"What makes you think that, bo?\" demanded Billy.\n\n\"I do not think, senor,\" replied Miguel; \"I know.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Billy, \"we'll wait and see.\"\n\n\"If it is Rozales, say nothing,\" said Miguel. \"It will do no good; but\nwe may then be on the watch, and if possible you might find the means\nto obtain a couple of revolvers for us. In which case--\" he shrugged and\npermitted a faint smile to flex his lips.\n\nAs they talked a soldier came and announced that they were no longer\nprisoners--they were to have the freedom of the camp; \"but,\" he\nconcluded, \"the general requests that you do not pass beyond the limits\nof the camp. There are many desperadoes in the hills and he fears for\nyour safety, now that you are his guests.\"\n\nThe man spoke Spanish, so that it was necessary that Bridge interpret\nhis words for the benefit of Billy, who had understood only part of what\nhe said.\n\n\"Ask him,\" said Byrne, \"if that stuff goes for me, too.\"\n\n\"He says no,\" replied Bridge after questioning the soldier, \"that\nthe captain is now one of them, and may go and come as do the other\nofficers. Such are Pesita's orders.\"\n\nBilly arose. The messenger had returned to his post at headquarters. The\nguard had withdrawn, leaving the three men alone.\n\n\"So long, old man,\" said Billy. \"If I'm goin' to be of any help to you\nand Mig the less I'm seen with you the better. I'll blow over and mix\nwith the Dago bunch, an' practice sittin' on my heels. It seems to be\nthe right dope down here, an' I got to learn all I can about bein' a\ngreaser seein' that I've turned one.\"\n\n\"Good-bye Billy, remember Rio,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"And the revolvers, senor,\" added Miguel.\n\n\"You bet,\" replied Billy, and strolled off in the direction of the\nlittle circle of cigarette smokers.\n\nAs he approached them Rozales looked up and smiled. Then, rising,\nextended his hand.\n\n\"Senor Captain,\" he said, \"we welcome you. I am Captain Rozales.\" He\nhesitated waiting for Billy to give his name.\n\n\"My monacker's Byrne,\" said Billy. \"Pleased to meet you, Cap.\"\n\n\"Ah, Captain Byrne,\" and Rozales proceeded to introduce the newcomer to\nhis fellow-officers.\n\nSeveral, like Rozales, were educated men who had been officers in\nthe army under former regimes, but had turned bandit as the safer\nalternative to suffering immediate death at the hands of the faction\nthen in power. The others, for the most part, were pure-blooded Indians\nwhose adult lives had been spent in outlawry and brigandage. All were\nsmall of stature beside the giant, Byrne. Rozales and two others spoke\nEnglish. With those Billy conversed. He tried to learn from them the\nname of the officer who was to command the escort that was to accompany\nBridge and Miguel into the valley on the morrow; but Rozales and the\nothers assured him that they did not know.\n\nWhen he had asked the question Billy had been looking straight at\nRozales, and he had seen the man's pupils contract and noticed the\nslight backward movement of the body which also denotes determination.\nBilly knew, therefore, that Rozales was lying. He did know who was to\ncommand the escort, and there was something sinister in that knowledge\nor the fellow would not have denied it.\n\nThe American began to consider plans for saving his friend from the fate\nwhich Pesita had outlined for him. Rozales, too, was thinking rapidly.\nHe was no fool. Why had the stranger desired to know who was to command\nthe escort? He knew none of the officers personally. What difference\nthen, did it make to him who rode out on the morrow with his friend? Ah,\nbut Miguel knew that it would make a difference. Miguel had spoken to\nthe new captain, and aroused his suspicions.\n\nRozales excused himself and rose. A moment later he was in conversation\nwith Pesita, unburdening himself of his suspicions, and outlining a\nplan.\n\n\"Do not send me in charge of the escort,\" he advised. \"Send Captain\nByrne himself.\"\n\nPesita pooh-poohed the idea.\n\n\"But wait,\" urged Rozales. \"Let the stranger ride in command, with a\nhalf-dozen picked men who will see that nothing goes wrong. An hour\nbefore dawn I will send two men--they will be our best shots--on ahead.\nThey will stop at a place we both know, and about noon the Captain\nByrne and his escort will ride back to camp and tell us that they\nwere attacked by a troop of Villa's men, and that both our guests were\nkilled. It will be sad; but it will not be our fault. We will swear\nvengeance upon Villa, and the Captain Byrne will hate him as a good\nPesitista should.\"\n\n\"You have the cunning of the Coyote, my captain,\" cried Pesita. \"It\nshall be done as you suggest. Go now, and I will send for Captain Byrne,\nand give him his orders for the morning.\"\n\nAs Rozales strolled away a figure rose from the shadows at the side of\nPesita's tent and slunk off into the darkness.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII. BILLY'S FIRST COMMAND\n\nAND so it was that having breakfasted in the morning Bridge and Miguel\nstarted downward toward the valley protected by an escort under Captain\nBilly Byrne. An old service jacket and a wide-brimmed hat, both donated\nby brother officers, constituted Captain Byrne's uniform. His mount was\nthe largest that the picket line of Pesita's forces could produce. Billy\nloomed large amongst his men.\n\nFor an hour they rode along the trail, Billy and Bridge conversing upon\nvarious subjects, none of which touched upon the one uppermost in the\nmind of each. Miguel rode, silent and preoccupied. The evening before he\nhad whispered something to Bridge as he had crawled out of the darkness\nto lie close to the American, and during a brief moment that morning\nBridge had found an opportunity to relay the Mexican's message to Billy\nByrne.\n\nThe latter had but raised his eyebrows a trifle at the time, but later\nhe smiled more than was usual with him. Something seemed to please him\nimmensely.\n\nBeside him at the head of the column rode Bridge and Miguel. Behind them\ntrailed the six swarthy little troopers--the picked men upon whom Pesita\ncould depend.\n\nThey had reached a point where the trail passes through a narrow dry\narroyo which the waters of the rainy season had cut deep into the\nsoft, powdery soil. Upon either bank grew cacti and mesquite, forming a\nsheltering screen behind which a regiment might have hidden. The place\nwas ideal for an ambuscade.\n\n\"Here, Senor Capitan,\" whispered Miguel, as they neared the entrance to\nthe trap.\n\nA low hill shut off from their view all but the head of the cut, and it\nalso hid them from the sight of any possible enemy which might have been\nlurking in wait for them farther down the arroyo.\n\nAt Miguel's words Byrne wheeled his horse to the right away from the\ntrail which led through the bottom of the waterway and around the base\nof the hill, or rather in that direction, for he had scarce deviated\nfrom the direct way before one of the troopers spurred to his side,\ncalling out in Spanish that he was upon the wrong trail.\n\n\"Wot's this guy chewin' about?\" asked Billy, turning to Miguel.\n\n\"He says you must keep to the arroyo, Senor Capitan,\" explained the\nMexican.\n\n\"Tell him to go back into his stall,\" was Byrne's laconic rejoinder, as\nhe pushed his mount forward to pass the brigand.\n\nThe soldier was voluble in his objections. Again he reined in front of\nBilly, and by this time his five fellows had spurred forward to block\nthe way.\n\n\"This is the wrong trail,\" they cried. \"Come this other way, Capitan.\nPesita has so ordered it.\"\n\nCatching the drift of their remarks, Billy waved them to one side.\n\n\"I'm bossin' this picnic,\" he announced. \"Get out o' the way, an' be\nquick about it if you don't want to be hurted.\"\n\nAgain he rode forward. Again the troopers interposed their mounts, and\nthis time their leader cocked his carbine. His attitude was menacing.\nBilly was close to him. Their ponies were shoulder to shoulder, that of\nthe bandit almost broadside of the trail.\n\nNow Billy Byrne was more than passing well acquainted with many of the\nfundamental principles of sudden brawls. It is safe to say that he had\nnever heard of Van Bibber; but he knew, as well as Van Bibber knew, that\nit is well to hit first.\n\nWithout a word and without warning he struck, leaning forward with\nall the weight of his body behind his blow, and catching the man full\nbeneath the chin he lifted him as neatly from his saddle as though a\nbattering ram had struck him.\n\nSimultaneously Bridge and Miguel drew revolvers from their shirts and as\nBilly wheeled his pony toward the remaining five they opened fire upon\nthem.\n\nThe battle was short and sweet. One almost escaped but Miguel, who\nproved to be an excellent revolver shot, brought him down at a hundred\nyards. He then, with utter disregard for the rules of civilized warfare,\ndispatched those who were not already dead.\n\n\"We must let none return to carry false tales to Pesita,\" he explained.\n\nEven Billy Byrne winced at the ruthlessness of the cold-blooded murders;\nbut he realized the necessity which confronted them though he could not\nhave brought himself to do the things which the Mexican did with such\nsang-froid and even evident enjoyment.\n\n\"Now for the others!\" cried Miguel, when he had assured himself that\neach of the six were really quite dead.\n\nSpurring after him Billy and Bridge ran their horses over the rough\nground at the base of the little hill, and then parallel to the arroyo\nfor a matter of a hundred yards, where they espied two Indians, carbines\nin hand, standing in evident consternation because of the unexpected\nfusillade of shots which they had just heard and which they were unable\nto account for.\n\nAt the sight of the three the sharpshooters dropped behind cover and\nfired. Billy's horse stumbled at the first report, caught himself,\nreared high upon his hind legs and then toppled over, dead.\n\nHis rider, throwing himself to one side, scrambled to his feet and fired\ntwice at the partially concealed men. Miguel and Bridge rode in rapidly\nto close quarters, firing as they came. One of the two men Pesita\nhad sent to assassinate his \"guests\" dropped his gun, clutched at his\nbreast, screamed, and sank back behind a clump of mesquite. The other\nturned and leaped over the edge of the bank into the arroyo, rolling and\ntumbling to the bottom in a cloud of dry dust.\n\nAs he rose to his feet and started on a run up the bed of the dry\nstream, dodging a zigzag course from one bit of scant cover to another\nBilly Byrne stepped to the edge of the washout and threw his carbine to\nhis shoulder. His face was flushed, his eyes sparkled, a smile lighted\nhis regular features.\n\n\"This is the life!\" he cried, and pulled the trigger.\n\nThe man beneath him, running for his life like a frightened jackrabbit,\nsprawled forward upon his face, made a single effort to rise and then\nslumped limply down, forever.\n\nMiguel and Bridge, dismounted now, came to Byrne's side. The Mexican was\ngrinning broadly.\n\n\"The captain is one grand fighter,\" he said. \"How my dear general would\nadmire such a man as the captain. Doubtless he would make him a colonel.\nCome with me Senor Capitan and your fortune is made.\"\n\n\"Come where?\" asked Billy Byrne.\n\n\"To the camp of the liberator of poor, bleeding Mexico--to General\nFrancisco Villa.\"\n\n\"Nothin' doin',\" said Billy. \"I'm hooked up with this Pesita person now,\nan' I guess I'll stick. He's given me more of a run for my money in the\nlast twenty-four hours than I've had since I parted from my dear old\nfriend, the Lord of Yoka.\"\n\n\"But Senor Capitan,\" cried Miguel, \"you do not mean to say that you are\ngoing back to Pesita! He will shoot you down with his own hand when he\nhas learned what has happened here.\"\n\n\"I guess not,\" said Billy.\n\n\"You'd better go with Miguel, Billy,\" urged Bridge. \"Pesita will not\nforgive you this. You've cost him eight men today and he hasn't any\nmore men than he needs at best. Besides you've made a monkey of him and\nunless I miss my guess you'll have to pay for it.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Billy, \"I kind o' like this Pesita gent. I think I'll stick\naround with him for a while yet. Anyhow until I've had a chance to see\nhis face after I've made my report to him. You guys run along now and\nmake your get-away good, an' I'll beat it back to camp.\"\n\nHe crossed to where the two horses of the slain marksmen were hidden,\nturned one of them loose and mounted the other.\n\n\"So long, boes!\" he cried, and with a wave of his hand wheeled about and\nspurred back along the trail over which they had just come.\n\nMiguel and Bridge watched him for a moment, then they, too, mounted and\nturned away in the opposite direction. Bridge recited no verse for the\nbalance of that day. His heart lay heavy in his bosom, for he missed\nBilly Byrne, and was fearful of the fate which awaited him at the camp\nof the bandit.\n\nBilly, blithe as a lark, rode gaily back along the trail to camp. He\nlooked forward with unmixed delight to his coming interview with Pesita,\nand to the wild, half-savage life which association with the bandit\npromised. All his life had Billy Byrne fed upon excitement and\nadventure. As gangster, thug, holdup man and second-story artist Billy\nhad found food for his appetite within the dismal, sooty streets of\nChicago's great West Side, and then Fate had flung him upon the savage\nshore of Yoka to find other forms of adventure where the best that is\nin a strong man may be brought out in the stern battle for existence\nagainst primeval men and conditions. The West Side had developed only\nBilly's basest characteristics. He might have slipped back easily into\nthe old ways had it not been for HER and the recollection of that which\nhe had read in her eyes. Love had been there; but greater than that to\nhold a man into the straight and narrow path of decency and honor had\nbeen respect and admiration. It had seemed incredible to Billy that a\ngoddess should feel such things for him--for the same man her scornful\nlips once had branded as coward and mucker; yet he had read the truth\naright, and since then Billy Byrne had done his best according to the\nlight that had been given him to deserve the belief she had in him.\n\nSo far there had crept into his consciousness no disquieting doubts\nas to the consistency of his recent action in joining the force of\na depredating Mexican outlaw. Billy knew nothing of the political\nconditions of the republic. Had Pesita told him that he was president of\nMexico, Billy could not have disputed the statement from any knowledge\nof facts which he possessed. As a matter of fact about all Billy had\never known of Mexico was that it had some connection with an important\nplace called Juarez where running meets were held.\n\nTo Billy Byrne, then, Pesita was a real general, and Billy, himself,\na bona fide captain. He had entered an army which was at war with some\nother army. What they were warring about Billy knew not, nor did he\ncare. There should be fighting and he loved that--that much he knew.\nThe ethics of Pesita's warfare troubled him not. He had heard that some\ngreat American general had said: \"War is hell.\" Billy was willing to\ntake his word for it, and accept anything which came in the guise of war\nas entirely proper and as it should be.\n\nThe afternoon was far gone when Billy drew rein in the camp of the\noutlaw band. Pesita with the bulk of his raiders was out upon some\nexcursion to the north. Only half a dozen men lolled about, smoking or\nsleeping away the hot day. They looked at Billy in evident surprise\nwhen they saw him riding in alone; but they asked no questions and Billy\noffered no explanation--his report was for the ears of Pesita only.\n\nThe balance of the day Billy spent in acquiring further knowledge of\nSpanish by conversing with those of the men who remained awake, and\nasking innumerable questions. It was almost sundown when Pesita rode\nin. Two riderless horses were led by troopers in the rear of the\nlittle column and three men swayed painfully in their saddles and their\nclothing was stained with blood.\n\nEvidently Pesita had met with resistance. There was much voluble\nchattering on the part of those who had remained behind in their\nendeavors to extract from their returning comrades the details of the\nday's enterprise. By piecing together the various scraps of conversation\nhe could understand Billy discovered that Pesita had ridden far to\ndemand tribute from a wealthy ranchero, only to find that word of\nhis coming had preceded him and brought a large detachment of Villa's\nregulars who concealed themselves about the house and outbuildings until\nPesita and his entire force were well within close range.\n\n\"We were lucky to get off as well as we did,\" said an officer.\n\nBilly grinned inwardly as he thought of the pleasant frame of mind in\nwhich Pesita might now be expected to receive the news that eight of his\ntroopers had been killed and his two \"guests\" safely removed from the\nsphere of his hospitality.\n\nAnd even as his mind dwelt delightedly upon the subject a ragged Indian\ncarrying a carbine and with heavy silver spurs strapped to his bare feet\napproached and saluted him.\n\n\"General Pesita wishes Senor Capitan Byrne to report to him at once,\"\nsaid the man.\n\n\"Sure Mike!\" replied Billy, and made his way through the pandemonium of\nthe camp toward the headquarters tent.\n\nAs he went he slipped his hand inside his shirt and loosened something\nwhich hung beneath his left arm.\n\n\"Li'l ol' ace-in-the-hole,\" he murmured affectionately.\n\nHe found Pesita pacing back and forth before his tent--an energetic\nbundle of nerves which no amount of hard riding and fighting could tire\nor discourage.\n\nAs Billy approached Pesita shot a quick glance at his face, that he\nmight read, perhaps, in his new officer's expression whether anger or\nsuspicion had been aroused by the killing of his American friend, for\nPesita never dreamed but that Bridge had been dead since mid-forenoon.\n\n\"Well,\" said Pesita, smiling, \"you left Senor Bridge and Miguel safely\nat their destination?\"\n\n\"I couldn't take 'em all the way,\" replied Billy, \"cause I didn't have\nno more men to guard 'em with; but I seen 'em past the danger I guess\nan' well on their way.\"\n\n\"You had no men?\" questioned Pesita. \"You had six troopers.\"\n\n\"Oh, they was all croaked before we'd been gone two hours. You see it\nhappens like this: We got as far as that dry arroyo just before the\ntrail drops down into the valley, when up jumps a bunch of this here\nVilla's guys and commenced takin' pot shots at us.\n\n\"Seein' as how I was sent to guard Bridge an' Mig, I makes them dismount\nand hunt cover, and then me an' my men wades in and cleans up the bunch.\nThey was only a few of them but they croaked the whole bloomin' six o'\nmine.\n\n\"I tell you it was some scrap while it lasted; but I saved your guests\nfrom gettin' hurted an' I know that that's what you sent me to do. It's\ntoo bad about the six men we lost but, leave it to me, we'll get even\nwith that Villa guy yet. Just lead me to 'im.\"\n\nAs he spoke Billy commenced scratching himself beneath the left arm, and\nthen, as though to better reach the point of irritation, he slipped his\nhand inside his shirt. If Pesita noticed the apparently innocent little\nact, or interpreted it correctly may or may not have been the fact. He\nstood looking straight into Byrne's eyes for a full minute. His face\ndenoted neither baffled rage nor contemplated revenge. Presently a slow\nsmile raised his heavy mustache and revealed his strong, white teeth.\n\n\"You have done well, Captain Byrne,\" he said. \"You are a man after my\nown heart,\" and he extended his hand.\n\nA half-hour later Billy walked slowly back to his own blankets, and to\nsay that he was puzzled would scarce have described his mental state.\n\n\"I can't quite make that gink out,\" he mused. \"Either he's a mighty good\nloser or else he's a deep one who'll wait a year to get me the way he\nwants to get me.\"\n\nAnd Pesita a few moments later was saying to Captain Rozales:\n\n\"I should have shot him if I could spare such a man; but it is seldom I\nfind one with the courage and effrontery he possesses. Why think of it,\nRozales, he kills eight of my men, and lets my prisoners escape, and\nthen dares to come back and tell me about it when he might easily have\ngotten away. Villa would have made him an officer for this thing, and\nMiguel must have told him so. He found out in some way about your little\nplan and he turned the tables on us. We can use him, Rozales, but we\nmust watch him. Also, my dear captain, watch his right hand and when he\nslips it into his shirt be careful that you do not draw on him--unless\nyou happen to be behind him.\"\n\nRozales was not inclined to take his chief's view of Byrne's value to\nthem. He argued that the man was guilty of disloyalty and therefore a\nmenace. What he thought, but did not advance as an argument, was of\na different nature. Rozales was filled with rage to think that the\nnewcomer had outwitted him, and beaten him at his own game, and he was\njealous, too, of the man's ascendancy in the esteem of Pesita; but he\nhid his personal feelings beneath a cloak of seeming acquiescence in his\nchief's views, knowing that some day his time would come when he might\nrid himself of the danger of this obnoxious rival.\n\n\"And tomorrow,\" continued Pesita, \"I am sending him to Cuivaca. Villa\nhas considerable funds in bank there, and this stranger can learn what I\nwant to know about the size of the detachment holding the town, and the\nhabits of the garrison.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX. BARBARA IN MEXICO\n\nTHE manager of El Orobo Rancho was an American named Grayson. He was a\ntall, wiry man whose education had been acquired principally in the cow\ncamps of Texas, where, among other things one does NOT learn to love\nnor trust a greaser. As a result of this early training Grayson was\npeculiarly unfitted in some respects to manage an American ranch in\nMexico; but he was a just man, and so if his vaqueros did not love\nhim, they at least respected him, and everyone who was or possessed the\nlatent characteristics of a wrongdoer feared him.\n\nPerhaps it is not fair to say that Grayson was in any way unfitted for\nthe position he held, since as a matter of fact he was an ideal ranch\nforeman, and, if the truth be known, the simple fact that he was a\ngringo would have been sufficient to have won him the hatred of the\nMexicans who worked under him--not in the course of their everyday\nrelations; but when the fires of racial animosity were fanned to flame\nby some untoward incident upon either side of the border.\n\nToday Grayson was particularly rabid. The more so because he could not\nvent his anger upon the cause of it, who was no less a person than his\nboss.\n\nIt seemed incredible to Grayson that any man of intelligence could have\nconceived and then carried out the fool thing which the boss had just\ndone, which was to have come from the safety of New York City to the\nhazards of warring Mexico, bringing--and this was the worst feature\nof it--his daughter with him. And at such a time! Scarce a day passed\nwithout its rumors or reports of new affronts and even atrocities\nbeing perpetrated upon American residents of Mexico. Each day, too, the\ngravity of these acts increased. From mere insult they had run of late\nto assault and even to murder. Nor was the end in sight.\n\nPesita had openly sworn to rid Mexico of the gringo--to kill on sight\nevery American who fell into his hands. And what could Grayson do in\ncase of a determined attack upon the rancho? It is true he had a hundred\nmen--laborers and vaqueros, but scarce a dozen of these were Americans,\nand the rest would, almost without exception, follow the inclinations of\nconsanguinity in case of trouble.\n\nTo add to Grayson's irritability he had just lost his bookkeeper, and\nif there was one thing more than any other that Grayson hated it was pen\nand ink. The youth had been a \"lunger\" from Iowa, a fairly nice little\nchap, and entirely suited to his duties under any other circumstances\nthan those which prevailed in Mexico at that time. He was in mortal\nterror of his life every moment that he was awake, and at last had given\nin to the urge of cowardice and resigned. The day previous he had been\nbundled into a buckboard and driven over to the Mexican Central\nwhich, at that time, still was operating trains--occasionally--between\nChihuahua and Juarez.\n\nHis mind filled with these unpleasant thoughts, Grayson sat at his desk\nin the office of the ranch trying to unravel the riddle of a balance\nsheet which would not balance. Mixed with the blue of the smoke from his\nbriar was the deeper azure of a spirited monologue in which Grayson was\nengaged.\n\nA girl was passing the building at the moment. At her side walked a\ngray-haired man--one of those men whom you just naturally fit into a\nmental picture of a director's meeting somewhere along Wall Street.\n\n\"Sich langwidge!\" cried the girl, with a laugh, covering her ears with\nher palms.\n\nThe man at her side smiled.\n\n\"I can't say that I blame him much, Barbara,\" he replied. \"It was a\nvery foolish thing for me to bring you down here at this time. I can't\nunderstand what ever possessed me to do it.\"\n\n\"Don't blame yourself, dear,\" remonstrated the girl, \"when it was all my\nfault. I begged and begged and begged until you had to consent, and I'm\nnot sorry either--if nothing happens to you because of our coming. I\ncouldn't stay in New York another minute. Everyone was so snoopy, and\nI could just tell that they were dying to ask questions about Billy and\nme.\"\n\n\"I can't get it through my head yet, Barbara,\" said the man, \"why in the\nworld you broke with Billy Mallory. He's one of the finest young men in\nNew York City today--just my ideal of the sort of man I'd like my only\ndaughter to marry.\"\n\n\"I tried, Papa,\" said the girl in a low voice; \"but I couldn't--I just\ncouldn't.\"\n\n\"Was it because--\" the man stopped abruptly. \"Well, never mind dear,\nI shan't be snoopy too. Here now, you run along and do some snooping\nyourself about the ranch. I want to stop in and have a talk with\nGrayson.\"\n\nDown by one of the corrals where three men were busily engaged in\nattempting to persuade an unbroken pony that a spade bit is a pleasant\nthing to wear in one's mouth, Barbara found a seat upon a wagon box\nwhich commanded an excellent view of the entertainment going on within\nthe corral. As she sat there experiencing a combination of admiration\nfor the agility and courage of the men and pity for the horse the tones\nof a pleasant masculine voice broke in upon her thoughts.\n\n   \"Out there somewhere!\" says I to me.  \"By Gosh, I guess, thats poetry!\"\n \"Out there somewhere--Penelope--with kisses on her mouth!\"\n   And then, thinks I, \"O college guy! your talk it gets me in the eye,\n  The north is creeping in the air, the birds are flying south.\"\n\nBarbara swung around to view the poet. She saw a slender man astride a\nfagged Mexican pony. A ragged coat and ragged trousers covered the\nman's nakedness. Indian moccasins protected his feet, while a torn and\nshapeless felt hat sat upon his well-shaped head. AMERICAN was written\nall over him. No one could have imagined him anything else. Apparently\nhe was a tramp as well--his apparel proclaimed him that; but there\nwere two discordant notes in the otherwise harmonious ensemble of your\ntypical bo. He was clean shaven and he rode a pony. He rode erect, too,\nwith the easy seat of an army officer.\n\nAt sight of the girl he raised his battered hat and swept it low to his\npony's shoulder as he bent in a profound bow.\n\n\"I seek the majordomo, senorita,\" he said.\n\n\"Mr. Grayson is up at the office, that little building to the left of\nthe ranchhouse,\" replied the girl, pointing.\n\nThe newcomer had addressed her in Spanish, and as he heard her reply,\nin pure and liquid English, his eyes widened a trifle; but the familiar\nsmile with which he had greeted her left his face, and his parting bow\nwas much more dignified though no less profound than its predecessor.\n\n  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me,\n  With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.\n\n\nGrayson and his employer both looked up as the words of Knibbs' poem\nfloated in to them through the open window.\n\n\"I wonder where that blew in from,\" remarked Grayson, as his eyes\ndiscovered Bridge astride the tired pony, looking at him through the\nwindow. A polite smile touched the stranger's lips as his eyes met\nGrayson's, and then wandered past him to the imposing figure of the\nEasterner.\n\n\"Good evening, gentlemen,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"Evenin',\" snapped Grayson. \"Go over to the cookhouse and the Chink'll\ngive you something to eat. Turn your pony in the lower pasture. Smith'll\nshow you where to bunk tonight, an' you kin hev your breakfast in the\nmornin'. S'long!\" The ranch superintendent turned back to the paper in\nhis hand which he had been discussing with his employer at the moment of\nthe interruption. He had volleyed his instructions at Bridge as though\npouring a rain of lead from a machine gun, and now that he had said what\nhe had to say the incident was closed in so far as he was concerned.\n\nThe hospitality of the Southwest permitted no stranger to be turned away\nwithout food and a night's lodging. Grayson having arranged for these\nfelt that he had done all that might be expected of a host, especially\nwhen the uninvited guest was so obviously a hobo and doubtless a horse\nthief as well, for who ever knew a hobo to own a horse?\n\nBridge continued to sit where he had reined in his pony. He was looking\nat Grayson with what the discerning boss judged to be politely concealed\nenjoyment.\n\n\"Possibly,\" suggested the boss in a whisper to his aide, \"the man has\nbusiness with you. You did not ask him, and I am sure that he said\nnothing about wishing a meal or a place to sleep.\"\n\n\"Huh?\" grunted Grayson, and then to Bridge, \"Well, what the devil DO you\nwant?\"\n\n\"A job,\" replied Bridge, \"or, to be more explicit, I need a job--far be\nit from me to WISH one.\"\n\nThe Easterner smiled. Grayson looked a bit mystified--and irritated.\n\n\"Well, I hain't got none,\" he snapped. \"We don't need nobody now unless\nit might be a good puncher--one who can rope and ride.\"\n\n\"I can ride,\" replied Bridge, \"as is evidenced by the fact that you now\nsee me astride a horse.\"\n\n\"I said RIDE,\" said Grayson. \"Any fool can SIT on a horse. NO, I hain't\ngot nothin', an' I'm busy now. Hold on!\" he exclaimed as though seized\nby a sudden inspiration. He looked sharply at Bridge for a moment and\nthen shook his head sadly. \"No, I'm afraid you couldn't do it--a guy's\ngot to be eddicated for the job I got in mind.\"\n\n\"Washing dishes?\" suggested Bridge.\n\nGrayson ignored the playfulness of the other's question.\n\n\"Keepin' books,\" he explained. There was a finality in his tone which\nsaid: \"As you, of course, cannot keep books the interview is now over.\nGet out!\"\n\n\"I could try,\" said Bridge. \"I can read and write, you know. Let me\ntry.\" Bridge wanted money for the trip to Rio, and, too, he wanted to\nstay in the country until Billy was ready to leave.\n\n\"Savvy Spanish?\" asked Grayson.\n\n\"I read and write it better than I speak it,\" said Bridge, \"though I do\nthe latter well enough to get along anywhere that it is spoken.\"\n\nGrayson wanted a bookkeeper worse than he could ever recall having\nwanted anything before in all his life. His better judgment told him\nthat it was the height of idiocy to employ a ragged bum as a bookkeeper;\nbut the bum was at least as much of a hope to him as is a straw to a\ndrowning man, and so Grayson clutched at him.\n\n\"Go an' turn your cayuse in an' then come back here,\" he directed, \"an'\nI'll give you a tryout.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Bridge, and rode off in the direction of the pasture\ngate.\n\n\"'Fraid he won't never do,\" said Grayson, ruefully, after Bridge had\npassed out of earshot.\n\n\"I rather imagine that he will,\" said the boss. \"He is an educated man,\nGrayson--you can tell that from his English, which is excellent. He's\nprobably one of the great army of down-and-outers. The world is full\nof them--poor devils. Give him a chance, Grayson, and anyway he adds\nanother American to our force, and each one counts.\"\n\n\"Yes, that's right; but I hope you won't need 'em before you an' Miss\nBarbara go,\" said Grayson.\n\n\"I hope not, Grayson; but one can never tell with conditions here such\nas they are. Have you any hope that you will be able to obtain a safe\nconduct for us from General Villa?\"\n\n\"Oh, Villa'll give us the paper all right,\" said Grayson; \"but it won't\ndo us no good unless we don't meet nobody but Villa's men on the way\nout. This here Pesita's the critter I'm leery of. He's got it in for all\nAmericans, and especially for El Orobo Rancho. You know we beat off a\nraid of his about six months ago--killed half a dozen of his men, an' he\nwon't never forgive that. Villa can't spare a big enough force to give\nus safe escort to the border and he can't assure the safety of the train\nservice. It looks mighty bad, sir--I don't see what in hell you came\nfor.\"\n\n\"Neither do I, Grayson,\" agreed the boss; \"but I'm here and we've got\nto make the best of it. All this may blow over--it has before--and we'll\nlaugh at our fears in a few weeks.\"\n\n\"This thing that's happenin' now won't never blow over 'til the stars\nand stripes blow over Chihuahua,\" said Grayson with finality.\n\nA few moments later Bridge returned to the office, having unsaddled his\npony and turned it into the pasture.\n\n\"What's your name?\" asked Grayson, preparing to enter it in his time\nbook.\n\n\"Bridge,\" replied the new bookkeeper.\n\n\"'Nitials,\" snapped Grayson.\n\nBridge hesitated. \"Oh, put me down as L. Bridge,\" he said.\n\n\"Where from?\" asked the ranch foreman.\n\n\"El Orobo Rancho,\" answered Bridge.\n\nGrayson shot a quick glance at the man. The answer confirmed his\nsuspicions that the stranger was probably a horse thief, which, in\nGrayson's estimation, was the worst thing a man could be.\n\n\"Where did you get that pony you come in on?\" he demanded. \"I ain't\nsayin' nothin' of course, but I jest want to tell you that we ain't got\nno use for horse thieves here.\"\n\nThe Easterner, who had been a listener, was shocked by the brutality of\nGrayson's speech; but Bridge only laughed.\n\n\"If you must know,\" he said, \"I never bought that horse, an' the man he\nbelonged to didn't give him to me. I just took him.\"\n\n\"You got your nerve,\" growled Grayson. \"I guess you better git out. We\ndon't want no horse thieves here.\"\n\n\"Wait,\" interposed the boss. \"This man doesn't act like a horse thief.\nA horse thief, I should imagine, would scarcely admit his guilt. Let's\nhave his story before we judge him.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Grayson; \"but he's just admitted he stole the horse.\"\n\nBridge turned to the boss. \"Thanks,\" he said; \"but really I did steal\nthe horse.\"\n\nGrayson made a gesture which said: \"See, I told you so.\"\n\n\"It was like this,\" went on Bridge. \"The gentleman who owned the horse,\ntogether with some of his friends, had been shooting at me and my\nfriends. When it was all over there was no one left to inform us who\nwere the legal heirs of the late owners of this and several other horses\nwhich were left upon our hands, so I borrowed this one. The law would\nsay, doubtless, that I had stolen it; but I am perfectly willing to\nreturn it to its rightful owners if someone will find them for me.\"\n\n\"You been in a scrap?\" asked Grayson. \"Who with?\"\n\n\"A party of Pesita's men,\" replied Bridge.\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Yesterday.\"\n\n\"You see they are working pretty close,\" said Grayson, to his employer,\nand then to Bridge: \"Well, if you took that cayuse from one of Pesita's\nbunch you can't call that stealin'. Your room's in there, back of the\noffice, an' you'll find some clothes there that the last man forgot to\ntake with him. You ken have 'em, an' from the looks o' yourn you need\n'em.\"\n\n\"Thank you,\" replied Bridge. \"My clothes are a bit rusty. I shall have\nto speak to James about them,\" and he passed through into the little\nbedroom off the office, and closed the door behind him.\n\n\"James?\" grunted Grayson. \"Who the devil does he mean by James? I hain't\nseen but one of 'em.\"\n\nThe boss was laughing quietly.\n\n\"The man's a character,\" he said. \"He'll be worth all you pay him--if\nyou can appreciate him, which I doubt, Grayson.\"\n\n\"I ken appreciate him if he ken keep books,\" replied Grayson. \"That's\nall I ask of him.\"\n\nWhen Bridge emerged from the bedroom he was clothed in white duck\ntrousers, a soft shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, and such a change\nhad they wrought in his appearance that neither Grayson nor his employer\nwould have known him had they not seen him come from the room into which\nthey had sent him to make the exchange of clothing.\n\n\"Feel better?\" asked the boss, smiling.\n\n\"Clothes are but an incident with me,\" replied Bridge. \"I wear them\nbecause it is easier to do so than it would be to dodge the weather and\nthe police. Whatever I may have upon my back affects in no way what\nI have within my head. No, I cannot say that I feel any better, since\nthese clothes are not as comfortable as my old ones. However if it\npleases Mr. Grayson that I should wear a pink kimono while working for\nhim I shall gladly wear a pink kimono. What shall I do first, sir?\" The\nquestion was directed toward Grayson.\n\n\"Sit down here an' see what you ken make of this bunch of trouble,\"\nreplied the foreman. \"I'll talk with you again this evenin'.\"\n\nAs Grayson and his employer quitted the office and walked together\ntoward the corrals the latter's brow was corrugated by thought and his\nfacial expression that of one who labors to fasten upon a baffling and\nillusive recollection.\n\n\"It beats all, Grayson,\" he said presently; \"but I am sure that I have\nknown this new bookkeeper of yours before. The moment he came out of\nthat room dressed like a human being I knew that I had known him; but\nfor the life of me I can't place him. I should be willing to wager\nconsiderable, however, that his name is not Bridge.\"\n\n\"S'pect you're right,\" assented Grayson. \"He's probably one o' them\neastern dude bank clerks what's gone wrong and come down here to hide.\nMighty fine place to hide jest now, too.\n\n\"And say, speakin' of banks,\" he went on, \"what'll I do 'bout sendin'\nover to Cuivaca fer the pay tomorrow. Next day's pay day. I don't like\nto send this here bum, I can't trust a greaser no better, an' I can't\nspare none of my white men thet I ken trust.\"\n\n\"Send him with a couple of the most trustworthy Mexicans you have,\"\nsuggested the boss.\n\n\"There ain't no sich critter,\" replied Grayson; \"but I guess that's the\nbest I ken do. I'll send him along with Tony an' Benito--they hate\neach other too much to frame up anything together, an' they both hate a\ngringo. I reckon they'll hev a lovely trip.\"\n\n\"But they'll get back with the money, eh?\" queried the boss.\n\n\"If Pesita don't get 'em,\" replied Grayson.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X. BILLY CRACKS A SAFE\n\nBILLY BYRNE, captain, rode into Cuivaca from the south. He had made a\nwide detour in order to accomplish this; but under the circumstances he\nhad thought it wise to do so. In his pocket was a safe conduct from one\nof Villa's generals farther south--a safe conduct taken by Pesita from\nthe body of one of his recent victims. It would explain Billy's presence\nin Cuivaca since it had been intended to carry its rightful possessor to\nJuarez and across the border into the United States.\n\nHe found the military establishment at Cuivaca small and ill commanded.\nThere were soldiers upon the streets; but the only regularly detailed\nguard was stationed in front of the bank. No one questioned Billy. He\ndid not have to show his safe conduct.\n\n\"This looks easy,\" thought Billy. \"A reg'lar skinch.\"\n\nHe first attended to his horse, turning him into a public corral,\nand then sauntered up the street to the bank, which he entered, still\nunquestioned. Inside he changed a bill of large denomination which\nPesita had given him for the purpose of an excuse to examine the lay of\nthe bank from the inside. Billy took a long time to count the change.\nAll the time his eyes wandered about the interior while he made mental\nnotes of such salient features as might prove of moment to him later.\nThe money counted Billy slowly rolled a cigarette.\n\nHe saw that the bank was roughly divided into two sections by a wire and\nwood partition. On one side were the customers, on the other the clerks\nand a teller. The latter sat behind a small wicket through which he\nreceived deposits and cashed checks. Back of him, against the wall,\nstood a large safe of American manufacture. Billy had had business\nbefore with similar safes. A doorway in the rear wall led into the yard\nbehind the building. It was closed by a heavy door covered with sheet\niron and fastened by several bolts and a thick, strong bar. There were\nno windows in the rear wall. From that side the bank appeared almost\nimpregnable to silent assault.\n\nInside everything was primitive and Billy found himself wondering how\na week passed without seeing a bank robbery in the town. Possibly the\nstrong rear defenses and the armed guard in front accounted for it.\n\nSatisfied with what he had learned he passed out onto the sidewalk and\ncrossed the street to a saloon. Some soldiers and citizens were drinking\nat little tables in front of the bar. A couple of card games were in\nprogress, and through the open rear doorway Billy saw a little gathering\nencircling a cock fight.\n\nIn none of these things was Billy interested. What he had wished in\nentering the saloon was merely an excuse to place himself upon the\nopposite side of the street from the bank that he might inspect the\nfront from the outside without arousing suspicion.\n\nHaving purchased and drunk a bottle of poor beer, the temperature of\nwhich had probably never been below eighty since it left the bottling\ndepartment of the Texas brewery which inflicted it upon the ignorant, he\nsauntered to the front window and looked out.\n\nThere he saw that the bank building was a two-story affair, the entrance\nto the second story being at the left side of the first floor, opening\ndirectly onto the sidewalk in full view of the sentry who paced to and\nfro before the structure.\n\nBilly wondered what the second floor was utilized for. He saw soiled\nhangings at the windows which aroused a hope and a sudden inspiration.\nThere was a sign above the entrance to the second floor; but Billy's\nknowledge of the language had not progressed sufficiently to permit him\nto translate it, although he had his suspicions as to its meaning. He\nwould learn if his guess was correct.\n\nReturning to the bar he ordered another bottle of beer, and as he drank\nit he practiced upon the bartender some of his recently acquired Spanish\nand learned, though not without considerable difficulty, that he might\nfind lodgings for the night upon the second floor of the bank building.\n\nMuch elated, Billy left the saloon and walked along the street until he\ncame to the one general store of the town. After another heart rending\nscrimmage with the language of Ferdinand and Isabella he succeeded in\nmaking several purchases--two heavy sacks, a brace, two bits, and a\nkeyhole saw. Placing the tools in one of the sacks he wrapped the whole\nin the second sack and made his way back to the bank building.\n\nUpon the second floor he found the proprietor of the rooming-house and\nengaged a room in the rear of the building, overlooking the yard. The\nlayout was eminently satisfactory to Captain Byrne and it was with\na feeling of great self-satisfaction that he descended and sought a\nrestaurant.\n\nHe had been sent by Pesita merely to look over the ground and the\ndefenses of the town, that the outlaw might later ride in with his\nentire force and loot the bank; but Billy Byrne, out of his past\nexperience in such matters, had evolved a much simpler plan for\nseparating the enemy from his wealth.\n\nHaving eaten, Billy returned to his room. It was now dark and the bank\nclosed and unlighted showed that all had left it. Only the sentry paced\nup and down the sidewalk in front.\n\nGoing at once to his room Billy withdrew his tools from their hiding\nplace beneath the mattress, and a moment later was busily engaged in\nboring holes through the floor at the foot of his bed. For an hour he\nworked, cautiously and quietly, until he had a rough circle of holes\nenclosing a space about two feet in diameter. Then he laid aside the\nbrace and bit, and took the keyhole saw, with which he patiently sawed\nthrough the wood between contiguous holes, until, the circle completed,\nhe lifted out a section of the floor leaving an aperture large enough to\npermit him to squeeze his body through when the time arrived for him to\npass into the bank beneath.\n\nWhile Billy had worked three men had ridden into Cuivaca. They were\nTony, Benito, and the new bookkeeper of El Orobo Rancho. The Mexicans,\nafter eating, repaired at once to the joys of the cantina; while Bridge\nsought a room in the building to which his escort directed him.\n\nAs chance would have it, it was the same building in which Billy labored\nand the room lay upon the rear side of it overlooking the same yard. But\nBridge did not lie awake to inspect his surroundings. For years he had\nnot ridden as many miles as he had during the past two days, so that\nlong unused muscles cried out for rest and relaxation. As a result,\nBridge was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, and\nso profound was his slumber that it seemed that nothing short of a\nconvulsion of nature would arouse him.\n\nAs Bridge lay down upon his bed Billy Byrne left his room and descended\nto the street. The sentry before the bank paid no attention to him,\nand Billy passed along, unhindered, to the corral where he had left his\nhorse. Here, as he was saddling the animal, he was accosted, much to his\ndisgust, by the proprietor.\n\nIn broken English the man expressed surprise that Billy rode out so late\nat night, and the American thought that he detected something more\nthan curiosity in the other's manner and tone--suspicion of the strange\ngringo.\n\nIt would never do to leave the fellow in that state of mind, and so\nBilly leaned close to the other's ear, and with a broad grin and a wink\nwhispered: \"Senorita,\" and jerked his thumb toward the south. \"I'll be\nback by mornin',\" he added.\n\nThe Mexican's manner altered at once. He laughed and nodded, knowingly,\nand poked Billy in the ribs. Then he watched him mount and ride out\nof the corral toward the south--which was also in the direction of the\nbank, to the rear of which Billy rode without effort to conceal his\nmovements.\n\nThere he dismounted and left his horse standing with the bridle reins\ndragging upon the ground, while he removed the lariat from the pommel of\nthe saddle, and, stuffing it inside his shirt, walked back to the street\non which the building stood, and so made his way past the sentry and to\nhis room.\n\nHere he pushed back the bed which he had drawn over the hole in the\nfloor, dropped his two sacks through into the bank, and tying the brace\nto one end of the lariat lowered it through after the sacks.\n\nLooping the middle of the lariat over a bedpost Billy grasped both\nstrands firmly and lowered himself through the aperture into the room\nbeneath. He made no more noise in his descent than he had made upon\nother similar occasions in his past life when he had practiced the\ngentle art of porch-climbing along Ashland Avenue and Washington\nBoulevard.\n\nHaving gained the floor he pulled upon one end of the lariat until he\nhad drawn it free of the bedpost above, when it fell into his waiting\nhands. Coiling it carefully Billy placed it around his neck and under\none arm. Billy, acting as a professional, was a careful and methodical\nman. He always saw that every little detail was properly attended to\nbefore he went on to the next phase of his endeavors. Because of this\ningrained caution Billy had long since secured the tops of the two sacks\ntogether, leaving only a sufficient opening to permit of their each\nbeing filled without delay or inconvenience.\n\nNow he turned his attention to the rear door. The bar and bolts were\neasily shot from their seats from the inside, and Billy saw to it that\nthis was attended to before he went further with his labors. It were\nwell to have one's retreat assured at the earliest possible moment. A\nsingle bolt Billy left in place that he might not be surprised by an\nintruder; but first he had tested it and discovered that it could be\ndrawn with ease.\n\nThese matters satisfactorily attended to Billy assaulted the combination\nknob of the safe with the metal bit which he had inserted in the brace\nbefore lowering it into the bank.\n\nThe work was hard and progressed slowly. It was necessary to withdraw\nthe bit often and lubricate it with a piece of soap which Billy had\nbrought along in his pocket for the purpose; but eventually a hole was\nbored through into the tumblers of the combination lock.\n\nFrom without Billy could hear the footsteps of the sentry pacing back\nand forth within fifty feet of him, all unconscious that the bank he was\nguarding was being looted almost beneath his eyes. Once a corporal came\nwith another soldier and relieved the sentry. After that Billy heard the\nfootfalls no longer, for the new sentry was barefoot.\n\nThe boring finished, Billy drew a bit of wire from an inside pocket and\ninserted it in the hole. Then, working the wire with accustomed fingers,\nhe turned the combination knob this way and that, feeling with the bit\nof wire until the tumblers should all be in line.\n\nThis, too, was slow work; but it was infinitely less liable to attract\nattention than any other method of safe cracking with which Billy was\nfamiliar.\n\nIt was long past midnight when Captain Byrne was rewarded with\nsuccess--the tumblers clicked into position, the handle of the safe door\nturned and the bolts slipped back.\n\nTo swing open the door and transfer the contents of the safe to the two\nsacks was the work of but a few minutes. As Billy rose and threw the\nheavy burden across a shoulder he heard a challenge from without, and\nthen a parley. Immediately after the sound of footsteps ascending the\nstairway to the rooming-house came plainly to his ears, and then he had\nslipped the last bolt upon the rear door and was out in the yard beyond.\n\nNow Bridge, sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion that the boom of a\ncannon might not have disturbed, did that inexplicable thing which every\none of us has done a hundred times in our lives. He awakened, with a\nstart, out of a sound sleep, though no disturbing noise had reached his\nears.\n\nSomething impelled him to sit up in bed, and as he did so he could see\nthrough the window beside him into the yard at the rear of the building.\nThere in the moonlight he saw a man throwing a sack across the horn of\na saddle. He saw the man mount, and he saw him wheel his horse around\nabout and ride away toward the north. There seemed to Bridge nothing\nunusual about the man's act, nor had there been any indication either\nof stealth or haste to arouse the American's suspicions. Bridge lay back\nagain upon his pillows and sought to woo the slumber which the sudden\nawakening seemed to have banished for the remainder of the night.\n\nAnd up the stairway to the second floor staggered Tony and Benito. Their\nmoney was gone; but they had acquired something else which appeared much\nmore difficult to carry and not so easily gotten rid of.\n\nTony held the key to their room. It was the second room upon the right\nof the hall. Tony remembered that very distinctly. He had impressed it\nupon his mind before leaving the room earlier in the evening, for Tony\nhad feared some such contingency as that which had befallen.\n\nTony fumbled with the handle of a door, and stabbed vainly at an elusive\nkeyhole.\n\n\"Wait,\" mumbled Benito. \"This is not the room. It was the second door\nfrom the stairway. This is the third.\"\n\nTony lurched about and staggered back. Tony reasoned: \"If that was the\nthird door the next behind me must be the second, and on the right;\" but\nTony took not into consideration that he had reversed the direction of\nhis erratic wobbling. He lunged across the hall--not because he wished\nto but because the spirits moved him. He came in contact with a door.\n\"This, then, must be the second door,\" he soliloquized, \"and it is upon\nmy right. Ah, Benito, this is the room!\"\n\nBenito was skeptical. He said as much; but Tony was obdurate. Did he not\nknow a second door when he saw one? Was he, furthermore, not a grown man\nand therefore entirely capable of distinguishing between his left hand\nand his right? Yes! Tony was all of that, and more, so Tony inserted\nthe key in the lock--it would have turned any lock upon the second\nfloor--and, lo! the door swung inward upon its hinges.\n\n\"Ah! Benito,\" cried Tony. \"Did I not tell you so? See! This is our room,\nfor the key opens the door.\"\n\nThe room was dark. Tony, carried forward by the weight of his head,\nwhich had long since grown unaccountably heavy, rushed his feet rapidly\nforward that he might keep them within a few inches of his center of\nequilibrium.\n\nThe distance which it took his feet to catch up with his head was equal\nto the distance between the doorway and the foot of the bed, and when\nTony reached that spot, with Benito meandering after him, the latter,\nmuch to his astonishment, saw in the diffused moonlight which pervaded\nthe room, the miraculous disappearance of his former enemy and erstwhile\nfriend. Then from the depths below came a wild scream and a heavy thud.\n\nThe sentry upon the beat before the bank heard both. For an instant he\nstood motionless, then he called aloud for the guard, and turned toward\nthe bank door. But this was locked and he could but peer in through the\nwindows. Seeing a dark form within, and being a Mexican he raised his\nrifle and fired through the glass of the doors.\n\nTony, who had dropped through the hole which Billy had used so quietly,\nheard the zing of a bullet pass his head, and the impact as it sploshed\ninto the adobe wall behind him. With a second yell Tony dodged behind\nthe safe and besought Mary to protect him.\n\nFrom above Benito peered through the hole into the blackness below. Down\nthe hall came the barefoot landlord, awakened by the screams and the\nshot. Behind him came Bridge, buckling his revolver belt about his hips\nas he ran. Not having been furnished with pajamas Bridge had not thought\nit necessary to remove his clothing, and so he had lost no time in\ndressing.\n\nWhen the two, now joined by Benito, reached the street they found the\nguard there, battering in the bank doors. Benito, fearing for the life\nof Tony, which if anyone took should be taken by him, rushed upon\nthe sergeant of the guard, explaining with both lips and hands the\nremarkable accident which had precipitated Tony into the bank.\n\nThe sergeant listened, though he did not believe, and when the doors had\nfallen in, he commanded Tony to come out with his hands above his head.\nThen followed an investigation which disclosed the looting of the safe,\nand the great hole in the ceiling through which Tony had tumbled.\n\nThe bank president came while the sergeant and the landlord were in\nBilly's room investigating. Bridge had followed them.\n\n\"It was the gringo,\" cried the excited Boniface. \"This is his room. He\nhas cut a hole in my floor which I shall have to pay to have repaired.\"\n\nA captain came next, sleepy-eyed and profane. When he heard what had\nhappened and that the wealth which he had been detailed to guard had\nbeen taken while he slept, he tore his hair and promised that the sentry\nshould be shot at dawn.\n\nBy the time they had returned to the street all the male population of\nCuivaca was there and most of the female.\n\n\"One-thousand dollars,\" cried the bank president, \"to the man who stops\nthe thief and returns to me what the villain has stolen.\"\n\nA detachment of soldiers was in the saddle and passing the bank as the\noffer was made.\n\n\"Which way did he go?\" asked the captain. \"Did no one see him leave?\"\n\nBridge was upon the point of saying that he had seen him and that he had\nridden north, when it occurred to him that a thousand dollars--even a\nthousand dollars Mex--was a great deal of money, and that it would carry\nboth himself and Billy to Rio and leave something for pleasure beside.\n\nThen up spoke a tall, thin man with the skin of a coffee bean.\n\n\"I saw him, Senor Capitan,\" he cried. \"He kept his horse in my corral,\nand at night he came and took it out saying that he was riding to visit\na senorita. He fooled me, the scoundrel; but I will tell you--he rode\nsouth. I saw him ride south with my own eyes.\"\n\n\"Then we shall have him before morning,\" cried the captain, \"for there\nis but one place to the south where a robber would ride, and he has not\nhad sufficient start of us that he can reach safety before we overhaul\nhim. Forward! March!\" and the detachment moved down the narrow street.\n\"Trot! March!\" And as they passed the store: \"Gallop! March!\"\n\nBridge almost ran the length of the street to the corral. His pony must\nbe rested by now, and a few miles to the north the gringo whose capture\nmeant a thousand dollars to Bridge was on the road to liberty.\n\n\"I hate to do it,\" thought Bridge; \"because, even if he is a bank\nrobber, he's an American; but I need the money and in all probability\nthe fellow is a scoundrel who should have been hanged long ago.\"\n\nOver the trail to the north rode Captain Billy Byrne, secure in the\nbelief that no pursuit would develop until after the opening hour of\nthe bank in the morning, by which time he would be halfway on his return\njourney to Pesita's camp.\n\n\"Ol' man Pesita'll be some surprised when I show him what I got for\nhim,\" mused Billy. \"Say!\" he exclaimed suddenly and aloud, \"Why the\ndevil should I take all this swag back to that yellow-faced yegg? Who\npulled this thing off anyway? Why me, of course, and does anybody think\nBilly Byrne's boob enough to split with a guy that didn't have a hand in\nit at all. Split! Why the nut'll take it all!\n\n\"Nix! Me for the border. I couldn't do a thing with all this coin down\nin Rio, an' Bridgie'll be along there most any time. We can hit it up\nsome in lil' ol' Rio on this bunch o' dough. Why, say kid, there must be\na million here, from the weight of it.\"\n\nA frown suddenly clouded his face. \"Why did I take it?\" he asked\nhimself. \"Was I crackin' a safe, or was I pullin' off something fine fer\npoor, bleedin' Mexico? If I was a-doin' that they ain't nothin' criminal\nin what I done--except to the guy that owned the coin. If I was just\nplain crackin' a safe on my own hook why then I'm a crook again an' I\ncan't be that--no, not with that face of yours standin' out there so\nplain right in front of me, just as though you were there yourself,\naskin' me to remember an' be decent. God! Barbara--why wasn't I born for\nthe likes of you, and not just a measly, ornery mucker like I am. Oh,\nhell! what is that that Bridge sings of Knibbs's:\n\n  There ain't no sweet Penelope somewhere that's longing much for me,\n But I can smell the blundering sea, and hear the rigging hum;\n  And I can hear the whispering lips that fly before the out-bound ships,\n And I can hear the breakers on the sand a-calling \"Come!\"\n\n\nBilly took off his hat and scratched his head.\n\n\"Funny,\" he thought, \"how a girl and poetry can get a tough nut like me.\nI wonder what the guys that used to hang out in back of Kelly's 'ud\nsay if they seen what was goin' on in my bean just now. They'd call\nme Lizzy, eh? Well, they wouldn't call me Lizzy more'n once. I may be\ngettin' soft in the head, but I'm all to the good with my dukes.\"\n\nSpeed is not conducive to sentimental thoughts and so Billy had\nunconsciously permitted his pony to drop into a lazy walk. There was no\nneed for haste anyhow. No one knew yet that the bank had been robbed,\nor at least so Billy argued. He might, however, have thought differently\nupon the subject of haste could he have had a glimpse of the horseman in\nhis rear--two miles behind him, now, but rapidly closing up the distance\nat a keen gallop, while he strained his eyes across the moonlit flat\nahead in eager search for his quarry.\n\nSo absorbed was Billy Byrne in his reflections that his ears were deaf\nto the pounding of the hoofs of the pursuer's horse upon the soft dust\nof the dry road until Bridge was little more than a hundred yards from\nhim. For the last half-mile Bridge had had the figure of the fugitive in\nfull view and his mind had been playing rapidly with seductive visions\nof the one-thousand dollars reward--one-thousand dollars Mex, perhaps,\nbut still quite enough to excite pleasant thoughts. At the first glimpse\nof the horseman ahead Bridge had reined his mount down to a trot that\nthe noise of his approach might thereby be lessened. He had drawn his\nrevolver from its holster, and was upon the point of putting spurs\nto his horse for a sudden dash upon the fugitive when the man ahead,\nfinally attracted by the noise of the other's approach, turned in his\nsaddle and saw him.\n\nNeither recognized the other, and at Bridge's command of, \"Hands up!\"\nBilly, lightning-like in his quickness, drew and fired. The bullet raked\nBridge's hat from his head but left him unscathed.\n\nBilly had wheeled his pony around until he stood broadside toward\nBridge. The latter fired scarce a second after Billy's shot had pinged\nso perilously close--fired at a perfect target but fifty yards away.\n\nAt the sound of the report the robber's horse reared and plunged, then,\nwheeling and tottering high upon its hind feet, fell backward. Billy,\nrealizing that his mount had been hit, tried to throw himself from the\nsaddle; but until the very moment that the beast toppled over the man\nwas held by his cartridge belt which, as the animal first lunged, had\ncaught over the high horn of the Mexican saddle.\n\nThe belt slipped from the horn as the horse was falling, and Billy\nsucceeded in throwing himself a little to one side. One leg, however,\nwas pinned beneath the animal's body and the force of the fall jarred\nthe revolver from Billy's hand to drop just beyond his reach.\n\nHis carbine was in its boot at the horse's side, and the animal was\nlying upon it. Instantly Bridge rode to his side and covered him with\nhis revolver.\n\n\"Don't move,\" he commanded, \"or I'll be under the painful necessity of\nterminating your earthly endeavors right here and now.\"\n\n\"Well, for the love o' Mike!\" cried the fallen bandit. \"You?\"\n\nBridge was off his horse the instant that the familiar voice sounded in\nhis ears.\n\n\"Billy!\" he exclaimed. \"Why--Billy--was it you who robbed the bank?\"\n\nEven as he spoke Bridge was busy easing the weight of the dead pony from\nBilly's leg.\n\n\"Anything broken?\" he asked as the bandit struggled to free himself.\n\n\"Not so you could notice it,\" replied Billy, and a moment later he was\non his feet. \"Say, bo,\" he added, \"it's a mighty good thing you dropped\nlittle pinto here, for I'd a sure got you my next shot. Gee! it makes\nme sweat to think of it. But about this bank robbin' business. You can't\nexactly say that I robbed a bank. That money was the enemy's resources,\nan' I just nicked their resources. That's war. That ain't robbery.\nI ain't takin' it for myself--it's for the cause--the cause o' poor,\nbleedin' Mexico,\" and Billy grinned a large grin.\n\n\"You took it for Pesita?\" asked Bridge.\n\n\"Of course,\" replied Billy. \"I won't get a jitney of it. I wouldn't take\nnone of it, Bridge, honest. I'm on the square now.\"\n\n\"I know you are, Billy,\" replied the other; \"but if you're caught\nyou might find it difficult to convince the authorities of your\nhighmindedness and your disinterestedness.\"\n\n\"Authorities!\" scoffed Billy. \"There ain't no authorities in Mexico. One\nbandit is just as good as another, and from Pesita to Carranza they're\nall bandits at heart. They ain't a one of 'em that gives two whoops\nin hell for poor, bleedin' Mexico--unless they can do the bleedin'\nthemselves. It's dog eat dog here. If they caught me they'd shoot me\nwhether I'd robbed their bank or not. What's that?\" Billy was suddenly\nalert, straining his eyes back in the direction of Cuivaca.\n\n\"They're coming, Billy,\" said Bridge. \"Take my horse--quick! You must\nget out of here in a hurry. The whole post is searching for you. I\nthought that they went toward the south, though. Some of them must have\ncircled.\"\n\n\"What'll you do if I take your horse?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"I can walk back,\" said Bridge, \"it isn't far to town. I'll tell them\nthat I had come only a short distance when my horse threw me and ran\naway. They'll believe it for they think I'm a rotten horseman--the two\nvaqueros who escorted me to town I mean.\"\n\nBilly hesitated. \"I hate to do it, Bridge,\" he said.\n\n\"You must, Billy,\" urged the other.\n\n\"If they find us here together it'll merely mean that the two of us will\nget it, for I'll stick with you, Billy, and we can't fight off a whole\ntroop of cavalry out here in the open. If you take my horse we can both\nget out of it, and later I'll see you in Rio. Good-bye, Billy, I'm off\nfor town,\" and Bridge turned and started back along the road on foot.\n\nBilly watched him in silence for a moment. The truth of Bridge's\nstatement of fact was so apparent that Billy was forced to accept the\nplan. A moment later he transferred the bags of loot to Bridge's pony,\nswung into the saddle, and took a last backward look at the diminishing\nfigure of the man swinging along in the direction of Cuivaca.\n\n\"Say,\" he muttered to himself; \"but you're a right one, bo,\" and\nwheeling to the north he clapped his spurs to his new mount and loped\neasily off into the night.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI. BARBARA RELEASES A CONSPIRATOR\n\nIT was a week later, yet Grayson still was growling about the loss of\n\"that there Brazos pony.\" Grayson, the boss, and the boss's daughter\nwere sitting upon the veranda of the ranchhouse when the foreman\nreverted to the subject.\n\n\"I knew I didn't have no business hirin' a man thet can't ride,\" he\nsaid. \"Why thet there Brazos pony never did stumble, an' if he'd of\nstumbled he'd a-stood aroun' a year waitin' to be caught up agin. I jest\ncain't figger it out no ways how thet there tenderfoot bookkeeper lost\nhim. He must a-shooed him away with a stick. An' saddle an' bridle an'\nall gone too. Doggone it!\"\n\n\"I'm the one who should be peeved,\" spoke up the girl with a wry smile.\n\"Brazos was my pony. He's the one you picked out for me to ride while\nI am here; but I am sure poor Mr. Bridge feels as badly about it as\nanyone, and I know that he couldn't help it. We shouldn't be too hard\non him. We might just as well attempt to hold him responsible for the\nlooting of the bank and the loss of the pay-roll money.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Grayson, \"I give him thet horse 'cause I knew he couldn't\nride, an' thet was the safest horse in the cavvy. I wisht I'd given him\nSanta Anna instid--I wouldn't a-minded losin' him. There won't no one\nride him anyhow he's thet ornery.\"\n\n\"The thing that surprises me most,\" remarked the boss, \"is that Brazos\ndoesn't come back. He was foaled on this range, and he's never been\nridden anywhere else, has he?\"\n\n\"He was foaled right here on this ranch,\" Grayson corrected him, \"and\nhe ain't never been more'n a hundred mile from it. If he ain't dead or\nstolen he'd a-ben back afore the bookkeeper was. It's almighty queer.\"\n\n\"What sort of bookkeeper is Mr. Bridge?\" asked the girl.\n\n\"Oh, he's all right I guess,\" replied Grayson grudgingly. \"A feller's\ngot to be some good at something. He's probably one of these here\npaper-collar, cracker-fed college dudes thet don't know nothin' else\n'cept writin' in books.\"\n\nThe girl rose, smiled, and moved away.\n\n\"I like Mr. Bridge, anyhow,\" she called back over her shoulder, \"for\nwhatever he may not be he is certainly a well-bred gentleman,\" which\nspeech did not tend to raise Mr. Bridge in the estimation of the\nhard-fisted ranch foreman.\n\n\"Funny them greasers don't come in from the north range with thet bunch\no' steers. They ben gone all day now,\" he said to the boss, ignoring the\ngirl's parting sally.\n\nBridge sat tip-tilted against the front of the office building reading\nan ancient magazine which he had found within. His day's work was done\nand he was but waiting for the gong that would call him to the evening\nmeal with the other employees of the ranch. The magazine failed to rouse\nhis interest. He let it drop idly to his knees and with eyes closed\nreverted to his never-failing source of entertainment.\n\n  And then that slim, poetic guy he turned and looked me in the eye,\n \"....It's overland and overland and overseas to--where?\"\n \"Most anywhere that isn't here,\" I says.  His face went kind of queer.\n \"The place we're in is always here.  The other place is there.\"\n\n\nBridge stretched luxuriously. \"'There,'\" he repeated. \"I've been\nsearching for THERE for many years; but for some reason I can never get\naway from HERE. About two weeks of any place on earth and that place is\njust plain HERE to me, and I'm longing once again for THERE.\"\n\nHis musings were interrupted by a sweet feminine voice close by. Bridge\ndid not open his eyes at once--he just sat there, listening.\n\n As I was hiking past the woods, the cool and sleepy summer woods,\n   I saw a guy a-talking to the sunshine in the air,\n Thinks I, \"He's going to have a fit--I'll stick around and watch a bit,\"\n   But he paid no attention, hardly knowing I was there.\n\n\nThen the girl broke into a merry laugh and Bridge opened his eyes and\ncame to his feet.\n\n\"I didn't know you cared for that sort of stuff,\" he said. \"Knibbs\nwrites man-verse. I shouldn't have imagined that it would appeal to a\nyoung lady.\"\n\n\"But it does, though,\" she replied; \"at least to me. There's a swing to\nit and a freedom that 'gets me in the eye.'\"\n\nAgain she laughed, and when this girl laughed, harder-headed and much\nolder men than Mr. L. Bridge felt strange emotions move within their\nbreasts.\n\nFor a week Barbara had seen a great deal of the new bookkeeper. Aside\nfrom her father he was the only man of culture and refinement of which\nthe rancho could boast, or, as the rancho would have put it, be ashamed\nof.\n\nShe had often sought the veranda of the little office and lured the new\nbookkeeper from his work, and on several occasions had had him at the\nranchhouse. Not only was he an interesting talker; but there was an\nelement of mystery about him which appealed to the girl's sense of\nromance.\n\nShe knew that he was a gentleman born and reared, and she often found\nherself wondering what tragic train of circumstances had set him adrift\namong the flotsam of humanity's wreckage. Too, the same persistent\nconviction that she had known him somewhere in the past that possessed\nher father clung to her mind; but she could not place him.\n\n\"I overheard your dissertation on HERE AND THERE,\" said the girl. \"I\ncould not very well help it--it would have been rude to interrupt a\nconversation.\" Her eyes sparkled mischievously and her cheeks dimpled.\n\n\"You wouldn't have been interrupting a conversation,\" objected Bridge,\nsmiling; \"you would have been turning a monologue into a conversation.\"\n\n\"But it was a conversation,\" insisted the girl. \"The wanderer was\nconversing with the bookkeeper. You are a victim of wanderlust, Mr. L.\nBridge--don't deny it. You hate bookkeeping, or any other such prosaic\nvocation as requires permanent residence in one place.\"\n\n\"Come now,\" expostulated the man. \"That is hardly fair. Haven't I been\nhere a whole week?\"\n\nThey both laughed.\n\n\"What in the world can have induced you to remain so long?\" cried\nBarbara. \"How very much like an old timer you must feel--one of the\noldest inhabitants.\"\n\n\"I am a regular aborigine,\" declared Bridge; but his heart would have\nchosen another reply. It would have been glad to tell the girl that\nthere was a very real and a very growing inducement to remain at El\nOrobo Rancho. The man was too self-controlled, however, to give way to\nthe impulses of his heart.\n\nAt first he had just liked the girl, and been immensely glad of her\ncompanionship because there was so much that was common to them both--a\nlove for good music, good pictures, and good literature--things Bridge\nhadn't had an opportunity to discuss with another for a long, long time.\n\nAnd slowly he had found delight in just sitting and looking at her. He\nwas experienced enough to realize that this was a dangerous symptom, and\nso from the moment he had been forced to acknowledge it to himself he\nhad been very careful to guard his speech and his manner in the girl's\npresence.\n\nHe found pleasure in dreaming of what might have been as he sat watching\nthe girl's changing expression as different moods possessed her; but as\nfor permitting a hope, even, of realization of his dreams--ah, he was\nfar too practical for that, dreamer though he was.\n\nAs the two talked Grayson passed. His rather stern face clouded as he\nsaw the girl and the new bookkeeper laughing there together.\n\n\"Ain't you got nothin' to do?\" he asked Bridge.\n\n\"Yes, indeed,\" replied the latter.\n\n\"Then why don't you do it?\" snapped Grayson.\n\n\"I am,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"Mr. Bridge is entertaining me,\" interrupted the girl, before Grayson\ncould make any rejoinder. \"It is my fault--I took him from his work. You\ndon't mind, do you, Mr. Grayson?\"\n\nGrayson mumbled an inarticulate reply and went his way.\n\n\"Mr. Grayson does not seem particularly enthusiastic about me,\" laughed\nBridge.\n\n\"No,\" replied the girl, candidly; \"but I think it's just because you\ncan't ride.\"\n\n\"Can't ride!\" ejaculated Bridge. \"Why, haven't I been riding ever since\nI came here?\"\n\n\"Mr. Grayson doesn't consider anything in the way of equestrianism\nriding unless the ridden is perpetually seeking the life of the rider,\"\nexplained Barbara. \"Just at present he is terribly put out because you\nlost Brazos. He says Brazos never stumbled in his life, and even if you\nhad fallen from his back he would have stood beside you waiting for\nyou to remount him. You see he was the kindest horse on the\nranch--especially picked for me to ride. However in the world DID you\nlose him, Mr. Bridge?\"\n\nThe girl was looking full at the man as she propounded her query. Bridge\nwas silent. A faint flush overspread his face. He had not before known\nthat the horse was hers. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, and\nhe wouldn't lie to her, so he made no reply.\n\nBarbara saw the flush and noted the man's silence. For the first time\nher suspicions were aroused, yet she would not believe that this gentle,\namiable drifter could be guilty of any crime greater than negligence\nor carelessness. But why his evident embarrassment now? The girl was\nmystified. For a moment or two they sat in silence, then Barbara rose.\n\n\"I must run along back now,\" she explained. \"Papa will be wondering what\nhas become of me.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Bridge, and let her go. He would have been glad to tell her\nthe truth; but he couldn't do that without betraying Billy. He had heard\nenough to know that Francisco Villa had been so angered over the bold\nlooting of the bank in the face of a company of his own soldiers that\nhe would stop at nothing to secure the person of the thief once his\nidentity was known. Bridge was perfectly satisfied with the ethics of\nhis own act on the night of the bank robbery. He knew that the girl\nwould have applauded him, and that Grayson himself would have done what\nBridge did had a like emergency confronted the ranch foreman; but to\nhave admitted complicity in the escape of the fugitive would have been\nto have exposed himself to the wrath of Villa, and at the same time\nrevealed the identity of the thief. \"Nor,\" thought Bridge, \"would it get\nBrazos back for Barbara.\"\n\nIt was after dark when the vaqueros Grayson had sent to the north range\nreturned to the ranch. They came empty-handed and slowly for one of them\nsupported a wounded comrade on the saddle before him. They rode directly\nto the office where Grayson and Bridge were going over some of the\nbusiness of the day, and when the former saw them his brow clouded for\nhe knew before he heard their story what had happened.\n\n\"Who done it?\" he asked, as the men filed into the office, half carrying\nthe wounded man.\n\n\"Some of Pesita's followers,\" replied Benito.\n\n\"Did they git the steers, too?\" inquired Grayson.\n\n\"Part of them--we drove off most and scattered them. We saw the Brazos\npony, too,\" and Benito looked from beneath heavy lashes in the direction\nof the bookkeeper.\n\n\"Where?\" asked Grayson.\n\n\"One of Pesita's officers rode him--an Americano. Tony and I saw this\nsame man in Cuivaca the night the bank was robbed, and today he was\nriding the Brazos pony.\" Again the dark eyes turned toward Bridge.\n\nGrayson was quick to catch the significance of the Mexican's meaning.\nThe more so as it was directly in line with suspicions which he himself\nhad been nursing since the robbery.\n\nDuring the colloquy the boss entered the office. He had heard the\nreturning vaqueros ride into the ranch and noting that they brought no\nsteers with them had come to the office to hear their story. Barbara,\nspurred by curiosity, accompanied her father.\n\n\"You heard what Benito says?\" asked Grayson, turning toward his\nemployer.\n\nThe latter nodded. All eyes were upon Bridge.\n\n\"Well,\" snapped Grayson, \"what you gotta say fer yourself? I ben\nsuspectin' you right along. I knew derned well that that there Brazos\npony never run off by hisself. You an' that other crook from the States\nframed this whole thing up pretty slick, didn'tcha? Well, we'll--\"\n\n\"Wait a moment, wait a moment, Grayson,\" interrupted the boss. \"Give\nMr. Bridge a chance to explain. You're making a rather serious\ncharge against him without any particularly strong proof to back your\naccusation.\"\n\n\"Oh, that's all right,\" exclaimed Bridge, with a smile. \"I have known\nthat Mr. Grayson suspected me of implication in the robbery; but who can\nblame him--a man who can't ride might be guilty of almost anything.\"\n\nGrayson sniffed. Barbara took a step nearer Bridge. She had been ready\nto doubt him herself only an hour or so ago; but that was before he had\nbeen accused. Now that she found others arrayed against him her impulse\nwas to come to his defense.\n\n\"You didn't do it, did you, Mr. Bridge?\" Her tone was almost pleading.\n\n\"If you mean robbing the bank,\" he replied; \"I did not, Miss Barbara. I\nknew no more about it until after it was over than Benito or Tony--in\nfact they were the ones who discovered it while I was still asleep in my\nroom above the bank.\"\n\n\"Well, how did the robber git thet there Brazos pony then?\" demanded\nGrayson savagely. \"Thet's what I want to know.\"\n\n\"You'll have to ask him, Mr. Grayson,\" replied Bridge.\n\n\"Villa'll ask him, when he gits holt of him,\" snapped Grayson; \"but I\nreckon he'll git all the information out of you thet he wants first.\nHe'll be in Cuivaca tomorrer, an' so will you.\"\n\n\"You mean that you are going to turn me over to General Villa?\" asked\nBridge. \"You are going to turn an American over to that butcher knowing\nthat he'll be shot inside of twenty-four hours?\"\n\n\"Shootin's too damned good fer a horse thief,\" replied Grayson.\n\nBarbara turned impulsively toward her father. \"You won't let Mr. Grayson\ndo that?\" she asked.\n\n\"Mr. Grayson knows best how to handle such an affair as this, Barbara,\"\nreplied her father. \"He is my superintendent, and I have made it a point\nnever to interfere with him.\"\n\n\"You will let Mr. Bridge be shot without making an effort to save him?\"\nshe demanded.\n\n\"We do not know that he will be shot,\" replied the ranch owner. \"If\nhe is innocent there is no reason why he should be punished. If he is\nguilty of implication in the Cuivaca bank robbery he deserves, according\nto the rules of war, to die, for General Villa, I am told, considers\nthat a treasonable act. Some of the funds upon which his government\ndepends for munitions of war were there--they were stolen and turned\nover to the enemies of Mexico.\"\n\n\"And if we interfere we'll turn Villa against us,\" interposed Grayson.\n\"He ain't any too keen for Americans as it is. Why, if this fellow was\nmy brother I'd hev to turn him over to the authorities.\"\n\n\"Well, I thank God,\" exclaimed Bridge fervently, \"that in addition to\nbeing shot by Villa I don't have to endure the added disgrace of being\nrelated to you, and I'm not so sure that I shall be hanged by Villa,\"\nand with that he wiped the oil lamp from the table against which he had\nbeen leaning, and leaped across the room for the doorway.\n\nBarbara and her father had been standing nearest the exit, and as the\ngirl realized the bold break for liberty the man was making, she pushed\nher father to one side and threw open the door.\n\nBridge was through it in an instant, with a parting, \"God bless you,\nlittle girl!\" as he passed her. Then the door was closed with a bang.\nBarbara turned the key, withdrew it from the lock and threw it across\nthe darkened room.\n\nGrayson and the unwounded Mexicans leaped after the fugitive only to\nfind their way barred by the locked door. Outside Bridge ran to the\nhorses standing patiently with lowered heads awaiting the return of\ntheir masters. In an instant he was astride one of them, and lashing the\nothers ahead of him with a quirt he spurred away into the night.\n\nBy the time Grayson and the Mexicans had wormed their way through one of\nthe small windows of the office the new bookkeeper was beyond sight and\nearshot.\n\nAs the ranch foreman was saddling up with several of his men in the\ncorral to give chase to the fugitive the boss strolled in and touched\nhim on the arm.\n\n\"Mr. Grayson,\" he said, \"I have made it a point never to interfere with\nyou; but I am going to ask you now not to pursue Mr. Bridge. I shall\nbe glad if he makes good his escape. Barbara was right--he is a\nfellow-American. We cannot turn him over to Villa, or any other Mexican\nto be murdered.\"\n\nGrumblingly Grayson unsaddled. \"Ef you'd seen what I've seen around\nhere,\" he said, \"I guess you wouldn't be so keen to save this feller's\nhide.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked the boss.\n\n\"I mean that he's ben tryin' to make love to your daughter.\"\n\nThe older man laughed. \"Don't be a fool, Grayson,\" he said, and walked\naway.\n\nAn hour later Barbara was strolling up and down before the ranchhouse\nin the cool and refreshing air of the Chihuahua night. Her mind was\noccupied with disquieting reflections of the past few hours. Her pride\nwas immeasurably hurt by the part impulse had forced her to take in the\naffair at the office. Not that she regretted that she had connived in\nthe escape of Bridge; but it was humiliating that a girl of her position\nshould have been compelled to play so melodramatic a part before Grayson\nand his Mexican vaqueros.\n\nThen, too, was she disappointed in Bridge. She had looked upon him as\na gentleman whom misfortune and wanderlust had reduced to the lowest\nstratum of society. Now she feared that he belonged to that substratum\nwhich lies below the lowest which society recognizes as a part of\nitself, and which is composed solely of the criminal class.\n\nIt was hard for Barbara to realize that she had associated with a\nthief--just for a moment it was hard, until recollection forced upon her\nthe unwelcome fact of the status of another whom she had known--to whom\nshe had given her love. The girl did not wince at the thought--instead\nshe squared her shoulders and raised her chin.\n\n\"I am proud of him, whatever he may have been,\" she murmured; but she\nwas not thinking of the new bookkeeper. When she did think again of\nBridge it was to be glad that he had escaped--\"for he is an American,\nlike myself.\"\n\n\"Well!\" exclaimed a voice behind her. \"You played us a pretty trick,\nMiss Barbara.\"\n\nThe girl turned to see Grayson approaching. To her surprise he seemed to\nhold no resentment whatsoever. She greeted him courteously.\n\n\"I couldn't let you turn an American over to General Villa,\" she said,\n\"no matter what he had done.\"\n\n\"I liked your spirit,\" said the man. \"You're the kind o' girl I ben\nlookin' fer all my life--one with nerve an' grit, an' you got 'em both.\nYou liked thet bookkeepin' critter, an' he wasn't half a man. I like you\nan' I am a man, ef I do say so myself.\"\n\nThe girl drew back in astonishment.\n\n\"Mr. Grayson!\" she exclaimed. \"You are forgetting yourself.\"\n\n\"No I ain't,\" he cried hoarsely. \"I love you an' I'm goin' to have you.\nYou'd love me too ef you knew me better.\"\n\nHe took a step forward and grasped her arm, trying to draw her to him.\nThe girl pushed him away with one hand, and with the other struck him\nacross the face.\n\nGrayson dropped her arm, and as he did so she drew herself to her full\nheight and looked him straight in the eyes.\n\n\"You may go now,\" she said, her voice like ice. \"I shall never speak of\nthis to anyone--provided you never attempt to repeat it.\"\n\nThe man made no reply. The blow in the face had cooled his ardor\ntemporarily, but had it not also served another purpose?--to crystallize\nit into a firm and inexorable resolve.\n\nWhen he had departed Barbara turned and entered the house.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII. BILLY TO THE RESCUE\n\nIT WAS nearly ten o'clock the following morning when Barbara, sitting\nupon the veranda of the ranchhouse, saw her father approaching from the\ndirection of the office. His face wore a troubled expression which the\ngirl could not but note.\n\n\"What's the matter, Papa?\" she asked, as he sank into a chair at her\nside.\n\n\"Your self-sacrifice of last evening was all to no avail,\" he replied.\n\"Bridge has been captured by Villistas.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried the girl. \"You can't mean it--how did you learn?\"\n\n\"Grayson just had a phone message from Cuivaca,\" he explained. \"They\nonly repaired the line yesterday since Pesita's men cut it last month.\nThis was our first message. And do you know, Barbara, I can't help\nfeeling sorry. I had hoped that he would get away.\"\n\n\"So had I,\" said the girl.\n\nHer father was eyeing her closely to note the effect of his announcement\nupon her; but he could see no greater concern reflected than that which\nhe himself felt for a fellow-man and an American who was doomed to death\nat the hands of an alien race, far from his own land and his own people.\n\n\"Can nothing be done?\" she asked.\n\n\"Absolutely,\" he replied with finality. \"I have talked it over with\nGrayson and he assures me that an attempt at intervention upon our part\nmight tend to antagonize Villa, in which case we are all as good as\nlost. He is none too fond of us as it is, and Grayson believes, and\nnot without reason, that he would welcome the slightest pretext for\nwithdrawing the protection of his favor. Instantly he did that we should\nbecome the prey of every marauding band that infests the mountains. Not\nonly would Pesita swoop down upon us, but those companies of freebooters\nwhich acknowledge nominal loyalty to Villa would be about our ears in no\ntime. No, dear, we may do nothing. The young man has made his bed, and\nnow I am afraid that he will have to lie in it alone.\"\n\nFor awhile the girl sat in silence, and presently her father arose and\nentered the house. Shortly after she followed him, reappearing soon\nin riding togs and walking rapidly to the corrals. Here she found an\nAmerican cowboy busily engaged in whittling a stick as he sat upon an\nupturned cracker box and shot accurate streams of tobacco juice at a\ncouple of industrious tumble bugs that had had the great impudence to\nroll their little ball of provender within the whittler's range.\n\n\"O Eddie!\" she cried.\n\nThe man looked up, and was at once electrified into action. He sprang\nto his feet and whipped off his sombrero. A broad smile illumined his\nfreckled face.\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" he answered. \"What can I do for you?\"\n\n\"Saddle a pony for me, Eddie,\" she explained. \"I want to take a little\nride.\"\n\n\"Sure!\" he assured her cheerily. \"Have it ready in a jiffy,\" and away\nhe went, uncoiling his riata, toward the little group of saddle ponies\nwhich stood in the corral against necessity for instant use.\n\nIn a couple of minutes he came back leading one, which he tied to the\ncorral bars.\n\n\"But I can't ride that horse,\" exclaimed the girl. \"He bucks.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said Eddie. \"I'm a-goin' to ride him.\"\n\n\"Oh, are you going somewhere?\" she asked.\n\n\"I'm goin' with you, miss,\" announced Eddie, sheepishly.\n\n\"But I didn't ask you, Eddie, and I don't want you--today,\" she urged.\n\n\"Sorry, miss,\" he threw back over his shoulder as he walked back to rope\na second pony; \"but them's orders. You're not to be allowed to ride no\nplace without a escort. 'Twouldn't be safe neither, miss,\" he almost\npleaded, \"an' I won't hinder you none. I'll ride behind far enough to be\nthere ef I'm needed.\"\n\nDirectly he came back with another pony, a sad-eyed, gentle-appearing\nlittle beast, and commenced saddling and bridling the two.\n\n\"Will you promise,\" she asked, after watching him in silence for a time,\n\"that you will tell no one where I go or whom I see?\"\n\n\"Cross my heart hope to die,\" he assured her.\n\n\"All right, Eddie, then I'll let you come with me, and you can ride\nbeside me, instead of behind.\"\n\nAcross the flat they rode, following the windings of the river road,\none mile, two, five, ten. Eddie had long since been wondering what the\npurpose of so steady a pace could be. This was no pleasure ride which\ntook the boss's daughter--\"heifer,\" Eddie would have called her--ten\nmiles up river at a hard trot. Eddie was worried, too. They had passed\nthe danger line, and were well within the stamping ground of Pesita and\nhis retainers. Here each little adobe dwelling, and they were scattered\nat intervals of a mile or more along the river, contained a rabid\npartisan of Pesita, or it contained no one--Pesita had seen to this\nlatter condition personally.\n\nAt last the young lady drew rein before a squalid and dilapidated hut.\nEddie gasped. It was Jose's, and Jose was a notorious scoundrel whom old\nage alone kept from the active pursuit of the only calling he ever had\nknown--brigandage. Why should the boss's daughter come to Jose? Jose was\nhand in glove with every cutthroat in Chihuahua, or at least within a\nradius of two hundred miles of his abode.\n\nBarbara swung herself from the saddle, and handed her bridle reins to\nEddie.\n\n\"Hold him, please,\" she said. \"I'll be gone but a moment.\"\n\n\"You're not goin' in there to see old Jose alone?\" gasped Eddie.\n\n\"Why not?\" she asked. \"If you're afraid you can leave my horse and ride\nalong home.\"\n\nEddie colored to the roots of his sandy hair, and kept silent. The girl\napproached the doorway of the mean hovel and peered within. At one end\nsat a bent old man, smoking. He looked up as Barbara's figure darkened\nthe doorway.\n\n\"Jose!\" said the girl.\n\nThe old man rose to his feet and came toward her.\n\n\"Eh? Senorita, eh?\" he cackled.\n\n\"You are Jose?\" she asked.\n\n\"Si, senorita,\" replied the old Indian. \"What can poor old Jose do to\nserve the beautiful senorita?\"\n\n\"You can carry a message to one of Pesita's officers,\" replied the girl.\n\"I have heard much about you since I came to Mexico. I know that there\nis not another man in this part of Chihuahua who may so easily reach\nPesita as you.\" She raised her hand for silence as the Indian would have\nprotested. Then she reached into the pocket of her riding breeches and\nwithdrew a handful of silver which she permitted to trickle, tinklingly,\nfrom one palm to the other. \"I wish you to go to the camp of Pesita,\"\nshe continued, \"and carry word to the man who robbed the bank at\nCuivaca--he is an American--that his friend, Senor Bridge has been\ncaptured by Villa and is being held for execution in Cuivaca. You must\ngo at once--you must get word to Senor Bridge's friend so that help may\nreach Senor Bridge before dawn. Do you understand?\"\n\nThe Indian nodded assent.\n\n\"Here,\" said the girl, \"is a payment on account. When I know that you\ndelivered the message in time you shall have as much more. Will you do\nit?\"\n\n\"I will try,\" said the Indian, and stretched forth a clawlike hand for\nthe money.\n\n\"Good!\" exclaimed Barbara. \"Now start at once,\" and she dropped the\nsilver coins into the old man's palm.\n\n\nIt was dusk when Captain Billy Byrne was summoned to the tent of Pesita.\nThere he found a weazened, old Indian squatting at the side of the\noutlaw.\n\n\"Jose,\" said Pesita, \"has word for you.\"\n\nBilly Byrne turned questioningly toward the Indian.\n\n\"I have been sent, Senor Capitan,\" explained Jose, \"by the beautiful\nsenorita of El Orobo Rancho to tell you that your friend, Senor Bridge,\nhas been captured by General Villa, and is being held at Cuivaca, where\nhe will doubtless be shot--if help does not reach him before tomorrow\nmorning.\"\n\nPesita was looking questioningly at Byrne. Since the gringo had returned\nfrom Cuivaca with the loot of the bank and turned the last penny of it\nover to him the outlaw had looked upon his new captain as something just\nshort of superhuman. To have robbed the bank thus easily while Villa's\nsoldiers paced back and forth before the doorway seemed little short of\nan indication of miraculous powers, while to have turned the loot\nover intact to his chief, not asking for so much as a peso of it, was\nabsolutely incredible.\n\nPesita could not understand this man; but he admired him greatly and\nfeared him, too. Such a man was worth a hundred of the ordinary run of\nhumanity that enlisted beneath Pesita's banners. Byrne had but to ask a\nfavor to have it granted, and now, when he called upon Pesita to\nfurnish him with a suitable force for the rescue of Bridge the brigand\nenthusiastically acceded to his demands.\n\n\"I will come,\" he exclaimed, \"and all my men shall ride with me. We will\ntake Cuivaca by storm. We may even capture Villa himself.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute, bo,\" interrupted Billy Byrne. \"Don't get excited. I'm\nlookin' to get my pal outen' Cuivaca. After that I don't care who\nyou capture; but I'm goin' to get Bridgie out first. I ken do it with\ntwenty-five men--if it ain't too late. Then, if you want to, you can\nshoot up the town. Lemme have the twenty-five, an' you hang around the\nedges with the rest of 'em 'til I'm done. Whaddaya say?\"\n\nPesita was willing to agree to anything, and so it came that half an\nhour later Billy Byrne was leading a choice selection of some two dozen\ncutthroats down through the hills toward Cuivaca. While a couple of\nmiles in the rear followed Pesita with the balance of his band.\n\nBilly rode until the few remaining lights of Cuivaca shone but a short\ndistance ahead and they could hear plainly the strains of a grating\ngraphophone from beyond the open windows of a dance hall, and the voices\nof the sentries as they called the hour.\n\n\"Stay here,\" said Billy to a sergeant at his side, \"until you hear\na hoot owl cry three times from the direction of the barracks and\nguardhouse, then charge the opposite end of the town, firing off your\ncarbines like hell an' yellin' yer heads off. Make all the racket you\ncan, an' keep it up 'til you get 'em comin' in your direction, see? Then\nturn an' drop back slowly, eggin' 'em on, but holdin' 'em to it as long\nas you can. Do you get me, bo?\"\n\nFrom the mixture of Spanish and English and Granavenooish the sergeant\ngleaned enough of the intent of his commander to permit him to salute\nand admit that he understood what was required of him.\n\nHaving given his instructions Billy Byrne rode off to the west, circled\nCuivaca and came close up upon the southern edge of the little village.\nHere he dismounted and left his horse hidden behind an outbuilding,\nwhile he crept cautiously forward to reconnoiter.\n\nHe knew that the force within the village had no reason to fear attack.\nVilla knew where the main bodies of his enemies lay, and that no force\ncould approach Cuivaca without word of its coming reaching the garrison\nmany hours in advance of the foe. That Pesita, or another of the several\nbandit chiefs in the neighborhood would dare descend upon a garrisoned\ntown never for a moment entered the calculations of the rebel leader.\n\nFor these reasons Billy argued that Cuivaca would be poorly guarded. On\nthe night he had spent there he had seen sentries before the bank, the\nguardhouse, and the barracks in addition to one who paced to and fro in\nfront of the house in which the commander of the garrison maintained his\nheadquarters. Aside from these the town was unguarded.\n\nNor were conditions different tonight. Billy came within a hundred yards\nof the guardhouse before he discovered a sentinel. The fellow lolled\nupon his gun in front of the building--an adobe structure in the rear\nof the barracks. The other three sides of the guardhouse appeared to be\nunwatched.\n\nBilly threw himself upon his stomach and crawled slowly forward stopping\noften. The sentry seemed asleep. He did not move. Billy reached the\nshadow at the side of the structure and some fifty feet from the soldier\nwithout detection. Then he rose to his feet directly beneath a barred\nwindow.\n\nWithin Bridge paced back and forth the length of the little building. He\ncould not sleep. Tomorrow he was to be shot! Bridge did not wish to die.\nThat very morning General Villa in person had examined him. The general\nhad been exceedingly wroth--the sting of the theft of his funds still\nirritated him; but he had given Bridge no inkling as to his fate. It had\nremained for a fellow-prisoner to do that. This man, a deserter, was to\nbe shot, so he said, with Bridge, a fact which gave him an additional\ntwenty-four hours of life, since, he asserted, General Villa wished\nto be elsewhere than in Cuivaca when an American was executed. Thus he\ncould disclaim responsibility for the act.\n\nThe general was to depart in the morning. Shortly after, Bridge and the\ndeserter would be led out and blindfolded before a stone wall--if there\nwas such a thing, or a brick wall, or an adobe wall. It made little\ndifference to the deserter, or to Bridge either. The wall was but a\ntrivial factor. It might go far to add romance to whomever should read\nof the affair later; but in so far as Bridge and the deserter were\nconcerned it meant nothing. A billboard, thought Bridge, bearing\nthe slogan: \"Eventually! Why not now?\" would have been equally as\nefficacious and far more appropriate.\n\nThe room in which he was confined was stuffy with the odor of\naccumulated filth. Two small barred windows alone gave means of\nventilation. He and the deserter were the only prisoners. The latter\nslept as soundly as though the morrow held nothing more momentous in his\ndestiny than any of the days that had preceded it. Bridge was moved to\nkick the fellow into consciousness of his impending fate. Instead he\nwalked to the south window to fill his lungs with the free air beyond\nhis prison pen, and gaze sorrowfully at the star-lit sky which he should\nnever again behold.\n\nIn a low tone Bridge crooned a snatch of the poem that he and Billy\nliked best:\n\n  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me,\n  With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.\n\nBridge's mental vision was concentrated upon the veranda of a\nwhite-walled ranchhouse to the east. He shook his head angrily.\n\n\"It's just as well,\" he thought. \"She's not for me.\"\n\nSomething moved upon the ground beyond the window. Bridge became\nsuddenly intent upon the thing. He saw it rise and resolve itself into\nthe figure of a man, and then, in a low whisper, came a familiar voice:\n\n\n\"There ain't no roses in my hair, but there's a barker in my shirt,\nan' another at me side. Here's one of 'em. They got kisses beat a city\nblock. How's the door o' this thing fastened?\" The speaker was quite\nclose to the window now, his face but a few inches from Bridge's.\n\n\"Billy!\" ejaculated the condemned man.\n\n\"Surest thing you know; but about the door?\"\n\n\"Just a heavy bar on the outside,\" replied Bridge.\n\n\"Easy,\" commented Billy, relieved. \"Get ready to beat it when I open\nthe door. I got a pony south o' town that'll have to carry double for a\nlittle way tonight.\"\n\n\"God bless you, Billy!\" whispered Bridge, fervently.\n\n\"Lay low a few minutes,\" said Billy, and moved away toward the rear of\nthe guardhouse.\n\nA few minutes later there broke upon the night air the dismal hoot of\nan owl. At intervals of a few seconds it was repeated twice. The sentry\nbefore the guardhouse shifted his position and looked about, then he\nsettled back, transferring his weight to the other foot, and resumed his\nbovine meditations.\n\nThe man at the rear of the guardhouse moved silently along the side\nof the structure until he stood within a few feet of the unsuspecting\nsentinel, hidden from him by the corner of the building. A heavy\nrevolver dangled from his right hand. He held it loosely by the barrel,\nand waited.\n\nFor five minutes the silence of the night was unbroken, then from the\neast came a single shot, followed immediately by a scattering fusillade\nand a chorus of hoarse cries.\n\nBilly Byrne smiled. The sentry resumed indications of quickness. From\nthe barracks beyond the guardhouse came sharp commands and the sounds\nof men running. From the opposite end of the town the noise of battle\nwelled up to ominous proportions.\n\nBilly heard the soldiers stream from their quarters and a moment later\nsaw them trot up the street at the double. Everyone was moving toward\nthe opposite end of the town except the lone sentinel before the\nguardhouse. The moment seemed propitious for his attempt.\n\nBilly peered around the corner of the guardhouse. Conditions were\njust as he had pictured they would be. The sentry stood gazing in the\ndirection of the firing, his back toward the guardhouse door and Billy.\n\nWith a bound the American cleared the space between himself and the\nunsuspecting and unfortunate soldier. The butt of the heavy revolver\nfell, almost noiselessly, upon the back of the sentry's head, and the\nman sank to the ground without even a moan.\n\nTurning to the door Billy knocked the bar from its place, the door swung\nin and Bridge slipped through to liberty.\n\n\"Quick!\" said Billy. \"Follow me,\" and turned at a rapid run toward the\nsouth edge of the town. He made no effort now to conceal his movements.\nSpeed was the only essential, and the two covered the ground swiftly and\nopenly without any attempt to take advantage of cover.\n\nThey reached Billy's horse unnoticed, and a moment later were trotting\ntoward the west to circle the town and regain the trail to the north and\nsafety.\n\nTo the east they heard the diminishing rifle fire of the combatants as\nPesita's men fell steadily back before the defenders, and drew them away\nfrom Cuivaca in accordance with Billy's plan.\n\n\"Like takin' candy from a baby,\" said Billy, when the flickering lights\nof Cuivaca shone to the south of them, and the road ahead lay clear to\nthe rendezvous of the brigands.\n\n\"Yes,\" agreed Bridge; \"but what I'd like to know, Billy, is how you\nfound out I was there.\"\n\n\"Penelope,\" said Byrne, laughing.\n\n\"Penelope!\" queried Bridge. \"I'm not at all sure that I follow you,\nBilly.\"\n\n\"Well, seein' as you're sittin' on behind you can't be leadin' me,\"\nreturned Billy; \"but cuttin' the kid it was a skirt tipped it off to me\nwhere you was--the beautiful senorita of El Orobo Rancho, I think Jose\ncalled her. Now are you hep?\"\n\nBridge gave an exclamation of astonishment. \"God bless her!\" he said.\n\"She did that for me?\"\n\n\"She sure did,\" Billy assured him, \"an' I'll bet an iron case she's\na-waitin' for you there with buds o' roses in her hair an' kisses on her\nmouth, you old son-of-a-gun, you.\" Billy laughed happily. He was happy\nanyway at having rescued Bridge, and the knowledge that his friend was\nin love and that the girl reciprocated his affection--all of which Billy\nassumed as the only explanation of her interest in Bridge--only added to\nhis joy. \"She ain't a greaser is she?\" he asked presently.\n\n\"I should say not,\" replied Bridge. \"She's a perfect queen from New\nYork City; but, Billy, she's not for me. What she did was prompted by a\ngenerous heart. She couldn't care for me, Billy. Her father is a wealthy\nman--he could have the pick of the land--of many lands--if she cared to\nmarry. You don't think for a minute she'd want a hobo, do you?\"\n\n\"You can't most always tell,\" replied Billy, a trifle sadly. \"I knew\nsuch a queen once who would have chosen a mucker, if he'd a-let her.\nYou're stuck on her, ol' man?\"\n\n\"I'm afraid I am, Billy,\" Bridge admitted; \"but what's the use? Let's\nforget it. Oh, say, is this the horse I let you take the night you\nrobbed the bank?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Billy; \"same little pony, an' a mighty well-behaved one,\ntoo. Why?\"\n\n\"It's hers,\" said Bridge.\n\n\"An' she wants it back?\"\n\n\"She didn't say so; but I'd like to get it to her some way,\" said\nBridge.\n\n\"You ride it back when you go,\" suggested Billy.\n\n\"But I can't go back,\" said Bridge; \"it was Grayson, the foreman, who\nmade it so hot for me I had to leave. He tried to arrest me and send me\nto Villa.\"\n\n\"What for?\" asked Billy.\n\n\"He didn't like me, and wanted to get rid of me.\" Bridge wouldn't say\nthat his relations with Billy had brought him into trouble.\n\n\"Oh, well, I'll take it back myself then, and at the same time I'll tell\nPenelope what a regular fellow you are, and punch in the foreman's face\nfor good luck.\"\n\n\"No, you mustn't go there. They know you now. It was some of El Orobo's\nmen you shot up day before yesterday when you took their steers from\nthem. They recognized the pony, and one of them had seen you in Cuivaca\nthe night of the robbery. They would be sure to get you, Billy.\"\n\nShortly the two came in touch with the retreating Pesitistas who were\nriding slowly toward their mountain camp. Their pursuers had long since\ngiven up the chase, fearing that they might be being lured into the\nmidst of a greatly superior force, and had returned to Cuivaca.\n\nIt was nearly morning when Bridge and Billy threw themselves down upon\nthe latter's blankets, fagged.\n\n\"Well, well,\" murmured Billy Byrne; \"li'l ol' Bridgie's found his\nPenelope,\" and fell asleep.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII. BARBARA AGAIN\n\nCAPTAIN BILLY BYRNE rode out of the hills the following afternoon upon a\npinto pony that showed the whites of its eyes in a wicked rim about the\niris and kept its ears perpetually flattened backward.\n\nAt the end of a lariat trailed the Brazos pony, for Billy, laughing\naside Bridge's pleas, was on his way to El Orobo Rancho to return the\nstolen horse to its fair owner.\n\nAt the moment of departure Pesita had asked Billy to ride by way of\nJose's to instruct the old Indian that he should bear word to one\nEsteban that Pesita required his presence.\n\nIt is a long ride from the retreat of the Pesitistas to Jose's squalid\nhut, especially if one be leading an extra horse, and so it was that\ndarkness had fallen long before Billy arrived in sight of Jose's.\nDismounting some distance from the hut, Billy approached cautiously,\nsince the world is filled with dangers for those who are beyond the law,\nand one may not be too careful.\n\nBilly could see a light showing through a small window, and toward\nthis he made his way. A short distance from Jose's is another, larger\nstructure from which the former inhabitants had fled the wrath of\nPesita. It was dark and apparently tenantless; but as a matter of fact a\npair of eyes chanced at the very moment of Billy's coming to be looking\nout through the open doorway.\n\nThe owner turned and spoke to someone behind him.\n\n\"Jose has another visitor,\" he said. \"Possibly this one is less harmless\nthan the other. He comes with great caution. Let us investigate.\"\n\nThree other men rose from their blankets upon the floor and joined the\nspeaker. They were all armed, and clothed in the nondescript uniforms of\nVillistas. Billy's back was toward them as they sneaked from the hut in\nwhich they were intending to spend the night and crept quietly toward\nhim.\n\nBilly was busily engaged in peering through the little window into\nthe interior of the old Indian's hovel. He saw an American in earnest\nconversation with Jose. Who could the man be? Billy did not recognize\nhim; but presently Jose answered the question.\n\n\"It shall be done as you wish, Senor Grayson,\" he said.\n\n\"Ah!\" thought Billy; \"the foreman of El Orobo. I wonder what business he\nhas with this old scoundrel--and at night.\"\n\nWhat other thoughts Billy might have had upon the subject were rudely\ninterrupted by four energetic gentlemen in his rear, who leaped upon him\nsimultaneously and dragged him to the ground. Billy made no outcry; but\nhe fought none the less strenuously for his freedom, and he fought after\nthe manner of Grand Avenue, which is not a pretty, however effective,\nway it may be.\n\nBut four against one when all the advantages lie with the four are heavy\nodds, and when Grayson and Jose ran out to investigate, and the ranch\nforeman added his weight to that of the others Billy was finally\nsubdued. That each of his antagonists would carry mementos of the battle\nfor many days was slight compensation for the loss of liberty. However,\nit was some.\n\nAfter disarming their captive and tying his hands at his back they\njerked him to his feet and examined him.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked Grayson. \"What you doin' sneakin' 'round spyin' on\nme, eh?\"\n\n\"If you wanna know who I am, bo,\" replied Billy, \"go ask de Harlem\nHurricane, an' as fer spyin' on youse, I wasn't; but from de looks I\nguess youse need spyin, yuh tinhorn.\"\n\nA pony whinnied a short distance from the hut.\n\n\"That must be his horse,\" said one of the Villistas, and walked away to\ninvestigate, returning shortly after with the pinto pony and Brazos.\n\nThe moment Grayson saw the latter he gave an exclamation of\nunderstanding.\n\n\"I know him now,\" he said. \"You've made a good catch, Sergeant. This\nis the fellow who robbed the bank at Cuivaca. I recognize him from the\ndescriptions I've had of him, and the fact that he's got the Brazos pony\nmakes it a cinch. Villa oughter promote you for this.\"\n\n\"Yep,\" interjected Billy, \"he orter make youse an admiral at least;\nbut youse ain't got me home yet, an' it'll take more'n four Dagos an' a\ntin-horn to do it.\"\n\n\"They'll get you there all right, my friend,\" Grayson assured him. \"Now\ncome along.\"\n\nThey bundled Billy into his own saddle, and shortly after the little\nparty was winding southward along the river in the direction of El Orobo\nRancho, with the intention of putting up there for the balance of the\nnight where their prisoner could be properly secured and guarded. As\nthey rode away from the dilapidated hut of the Indian the old man stood\nsilhouetted against the rectangle of dim light which marked the open\ndoorway, and shook his fist at the back of the departing ranch foreman.\n\n\"El cochino!\" he cackled, and turned back into his hut.\n\nAt El Orobo Rancho Barbara walked to and fro outside the ranchhouse.\nWithin her father sat reading beneath the rays of an oil lamp. From the\nquarters of the men came the strains of guitar music, and an occasional\nloud laugh indicated the climax of some of Eddie Shorter's famous Kansas\nfarmer stories.\n\nBarbara was upon the point of returning indoors when her attention was\nattracted by the approach of a half-dozen horsemen. They reined into the\nranchyard and dismounted before the office building. Wondering a little\nwho came so late, Barbara entered the house, mentioning casually to her\nfather that which she had just seen.\n\nThe ranch owner, now always fearful of attack, was upon the point\nof investigating when Grayson rode up to the veranda and dismounted.\nBarbara and her father were at the door as he ascended the steps.\n\n\"Good news!\" exclaimed the foreman. \"I've got the bank robber, and\nBrazos, too. Caught the sneakin' coyote up to--up the river a bit.\" He\nhad almost said \"Jose's;\" but caught himself in time. \"Someone's been\ncuttin' the wire at the north side of the north pasture, an' I was\nridin' up to see ef I could catch 'em at it,\" he explained.\n\n\"He is an American?\" asked the boss.\n\n\"Looks like it; but he's got the heart of a greaser,\" replied Grayson.\n\"Some of Villa's men are with me, and they're a-goin' to take him to\nCuivaca tomorrow.\"\n\nNeither Barbara nor her father seemed to enthuse much. To them an\nAmerican was an American here in Mexico, where every hand was against\ntheir race. That at home they might have looked with disgust upon this\nsame man did not alter their attitude here, that no American should take\nsides against his own people. Barbara said as much to Grayson.\n\n\"Why this fellow's one of Pesita's officers,\" exclaimed Grayson. \"He\ndon't deserve no sympathy from us nor from no other Americans. Pesita\nhas sworn to kill every American that falls into his hands, and this\nfellow's with him to help him do it. He's a bad un.\"\n\n\"I can't help what he may do,\" insisted Barbara. \"He's an American, and\nI for one would never be a party to his death at the hands of a Mexican,\nand it will mean death to him to be taken to Cuivaca.\"\n\n\"Well, miss,\" said Grayson, \"you won't hev to be responsible--I'll take\nall the responsibility there is and welcome. I just thought you'd like\nto know we had him.\" He was addressing his employer. The latter nodded,\nand Grayson turned and left the room. Outside he cast a sneering laugh\nback over his shoulder and swung into his saddle.\n\nIn front of the men's quarters he drew rein again and shouted Eddie's\nname. Shorter came to the door.\n\n\"Get your six-shooter an' a rifle, an' come on over to the office. I\nwant to see you a minute.\"\n\nEddie did as he was bid, and when he entered the little room he saw four\nMexicans lolling about smoking cigarettes while Grayson stood before\na chair in which sat a man with his arms tied behind his back. Grayson\nturned to Eddie.\n\n\"This party here is the slick un that robbed the bank, and got away\non thet there Brazos pony thet miserable bookkeepin' dude giv him. The\nsergeant here an' his men are a-goin' to take him to Cuivaca in the\nmornin'. You stand guard over him 'til midnight, then they'll relieve\nyou. They gotta get a little sleep first, though, an' I gotta get\nsome supper. Don't stand fer no funny business now, Eddie,\" Grayson\nadmonished him, and was on the point of leaving the office when a\nthought occurred to him. \"Say, Shorter,\" he said, \"they ain't no way\nof gettin' out of the little bedroom in back there except through this\nroom. The windows are too small fer a big man to get through. I'll tell\nyou what, we'll lock him up in there an' then you won't hev to worry\nnone an' neither will we. You can jest spread out them Navajos there and\ngo to sleep right plump ag'in the door, an' there won't nobody hev to\nrelieve you all night.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said Eddie, \"leave it to me--I'll watch the slicker.\"\n\nSatisfied that their prisoner was safe for the night the Villistas and\nGrayson departed, after seeing him safely locked in the back room.\n\nAt the mention by the foreman of his guard's names--Eddie and\nShorter--Billy had studied the face of the young American cowpuncher,\nfor the two names had aroused within his memory a tantalizing suggestion\nthat they should be very familiar. Yet he could connect them in no way\nwith anyone he had known in the past and he was quite sure that he never\nbefore had set eyes upon this man.\n\nSitting in the dark with nothing to occupy him Billy let his mind dwell\nupon the identity of his jailer, until, as may have happened to you,\nnothing in the whole world seemed equally as important as the solution\nof the mystery. Even his impending fate faded into nothingness by\ncomparison with the momentous question as to where he had heard the name\nEddie Shorter before.\n\nAs he sat puzzling his brain over the inconsequential matter something\nstirred upon the floor close to his feet, and presently he jerked back a\nbooted foot that a rat had commenced to gnaw upon.\n\n\"Helluva place to stick a guy,\" mused Billy, \"in wit a bunch o'\nman-eatin' rats. Hey!\" and he turned his face toward the door. \"You,\nEddie! Come here!\"\n\nEddie approached the door and listened.\n\n\"Wot do you want?\" he asked. \"None o' your funny business, you know. I'm\nfrom Shawnee, Kansas, I am, an' they don't come no slicker from nowhere\non earth. You can't fool me.\"\n\nShawnee, Kansas! Eddie Shorter! The whole puzzle was cleared in Billy's\nmind in an instant.\n\n\"So you're Eddie Shorter of Shawnee, Kansas, are you?\" called Billy.\n\"Well I know your maw, Eddie, an' ef I had such a maw as you got I\nwouldn't be down here wastin' my time workin' alongside a lot of Dagos;\nbut that ain't what I started out to say, which was that I want a\nlight in here. The damned rats are tryin' to chaw off me kicks an' when\nthey're done wit them they'll climb up after me an' old man Villa'll be\nsore as a pup.\"\n\n\"You know my maw?\" asked Eddie, and there was a wistful note in his\nvoice. \"Aw shucks! you don't know her--that's jest some o' your funny,\nslicker business. You wanna git me in there an' then you'll try an'\ngit aroun' me some sort o' way to let you escape; but I'm too slick for\nthat.\"\n\n\"On the level Eddie, I know your maw,\" persisted Billy. \"I ben in your\nmaw's house jest a few weeks ago. 'Member the horsehair sofa between the\nwindows? 'Member the Bible on the little marble-topped table? Eh? An'\nTige? Well, Tige's croaked; but your maw an' your paw ain't an' they\nwant you back, Eddie. I don't care ef you believe me, son, or not; but\nyour maw was mighty good to me, an' you promise me you'll write her an'\nthen go back home as fast as you can. It ain't everybody's got a swell\nmaw like that, an' them as has ought to be good to 'em.\"\n\nBeyond the closed door Eddie's jaw was commencing to tremble. Memory\nwas flooding his heart and his eyes with sweet recollections of an ample\nbreast where he used to pillow his head, of a big capable hand that was\nwont to smooth his brow and stroke back his red hair. Eddie gulped.\n\n\"You ain't joshin' me?\" he asked. Billy Byrne caught the tremor in the\nvoice.\n\n\"I ain't kiddin' you son,\" he said. \"Wotinell do you take me fer--one o'\nthese greasy Dagos? You an' I're Americans--I wouldn't string a home guy\ndown here in this here Godforsaken neck o' the woods.\"\n\nBilly heard the lock turn, and a moment later the door was cautiously\nopened revealing Eddie safely ensconced behind two six-shooters.\n\n\"That's right, Eddie,\" said Billy, with a laugh. \"Don't you take no\nchances, no matter how much sob stuff I hand you, fer, I'll give it to\nyou straight, ef I get the chanct I'll make my get-away; but I can't do\nit wit my flippers trussed, an' you wit a brace of gats sittin' on me.\nLet's have a light, Eddie. That won't do nobody any harm, an' it may\ndiscourage the rats.\"\n\nEddie backed across the office to a table where stood a small lamp.\nKeeping an eye through the door on his prisoner he lighted the lamp and\ncarried it into the back room, setting it upon a commode which stood in\none corner.\n\n\"You really seen maw?\" he asked. \"Is she well?\"\n\n\"Looked well when I seen her,\" said Billy; \"but she wants her boy back\na whole lot. I guess she'd look better still ef he walked in on her some\nday.\"\n\n\"I'll do it,\" cried Eddie. \"The minute they get money for the pay I'll\nhike. Tell me your name. I'll ask her ef she remembers you when I get\nhome. Gee! but I wish I was walkin' in the front door now.\"\n\n\"She never knew my name,\" said Billy; \"but you tell her you seen the bo\nthat mussed up the two yeggmen who rolled her an' were tryin' to croak\nher wit a butcher knife. I guess she ain't fergot. Me an' my pal were\nbeatin' it--he was on the square but the dicks was after me an' she let\nus have money to make our get-away. She's all right, kid.\"\n\nThere came a knock at the outer office door. Eddie sprang back into\nthe front room, closing and locking the door after him, just as Barbara\nentered.\n\n\"Eddie,\" she asked, \"may I see the prisoner? I want to talk to him.\"\n\n\"You want to talk with a bank robber?\" exclaimed Eddie. \"Why you ain't\ncrazy are you, Miss Barbara?\"\n\n\"No, I'm not crazy; but I want to speak with him alone for just a\nmoment, Eddie--please.\"\n\nEddie hesitated. He knew that Grayson would be angry if he let the\nboss's daughter into that back room alone with an outlaw and a robber,\nand the boss himself would probably be inclined to have Eddie drawn and\nquartered; but it was hard to refuse Miss Barbara anything.\n\n\"Where is he?\" she asked.\n\nEddie jerked a thumb in the direction of the door. The key still was in\nthe lock.\n\n\"Go to the window and look at the moon, Eddie,\" suggested the girl.\n\"It's perfectly gorgeous tonight. Please, Eddie,\" as he still hesitated.\n\nEddie shook his head and moved slowly toward the window.\n\n\"There can't nobody refuse you nothin', miss,\" he said; \"'specially when\nyou got your heart set on it.\"\n\n\"That's a dear, Eddie,\" purred the girl, and moved swiftly across the\nroom to the locked door.\n\nAs she turned the key in the lock she felt a little shiver of nervous\nexcitement run through her. \"What sort of man would he be--this hardened\noutlaw and robber--this renegade American who had cast his lot with the\navowed enemies of his own people?\" she wondered.\n\nOnly her desire to learn of Bridge's fate urged her to attempt so\ndistasteful an interview; but she dared not ask another to put\nthe question for her, since should her complicity in Bridge's\nescape--provided of course that he had escaped--become known to Villa\nthe fate of the Americans at El Orobo would be definitely sealed.\n\nShe turned the knob and pushed the door open, slowly. A man was sitting\nin a chair in the center of the room. His back was toward her. He was a\nbig man. His broad shoulders loomed immense above the back of the rude\nchair. A shock of black hair, rumpled and tousled, covered a well-shaped\nhead.\n\nAt the sound of the door creaking upon its hinges he turned his face in\nher direction, and as his eyes met hers all four went wide in surprise\nand incredulity.\n\n\"Billy!\" she cried.\n\n\"Barbara!--you?\" and Billy rose to his feet, his bound hands struggling\nto be free.\n\nThe girl closed the door behind her and crossed to him.\n\n\"You robbed the bank, Billy?\" she asked. \"It was you, after the promises\nyou made me to live straight always--for my sake?\" Her voice trembled\nwith emotion. The man could see that she suffered, and yet he felt his\nown anguish, too.\n\n\"But you are married,\" he said. \"I saw it in the papers. What do you\ncare, now, Barbara? I'm nothing to you.\"\n\n\"I'm not married, Billy,\" she cried. \"I couldn't marry Mr. Mallory. I\ntried to make myself believe that I could; but at last I knew that I did\nnot love him and never could, and I wouldn't marry a man I didn't love.\n\n\"I never dreamed that it was you here, Billy,\" she went on. \"I came to\nask you about Mr. Bridge. I wanted to know if he escaped, or if--if--oh,\nthis awful country! They think no more of human life here than a butcher\nthinks of the life of the animal he dresses.\"\n\nA sudden light illumined Billy's mind. Why had it not occurred to him\nbefore? This was Bridge's Penelope! The woman he loved was loved by his\nbest friend. And she had sent a messenger to him, to Billy, to save her\nlover. She had come here to the office tonight to question a stranger--a\nman she thought an outlaw and a robber--because she could not rest\nwithout word from the man she loved. Billy stiffened. He was hurt to the\nbottom of his heart; but he did not blame Bridge--it was fate. Nor did\nhe blame Barbara because she loved Bridge. Bridge was more her kind\nanyway. He was a college guy. Billy was only a mucker.\n\n\"Bridge got away all right,\" he said. \"And say, he didn't have nothin'\nto do with pullin' off that safe crackin'. I done it myself. He didn't\nknow I was in town an' I didn't know he was there. He's the squarest guy\nin the world, Bridge is. He follered me that night an' took a shot at\nme, thinkin' I was the robber all right but not knowin' I was me. He\ngot my horse, an' when he found it was me, he made me take your pony an'\nmake my get-away, fer he knew Villa's men would croak me sure if they\ncaught me. You can't blame him fer that, can you? Him an' I were good\npals--he couldn't do nothin' else. It was him that made me bring your\npony back to you. It's in the corral now, I reckon. I was a-bringin' it\nback when they got me. Now you better go. This ain't no place fer you,\nan' I ain't had no sleep fer so long I'm most dead.\" His tones were\ncool. He appeared bored by her company; though as a matter of fact\nhis heart was breaking with love for her--love that he believed\nunrequited--and he yearned to tear loose his bonds and crush her in his\narms.\n\nIt was Barbara's turn now to be hurt. She drew herself up.\n\n\"I am sorry that I have disturbed your rest,\" she said, and walked away,\nher head in the air; but all the way back to the ranchhouse she kept\nrepeating over and over to herself: \"Tomorrow they will shoot him!\nTomorrow they will shoot him! Tomorrow they will shoot him!\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV. 'TWIXT LOVE AND DUTY\n\nFOR an hour Barbara Harding paced the veranda of the ranchhouse, pride\nand love battling for the ascendency within her breast. She could not\nlet him die, that she knew; but how might she save him?\n\nThe strains of music and the laughter from the bunkhouse had ceased. The\nranch slept. Over the brow of the low bluff upon the opposite side of\nthe river a little party of silent horsemen filed downward to the ford.\nAt the bluff's foot a barbed-wire fence marked the eastern boundary of\nthe ranch's enclosed fields. The foremost horseman dismounted and cut\nthe strands of wire, carrying them to one side from the path of the feet\nof the horses which now passed through the opening he had made.\n\nDown into the river they rode following the ford even in the darkness\nwith an assurance which indicated long familiarity. Then through a\nfringe of willows out across a meadow toward the ranch buildings\nthe riders made their way. The manner of their approach, their utter\nsilence, the hour, all contributed toward the sinister.\n\nUpon the veranda of the ranchhouse Barbara Harding came to a sudden\nhalt. Her entire manner indicated final decision, and determination. A\nmoment she stood in thought and then ran quickly down the steps and in\nthe direction of the office. Here she found Eddie dozing at his post.\nShe did not disturb him. A glance through the window satisfied her that\nhe was alone with the prisoner. From the office building Barbara passed\non to the corral. A few horses stood within the enclosure, their heads\ndrooping dejectedly. As she entered they raised their muzzles and\nsniffed suspiciously, ears a-cock, and as the girl approached closer\nto them they moved warily away, snorting, and passed around her to the\nopposite side of the corral. As they moved by her she scrutinized them\nand her heart dropped, for Brazos was not among them. He must have been\nturned out into the pasture.\n\nShe passed over to the bars that closed the opening from the corral into\nthe pasture and wormed her way between two of them. A hackamore with a\npiece of halter rope attached to it hung across the upper bar. Taking it\ndown she moved off across the pasture in the direction the saddle horses\nmost often took when liberated from the corral.\n\nIf they had not crossed the river she felt that she might find and catch\nBrazos, for lumps of sugar and bits of bread had inspired in his equine\nsoul a wondrous attachment for his temporary mistress.\n\nDown the beaten trail the animals had made to the river the girl\nhurried, her eyes penetrating the darkness ahead and to either hand for\nthe looming bulks that would be the horses she sought, and among which\nshe might hope to discover the gentle little Brazos.\n\nThe nearer she came to the river the lower dropped her spirits, for as\nyet no sign of the animals was to be seen. To have attempted to place a\nhackamore upon any of the wild creatures in the corral would have been\nthe height of foolishness--only a well-sped riata in the hands of a\nstrong man could have captured one of these.\n\nCloser and closer to the fringe of willows along the river she came,\nuntil, at their very edge, there broke upon her already taut nerves the\nhideous and uncanny scream of a wildcat. The girl stopped short in\nher tracks. She felt the chill of fear creep through her skin, and a\ntwitching at the roots of her hair evidenced to her the extremity of her\nterror. Should she turn back? The horses might be between her and the\nriver, but judgment told her that they had crossed. Should she brave the\nnervous fright of a passage through that dark, forbidding labyrinth of\ngloom when she knew that she should not find the horses within reach\nbeyond?\n\nShe turned to retrace her steps. She must find another way!\n\nBut was there another way? And \"Tomorrow they will shoot him!\" She\nshuddered, bit her lower lip in an effort to command her courage, and\nthen, wheeling, plunged into the thicket.\n\nAgain the cat screamed--close by--but the girl never hesitated in her\nadvance, and a few moments later she broke through the willows a dozen\npaces from the river bank. Her eyes strained through the night; but no\nhorses were to be seen.\n\nThe trail, cut by the hoofs of many animals, ran deep and straight down\ninto the swirling water. Upon the opposite side Brazos must be feeding\nor resting, just beyond reach.\n\nBarbara dug her nails into her palms in the bitterness of her\ndisappointment. She followed down to the very edge of the water. It\nwas black and forbidding. Even in the daytime she would not have been\nconfident of following the ford--by night it would be madness to attempt\nit.\n\nShe choked down a sob. Her shoulders drooped. Her head bent forward. She\nwas the picture of disappointment and despair.\n\n\"What can I do?\" she moaned. \"Tomorrow they will shoot him!\"\n\nThe thought seemed to electrify her.\n\n\"They shall not shoot him!\" she cried aloud. \"They shall not shoot him\nwhile I live to prevent it!\"\n\nAgain her head was up and her shoulders squared. Tying the hackamore\nabout her waist, she took a single deep breath of reassurance and\nstepped out into the river. For a dozen paces she found no difficulty in\nfollowing the ford. It was broad and straight; but toward the center\nof the river, as she felt her way along a step at a time, she came to a\nplace where directly before her the ledge upon which she crossed shelved\noff into deep water. She turned upward, trying to locate the direction\nof the new turn; but here too there was no footing. Down river she\nfelt solid rock beneath her feet. Ah! this was the way, and boldly she\nstepped out, the water already above her knees. Two, three steps she\ntook, and with each one her confidence and hope arose, and then the\nfourth step--and there was no footing. She felt herself lunging into the\nstream, and tried to draw back and regain the ledge; but the force of\nthe current was too much for her, and, so suddenly it seemed that she\nhad thrown herself in, she was in the channel swimming for her life.\n\nThe trend of the current there was back in the direction of the bank she\nhad but just quitted, yet so strong was her determination to succeed for\nBilly Byrne's sake that she turned her face toward the opposite shore\nand fought to reach the seemingly impossible goal which love had set for\nher. Again and again she was swept under by the force of the current.\nAgain and again she rose and battled, not for her own life; but for\nthe life of the man she once had loathed and whom she later had come to\nlove. Inch by inch she won toward the shore of her desire, and inch by\ninch of her progress she felt her strength failing. Could she win? Ah!\nif she were but a man, and with the thought came another: Thank God that\nI am a woman with a woman's love which gives strength to drive me into\nthe clutches of death for his sake!\n\nHer heart thundered in tumultuous protest against the strain of her\npanting lungs. Her limbs felt cold and numb; but she could not give\nup even though she was now convinced that she had thrown her life away\nuselessly. They would find her body; but no one would ever guess what\nhad driven her to her death. Not even he would know that it was for\nhis sake. And then she felt the tugging of the channel current suddenly\nlessen, an eddy carried her gently inshore, her feet touched the sand\nand gravel of the bottom.\n\nGasping for breath, staggering, stumbling, she reeled on a few paces\nand then slipped down clutching at the river's bank. Here the water was\nshallow, and here she lay until her strength returned. Then she urged\nherself up and onward, climbed to the top of the bank with success at\nlast within reach.\n\nTo find the horses now required but a few minutes' search. They stood\nhuddled in a black mass close to the barbed-wire fence at the extremity\nof the pasture. As she approached them they commenced to separate\nslowly, edging away while they faced her in curiosity. Softly she\ncalled: \"Brazos! Come, Brazos!\" until a unit of the moving mass detached\nitself and came toward her, nickering.\n\n\"Good Brazos!\" she cooed. \"That's a good pony,\" and walked forward to\nmeet him.\n\nThe animal let her reach up and stroke his forehead, while he muzzled\nabout her for the expected tidbit. Gently she worked the hackamore\nover his nose and above his ears, and when it was safely in place she\nbreathed a deep sigh of relief and throwing her arms about his neck\npressed her cheek to his.\n\n\"You dear old Brazos,\" she whispered.\n\nThe horse stood quietly while the girl wriggled herself to his back,\nand then at a word and a touch from her heels moved off at a walk in the\ndirection of the ford. The crossing this time was one of infinite ease,\nfor Barbara let the rope lie loose and Brazos take his own way.\n\nThrough the willows upon the opposite bank he shouldered his path,\nacross the meadow still at a walk, lest they arouse attention, and\nthrough a gate which led directly from the meadow into the ranchyard.\nHere she tied him to the outside of the corral, while she went in search\nof saddle and bridle. Whose she took she did not know, nor care, but\nthat the saddle was enormously heavy she was perfectly aware long before\nshe had dragged it halfway to where Brazos stood.\n\nThree times she essayed to lift it to his back before she succeeded in\naccomplishing the Herculean task, and had it been any other horse upon\nthe ranch than Brazos the thing could never have been done; but the\nkindly little pony stood in statuesque resignation while the heavy\nMexican tree was banged and thumped against his legs and ribs, until a\nlucky swing carried it to his withers.\n\nSaddled and bridled Barbara led him to the rear of the building and\nthus, by a roundabout way, to the back of the office building. Here she\ncould see a light in the room in which Billy was confined, and after\ndropping the bridle reins to the ground she made her way to the front of\nthe structure.\n\nCreeping stealthily to the porch she peered in at the window. Eddie was\nstretched out in cramped though seeming luxury in an office chair.\nHis feet were cocked up on the desk before him. In his lap lay his\nsix-shooter ready for any emergency. Another reposed in its holster at\nhis belt.\n\nBarbara tiptoed to the door. Holding her breath she turned the knob\ngently. The door swung open without a sound, and an instant later she\nstood within the room. Again her eyes were fixed upon Eddie Shorter.\nShe saw his nerveless fingers relax their hold upon the grip of his\nrevolver. She saw the weapon slip farther down into his lap. He did not\nmove, other than to the deep and regular breathing of profound slumber.\n\nBarbara crossed the room to his side.\n\nBehind the ranchhouse three figures crept forward in the shadows. Behind\nthem a matter of a hundred yards stood a little clump of horses and with\nthem were the figures of more men. These waited in silence. The other\nthree crept toward the house. It was such a ranchhouse as you might find\nby the scores or hundreds throughout Texas. Grayson, evidently, or some\nother Texan, had designed it. There was nothing Mexican about it, nor\nanything beautiful. It stood two storied, verandaed and hideous, a blot\nupon the soil of picturesque Mexico.\n\nTo the roof of the veranda clambered the three prowlers, and across it\nto an open window. The window belonged to the bedroom of Miss Barbara\nHarding. Here they paused and listened, then two of them entered the\nroom. They were gone for but a few minutes. When they emerged they\nshowed evidences, by their gestures to the third man who had awaited\noutside, of disgust and disappointment.\n\nCautiously they descended as they had come and made their way back to\nthose other men who had remained with the horses. Here there ensued a\nlow-toned conference, and while it progressed Barbara Harding reached\nforth a steady hand which belied the terror in her soul and plucked the\nrevolver from Eddie Shorter's lap. Eddie slept on.\n\nAgain on tiptoe the girl recrossed the office to the locked door leading\ninto the back room. The key was in the lock. Gingerly she turned it,\nkeeping a furtive eye upon the sleeping guard, and the muzzle of his own\nrevolver leveled menacingly upon him. Eddie Shorter stirred in his sleep\nand raised a hand to his face. The heart of Barbara Harding ceased to\nbeat while she stood waiting for the man to open his eyes and discover\nher; but he did nothing of the kind. Instead his hand dropped limply at\nhis side and he resumed his regular breathing.\n\nThe key turned in the lock beneath the gentle pressure of her fingers,\nthe bolt slipped quietly back and she pushed the door ajar. Within,\nBilly Byrne turned inquiring eyes in the direction of the opening door,\nand as he saw who it was who entered surprise showed upon his face; but\nhe spoke no word for the girl held a silencing finger to her lips.\n\nQuickly she came to his side and motioned him to rise while she tugged\nat the knots which held the bonds in place about his arms. Once she\nstopped long enough to recross the room and close the door which she had\nleft open when she entered.\n\nIt required fully five minutes--the longest five minutes of Barbara\nHarding's life, she thought--before the knots gave to her efforts; but\nat last the rope fell to the floor and Billy Byrne was free.\n\nHe started to speak, to thank her, and, perhaps, to scold her for the\nrash thing she had undertaken for him; but she silenced him again, and\nwith a whispered, \"Come!\" turned toward the door.\n\nAs she opened it a crack to reconnoiter she kept the revolver pointed\nstraight ahead of her into the adjoining room. Eddie, however, still\nslept on in peaceful ignorance of the trick which was being played upon\nhim.\n\nNow the two started forward for the door which opened from the office\nupon the porch, and as they did so Barbara turned again toward Billy\nto caution him to silence for his spurs had tinkled as he moved. For a\nmoment their eyes were not upon Eddie Shorter and Fate had it that at\nthat very moment Eddie awoke and opened his own eyes.\n\nThe sight that met them was so astonishing that for a second the Kansan\ncould not move. He saw Barbara Harding, a revolver in her hand,\naiding the outlaw to escape, and in the instant that surprise kept him\nmotionless Eddie saw, too, another picture--the picture of a motherly\nwoman in a little farmhouse back in Kansas, and Eddie realized that this\nman, this outlaw, had been the means of arousing within him a desire and\na determination to return again to those loving arms. Too, the man had\nsaved his mother from injury, and possible death.\n\nEddie shut his eyes quickly and thought hard and fast. Miss Barbara\nhad always been kind to him. In his boyish heart he had loved her,\nhopelessly of course, in a boyish way. She wanted the outlaw to escape.\nEddie realized that he would do anything that Miss Barbara wanted, even\nif he had to risk his life at it.\n\nThe girl and the man were at the door. She pushed him through ahead of\nher while she kept the revolver leveled upon Eddie, then she passed out\nafter him and closed the door, while Eddie Shorter kept his eyes tightly\nclosed and prayed to his God that Billy Byrne might get safely away.\n\nOutside and in the rear of the office building Barbara pressed the\nrevolver upon Billy.\n\n\"You will need it,\" she said. \"There is Brazos--take him. God bless and\nguard you, Billy!\" and she was gone.\n\nBilly swallowed bard. He wanted to run after her and take her in his\narms; but he recalled Bridge, and with a sigh turned toward the patient\nBrazos. Languidly he gathered up the reins and mounted, and then\nunconcernedly as though he were an honored guest departing by daylight\nhe rode out of the ranchyard and turned Brazos' head north up the river\nroad.\n\nAnd as Billy disappeared in the darkness toward the north Barbara\nHarding walked slowly toward the ranchhouse, while from a little group\nof men and horses a hundred yards away three men detached themselves\nand crept toward her, for they had seen her in the moonlight as she left\nBilly outside the office and strolled slowly in the direction of the\nhouse.\n\nThey hid in the shadow at the side of the house until the girl had\nturned the corner and was approaching the veranda, then they ran quickly\nforward and as she mounted the steps she was seized from behind and\ndragged backward. A hand was clapped over her mouth and a whispered\nthreat warned her to silence.\n\nHalf dragging and half carrying her the three men bore her back to where\ntheir confederates awaited them. A huge fellow mounted his pony and\nBarbara was lifted to the horn of the saddle before him. Then the others\nmounted and as silently as they had come they rode away, following the\nsame path.\n\nBarbara Harding had not cried out nor attempted to, for she had seen\nvery shortly after her capture that she was in the hands of Indians and\nshe judged from what she had heard of the little band of Pimans who held\nforth in the mountains to the east that they would as gladly knife her\nas not.\n\nJose was a Piman, and she immediately connected Jose with the\nperpetration, or at least the planning of her abduction. Thus she felt\nassured that no harm would come to her, since Jose had been famous in\nhis time for the number and size of the ransoms he had collected.\n\nHer father would pay what was demanded, she would be returned and, aside\nfrom a few days of discomfort and hardship, she would be none the worse\noff for her experience. Reasoning thus it was not difficult to maintain\nher composure and presence of mind.\n\nAs Barbara was borne toward the east, Billy Byrne rode steadily\nnorthward. It was his intention to stop at Jose's hut and deliver the\nmessage which Pesita had given him for the old Indian. Then he would\ndisappear into the mountains to the west, join Pesita and urge a new\nraid upon some favored friend of General Francisco Villa, for Billy had\nno love for Villa.\n\nHe should have been glad to pay his respects to El Orobo Rancho and\nits foreman; but the fact that Anthony Harding owned it and that he and\nBarbara were there was sufficient effectually to banish all thoughts of\nrevenge along that line.\n\n\"Maybe I can get his goat later,\" he thought, \"when he's away from the\nranch. I don't like that stiff, anyhow. He orter been a harness bull.\"\n\nIt was four o'clock in the morning when Billy dismounted in front of\nJose's hut. He pounded on the door until the man came and opened it.\n\n\"Eh!\" exclaimed Jose as he saw who his early morning visitor was, \"you\ngot away from them. Fine!\" and the old man chuckled. \"I send word to\nPesita two, four hours ago that Villistas capture Capitan Byrne and take\nhim to Cuivaca.\"\n\n\"Thanks,\" said Billy. \"Pesita wants you to send Esteban to him. I didn't\nhave no chance to tell you last night while them pikers was stickin'\naroun', so I stops now on my way back to the hills.\"\n\n\"I will send Esteban tonight if I can get him; but I do not know.\nEsteban is working for the pig, Grayson.\"\n\n\"Wot's he doin' fer Grayson?\" asked Billy. \"And what was the Grayson\nguy doin' up here with you, Jose? Ain't you gettin' pretty thick with\nPesita's enemies?\"\n\n\"Jose good friends everybody,\" and the old man grinned. \"Grayson have\na job he want good men for. Jose furnish men. Grayson pay well. Job\ngot nothin' do Pesita, Villa, Carranza, revolution--just private job.\nGrayson want senorita. He pay to get her. That all.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Billy, and yawned. He was not interested in Mr. Grayson's\namours. \"Why didn't the poor boob go get her himself?\" he inquired\ndisinterestedly. \"He must be a yap to hire a bunch o' guys to go cop off\na siwash girl fer him.\"\n\n\"It is not a siwash girl, Senor Capitan,\" said Jose. \"It is one\nbeautiful senorita--the daughter of the owner of El Orobo Rancho.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried Billy Byrne. \"What's that you say?\"\n\n\"Yes, Senor Capitan, what of it?\" inquired Jose. \"Grayson he pay me\nfurnish the men. Esteban he go with his warriors. I get Esteban. They go\ntonight take away the senorita; but not for Grayson,\" and the old fellow\nlaughed. \"I can no help can I? Grayson pay me money get men. I get them.\nI no help if they keep girl,\" and he shrugged.\n\n\"They're comin' for her tonight?\" cried Billy.\n\n\"Si, senor,\" replied Jose. \"Doubtless they already take her.\"\n\n\"Hell!\" muttered Billy Byrne, as he swung Brazos about so quickly that\nthe little pony pivoted upon his hind legs and dashed away toward the\nsouth over the same trail he had just traversed.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV. AN INDIAN'S TREACHERY\n\nTHE Brazos pony had traveled far that day but for only a trifle over ten\nmiles had he carried a rider upon his back. He was, consequently, far\nfrom fagged as he leaped forward to the lifted reins and tore along the\ndusty river trail back in the direction of Orobo.\n\nNever before had Brazos covered ten miles in so short a time, for it was\nnot yet five o'clock when, reeling with fatigue, he stopped, staggered\nand fell in front of the office building at El Orobo.\n\nEddie Shorter had sat in the chair as Barbara and Billy had last seen\nhim waiting until Byrne should have an ample start before arousing\nGrayson and reporting the prisoner's escape. Eddie had determined that\nhe would give Billy an hour. He grinned as he anticipated the rage of\nGrayson and the Villistas when they learned that their bird had flown,\nand as he mused and waited he fell asleep.\n\nIt was broad daylight when Eddie awoke, and as he looked up at the\nlittle clock ticking against the wall, and saw the time he gave an\nexclamation of surprise and leaped to his feet. Just as he opened the\nouter door of the office he saw a horseman leap from a winded pony\nin front of the building. He saw the animal collapse and sink to the\nground, and then he recognized the pony as Brazos, and another glance at\nthe man brought recognition of him, too.\n\n\"You?\" cried Eddie. \"What are you doin' back here? I gotta take you\nnow,\" and he started to draw his revolver; but Billy Byrne had him\ncovered before ever his hand reached the grip of his gun.\n\n\"Put 'em up!\" admonished Billy, \"and listen to me. This ain't no time\nfer gunplay or no such foolishness. I ain't back here to be took--get\nthat out o' your nut. I'm tipped off that a bunch o' siwashes was down\nhere last night to swipe Miss Harding. Come! We gotta go see if she's\nhere or not, an' don't try any funny business on me, Eddie. I ain't\na-goin' to be taken again, an' whoever tries it gets his, see?\"\n\nEddie was down off the porch in an instant, and making for the\nranchhouse.\n\n\"I'm with you,\" he said. \"Who told you? And who done it?\"\n\n\"Never mind who told me; but a siwash named Esteban was to pull the\nthing off for Grayson. Grayson wanted Miss Harding an' he was goin' to\nhave her stolen for him.\"\n\n\"The hound!\" muttered Eddie.\n\nThe two men dashed up onto the veranda of the ranchhouse and pounded at\nthe door until a Chinaman opened it and stuck out his head, inquiringly.\n\n\"Is Miss Harding here?\" demanded Billy.\n\n\"Mlissy Hardie Kleep,\" snapped the servant. \"Wally wanee here flo\nblekfas?\", and would have shut the door in their faces had not Billy\nintruded a heavy boot. The next instant he placed a large palm over the\ncelestial's face and pushed the man back into the house. Once inside he\ncalled Mr. Harding's name aloud.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked the gentleman a moment later as he appeared in a\nbedroom doorway off the living-room clad in his pajamas. \"What's the\nmatter? Why, gad man, is that you? Is this really Billy Byrne?\"\n\n\"Sure,\" replied Byrne shortly; \"but we can't waste any time chinnin'. I\nheard that Miss Barbara was goin' to be swiped last night--I heard that\nshe had been. Now hurry and see if she is here.\"\n\nAnthony Harding turned and leaped up the narrow stairway to the second\nfloor four steps at a time. He hadn't gone upstairs in that fashion in\nforty years. Without even pausing to rap he burst into his daughter's\nbedroom. It was empty. The bed was unruffled. It had not been slept in.\nWith a moan the man turned back and ran hastily to the other rooms upon\nthe second floor--Barbara was nowhere to be found. Then he hastened\ndownstairs to the two men awaiting him.\n\nAs he entered the room from one end Grayson entered it from the other\nthrough the doorway leading out upon the veranda. Billy Byrne had heard\nfootsteps upon the boards without and he was ready, so that as Grayson\nentered he found himself looking straight at the business end of a\nsixshooter. The foreman halted, and stood looking in surprise first at\nBilly Byrne, and then at Eddie Shorter and Mr. Harding.\n\n\"What does this mean?\" he demanded, addressing Eddie. \"What you doin'\nhere with your prisoner? Who told you to let him out, eh?\"\n\n\"Can the chatter,\" growled Billy Byrne. \"Shorter didn't let me out. I\nescaped hours ago, and I've just come back from Jose's to ask you where\nMiss Harding is, you low-lived cur, you. Where is she?\"\n\n\"What has Mr. Grayson to do with it?\" asked Mr. Harding. \"How should he\nknow anything about it? It's all a mystery to me--you here, of all men\nin the world, and Grayson talking about you as the prisoner. I can't\nmake it out. Quick, though, Byrne, tell me all you know about Barbara.\"\n\nBilly kept Grayson covered as he replied to the request of Harding.\n\n\"This guy hires a bunch of Pimans to steal Miss Barbara,\" he said. \"I\ngot it straight from the fellow he paid the money to for gettin' him the\nright men to pull off the job. He wants her it seems,\" and Billy shot\na look at the ranch foreman that would have killed if looks could. \"She\ncan't have been gone long. I seen her after midnight, just before I made\nmy getaway, so they can't have taken her very far. This thing here can't\nhelp us none neither, for he don't know where she is any more'n we do.\nHe thinks he does; but he don't. The siwashes framed it on him, an'\nthey've doubled-crossed him. I got that straight too; but, Gawd! I don't\nknow where they've taken her or what they're goin' to do with her.\"\n\nAs he spoke he turned his eyes for the first time away from Grayson and\nlooked full in Anthony Harding's face. The latter saw beneath the strong\ncharacter lines of the other's countenance the agony of fear and doubt\nthat lay heavy upon his heart.\n\nIn the brief instant that Billy's watchful gaze left the figure of the\nranch foreman the latter saw the opportunity he craved. He was standing\ndirectly in the doorway--a single step would carry him out of range of\nByrne's gun, placing a wall between it and him, and Grayson was not slow\nin taking that step.\n\nWhen Billy turned his eyes back the Texan had disappeared, and by the\ntime the former reached the doorway Grayson was halfway to the office\nbuilding on the veranda of which stood the four soldiers of Villa\ngrumbling and muttering over the absence of their prisoner of the\nprevious evening.\n\nBilly Byrne stepped out into the open. The ranch foreman called aloud to\nthe four Mexicans that their prisoner was at the ranchhouse and as they\nlooked in that direction they saw him, revolver in hand, coming slowly\ntoward them. There was a smile upon his lips which they could not see\nbecause of the distance, and which, not knowing Billy Byrne, they would\nnot have interpreted correctly; but the revolver they did understand,\nand at sight of it one of them threw his carbine to his shoulder. His\nfinger, however, never closed upon the trigger, for there came the sound\nof a shot from beyond Billy Byrne and the Mexican staggered forward,\npitching over the edge of the porch to the ground.\n\nBilly turned his head in the direction from which the shot had come and\nsaw Eddie Shorter running toward him, a smoking six-shooter in his right\nhand.\n\n\"Go back,\" commanded Byrne; \"this is my funeral.\"\n\n\"Not on your life,\" replied Eddie Shorter. \"Those greasers don't take no\nwhite man off'n El Orobo, while I'm here. Get busy! They're comin'.\"\n\nAnd sure enough they were coming, and as they came their carbines popped\nand the bullets whizzed about the heads of the two Americans. Grayson,\ntoo, had taken a hand upon the side of the Villistas. From the bunkhouse\nother men were running rapidly in the direction of the fight, attracted\nby the first shots.\n\nBilly and Eddie stood their ground, a few paces apart. Two more of\nVilla's men went down. Grayson ran for cover. Then Billy Byrne dropped\nthe last of the Mexicans just as the men from the bunkhouse came panting\nupon the scene. There were both Americans and Mexicans among them. All\nwere armed and weapons were ready in their hands.\n\nThey paused a short distance from the two men. Eddie's presence upon the\nside of the stranger saved Billy from instant death, for Eddie was well\nliked by both his Mexican and American fellow-workers.\n\n\"What's the fuss?\" asked an American.\n\nEddie told them, and when they learned that the boss's daughter had been\nspirited away and that the ranch foreman was at the bottom of it the\nanger of the Americans rose to a dangerous pitch.\n\n\"Where is he?\" someone asked. They were gathered in a little cluster now\nabout Billy Byrne and Shorter.\n\n\"I saw him duck behind the office building,\" said Eddie.\n\n\"Come on,\" said another. \"We'll get him.\"\n\n\"Someone get a rope.\" The men spoke in low, ordinary tones--they\nappeared unexcited. Determination was the most apparent characteristic\nof the group. One of them ran back toward the bunkhouse for his rope.\nThe others walked slowly in the direction of the rear of the office\nbuilding. Grayson was not there. The search proceeded. The Americans\nwere in advance. The Mexicans kept in a group by themselves a little in\nrear of the others--it was not their trouble. If the gringos wanted to\nlynch another gringo, well and good--that was the gringos' business.\nThey would keep out of it, and they did.\n\nDown past the bunkhouse and the cookhouse to the stables the searchers\nmade their way. Grayson could not be found. In the stables one of the\nmen made a discovery--the foreman's saddle had vanished. Out in the\ncorrals they went. One of the men laughed--the bars were down and the\nsaddle horses gone. Eddie Shorter presently pointed out across the\npasture and the river to the skyline of the low bluffs beyond. The\nothers looked. A horseman was just visible urging his mount upward to\nthe crest, the two stood in silhouette against the morning sky pink with\nthe new sun.\n\n\"That's him,\" said Eddie.\n\n\"Let him go,\" said Billy Byrne. \"He won't never come back and he ain't\nworth chasin'. Not while we got Miss Barbara to look after. My horse\nis down there with yours. I'm goin' down to get him. Will you come,\nShorter? I may need help--I ain't much with a rope yet.\"\n\nHe started off without waiting for a reply, and all the Americans\nfollowed. Together they circled the horses and drove them back to the\ncorral. When Billy had saddled and mounted he saw that the others had\ndone likewise.\n\n\"We're goin' with you,\" said one of the men. \"Miss Barbara b'longs to\nus.\"\n\nBilly nodded and moved off in the direction of the ranchhouse. Here he\ndismounted and with Eddie Shorter and Mr. Harding commenced circling\nthe house in search of some manner of clue to the direction taken by\nthe abductors. It was not long before they came upon the spot where the\nIndians' horses had stood the night before. From there the trail led\nplainly down toward the river. In a moment ten Americans were following\nit, after Mr. Harding had supplied Billy Byrne with a carbine, another\nsix-shooter, and ammunition.\n\nThrough the river and the cut in the barbed-wire fence, then up the face\nof the bluff and out across the low mesa beyond the trail led. For a\nmile it was distinct, and then disappeared as though the riders had\nseparated.\n\n\"Well,\" said Billy, as the others drew around him for consultation,\n\"they'd be goin' to the hills there. They was Pimans--Esteban's tribe.\nThey got her up there in the hills somewheres. Let's split up an'\nsearch the hills for her. Whoever comes on 'em first'll have to do\nsome shootin' and the rest of us can close in an' help. We can go in\npairs--then if one's killed the other can ride out an' lead the way back\nto where it happened.\"\n\nThe men seemed satisfied with the plan and broke up into parties of two.\nEddie Shorter paired off with Billy Byrne.\n\n\"Spread out,\" said the latter to his companions. \"Eddie an' I'll ride\nstraight ahead--the rest of you can fan out a few miles on either side\nof us. S'long an' good luck,\" and he started off toward the hills, Eddie\nShorter at his side.\n\nBack at the ranch the Mexican vaqueros lounged about, grumbling. With no\nforeman there was nothing to do except talk about their troubles. They\nhad not been paid since the looting of the bank at Cuivaca, for Mr.\nHarding had been unable to get any silver from elsewhere until a few\ndays since. He now had assurances that it was on the way to him; but\nwhether or not it would reach El Orobo was a question.\n\n\"Why should we stay here when we are not paid?\" asked one of them.\n\n\"Yes, why?\" chorused several others.\n\n\"There is nothing to do here,\" said another. \"We will go to Cuivaca. I,\nfor one, am tired of working for the gringos.\"\n\nThis met with the unqualified approval of all, and a few moments\nlater the men had saddled their ponies and were galloping away in the\ndirection of sun-baked Cuivaca. They sang now, and were happy, for they\nwere as little boys playing hooky from school--not bad men; but rather\nirresponsible children.\n\nOnce in Cuivaca they swooped down upon the drinking-place, where, with\nwhat little money a few of them had left they proceeded to get drunk.\n\nLater in the day an old, dried-up Indian entered. He was hot and dusty\nfrom a long ride.\n\n\"Hey, Jose!\" cried one of the vaqueros from El Orobo Rancho; \"you old\nrascal, what are you doing here?\"\n\nJose looked around upon them. He knew them all--they represented the\nMexican contingent of the riders of El Orobo. Jose wondered what they\nwere all doing here in Cuivaca at one time. Even upon a pay day it never\nhad been the rule of El Orobo to allow more than four men at a time to\ncome to town.\n\n\"Oh, Jose come to buy coffee and tobacco,\" he replied. He looked about\nsearchingly. \"Where are the others?\" he asked, \"--the gringos?\"\n\n\"They have ridden after Esteban,\" explained one of the vaqueros. \"He has\nrun off with Senorita Harding.\"\n\nJose raised his eyebrows as though this was all news.\n\n\"And Senor Grayson has gone with them?\" he asked. \"He was very fond of\nthe senorita.\"\n\n\"Senor Grayson has run away,\" went on the other speaker. \"The other\ngringos wished to hang him, for it is said he has bribed Esteban to do\nthis thing.\"\n\nAgain Jose raised his eyebrows. \"Impossible!\" he ejaculated. \"And who\nthen guards the ranch?\" he asked presently.\n\n\"Senor Harding, two Mexican house servants, and a Chinaman,\" and the\nvaquero laughed.\n\n\"I must be going,\" Jose announced after a moment. \"It is a long ride for\nan old man from my poor home to Cuivaca, and back again.\"\n\nThe vaqueros were paying no further attention to him, and the Indian\npassed out and sought his pony; but when he had mounted and ridden from\ntown he took a strange direction for one whose path lies to the east,\nsince he turned his pony's head toward the northwest.\n\nJose had ridden far that day, since Billy had left his humble hut. He\nhad gone to the west to the little rancho of one of Pesita's adherents\nwho had dispatched a boy to carry word to the bandit that his Captain\nByrne had escaped the Villistas, and then Jose had ridden into Cuivaca\nby a circuitous route which brought him up from the east side of the\ntown.\n\nNow he was riding once again for Pesita; but this time he would bear\nthe information himself. He found the chief in camp and after begging\ntobacco and a cigarette paper the Indian finally reached the purpose of\nhis visit.\n\n\"Jose has just come from Cuivaca,\" he said, \"and there he drank with\nall the Mexican vaqueros of El Orobo Rancho--ALL, my general, you\nunderstand. It seems that Esteban has carried off the beautiful senorita\nof El Orobo Rancho, and the vaqueros tell Jose that ALL the American\nvaqueros have ridden in search of her--ALL, my general, you understand.\nIn such times of danger it is odd that the gringos should leave El Orobo\nthus unguarded. Only the rich Senor Harding, two house servants, and a\nChinaman remain.\"\n\nA man lay stretched upon his blankets in a tent next to that occupied\nby Pesita. At the sound of the speaker's voice, low though it was, he\nraised his head and listened. He heard every word, and a scowl settled\nupon his brow. Barbara stolen! Mr Harding practically alone upon the\nranch! And Pesita in possession of this information!\n\nBridge rose to his feet. He buckled his cartridge belt about his waist\nand picked up his carbine, then he crawled under the rear wall of his\ntent and walked slowly off in the direction of the picket line where the\nhorses were tethered.\n\n\"Ah, Senor Bridge,\" said a pleasant voice in his ear; \"where to?\"\n\nBridge turned quickly to look into the smiling, evil face of Rozales.\n\n\"Oh,\" he replied, \"I'm going out to see if I can't find some shooting.\nIt's awfully dull sitting around here doing nothing.\"\n\n\"Si, senor,\" agreed Rozales; \"I, too, find it so. Let us go together--I\nknow where the shooting is best.\"\n\n\"I don't doubt it,\" thought Bridge; \"probably in the back;\" but aloud\nhe said: \"Certainly, that will be fine,\" for he guessed that Rozales had\nbeen set to watch his movements and prevent his escape, and, perchance,\nto be the sole witness of some unhappy event which should carry Senor\nBridge to the arms of his fathers.\n\nRozales called a soldier to saddle and bridle their horses and shortly\nafter the two were riding abreast down the trail out of the hills. Where\nit was necessary that they ride in single file Bridge was careful to\nsee that Rozales rode ahead, and the Mexican graciously permitted the\nAmerican to fall behind.\n\nIf he was inspired by any other motive than simple espionage he was\nevidently content to bide his time until chance gave him the opening he\ndesired, and it was equally evident that he felt as safe in front of the\nAmerican as behind him.\n\nAt a point where a ravine down which they had ridden debauched upon a\nmesa Rozales suggested that they ride to the north, which was not at all\nthe direction in which Bridge intended going. The American demurred.\n\n\"But there is no shooting down in the valley,\" urged Rozales.\n\n\"I think there will be,\" was Bridge's enigmatical reply, and then, with\na sudden exclamation of surprise he pointed over Rozales' shoulder.\n\"What's that?\" he cried in a voice tense with excitement.\n\nThe Mexican turned his head quickly in the direction Bridge's index\nfinger indicated.\n\n\"I see nothing,\" said Rozales, after a moment.\n\n\"You do now, though,\" replied Bridge, and as the Mexican's eyes returned\nin the direction of his companion he was forced to admit that he did see\nsomething--the dismal, hollow eye of a six-shooter looking him straight\nin the face.\n\n\"Senor Bridge!\" exclaimed Rozales. \"What are you doing? What do you\nmean?\"\n\n\"I mean,\" said Bridge, \"that if you are at all solicitous of your health\nyou'll climb down off that pony, not forgetting to keep your hands above\nyour head when you reach the ground. Now climb!\"\n\nRozales dismounted.\n\n\"Turn your back toward me,\" commanded the American, and when the other\nhad obeyed him, Bridge dismounted and removed the man's weapons from his\nbelt. \"Now you may go, Rozales,\" he said, \"and should you ever have an\nAmerican in your power again remember that I spared your life when I\nmight easily have taken it--when it would have been infinitely safer for\nme to have done it.\"\n\nThe Mexican made no reply, but the black scowl that clouded his face\nboded ill for the next gringo who should be so unfortunate as to fall\ninto his hands. Slowly he wheeled about and started back up the trail in\nthe direction of the Pesita camp.\n\n\"I'll be halfway to El Orobo,\" thought Bridge, \"before he gets a chance\nto tell Pesita what happened to him,\" and then he remounted and rode on\ndown into the valley, leading Rozales' horse behind him.\n\nIt would never do, he knew, to turn the animal loose too soon, since he\nwould doubtless make his way back to camp, and in doing so would have\nto pass Rozales who would catch him. Time was what Bridge wanted--to be\nwell on his way to Orobo before Pesita should learn of his escape.\n\nBridge knew nothing of what had happened to Billy, for Pesita had seen\nto it that the information was kept from the American. The latter had,\nnevertheless, been worrying not a little at the absence of his friend\nfor he knew that he had taken his liberty and his life in his hands in\nriding down to El Orobo among avowed enemies.\n\nFar to his rear Rozales plodded sullenly up the steep trail through the\nmountains, revolving in his mind various exquisite tortures he should be\ndelighted to inflict upon the next gringo who came into his power.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI. EDDIE MAKES GOOD\n\nBILLY BYRNE and Eddie Shorter rode steadily in the direction of the\nhills. Upon either side and at intervals of a mile or more stretched the\nothers of their party, occasionally visible; but for the most part not.\nOnce in the hills the two could no longer see their friends or be seen\nby them.\n\nBoth Byrne and Eddie felt that chance had placed them upon the right\ntrail for a well-marked and long-used path wound upward through a canyon\nalong which they rode. It was an excellent location for an ambush, and\nboth men breathed more freely when they had passed out of it into more\nopen country upon a narrow tableland between the first foothills and the\nmain range of mountains.\n\nHere again was the trail well marked, and when Eddie, looking ahead, saw\nthat it appeared to lead in the direction of a vivid green spot close to\nthe base of the gray brown hills he gave an exclamation of assurance.\n\n\"We're on the right trail all right, old man,\" he said. \"They's water\nthere,\" and he pointed ahead at the green splotch upon the gray. \"That's\nwhere they'd be havin' their village. I ain't never been up here so I\nain't familiar with the country. You see we don't run no cattle this\nside the river--the Pimans won't let us. They don't care to have no\nwhite men pokin' round in their country; but I'll bet a hat we find a\ncamp there.\"\n\nOnward they rode toward the little spot of green. Sometimes it was\nin sight and again as they approached higher ground, or wound through\ngullies and ravines it was lost to their sight; but always they kept it\nas their goal. The trail they were upon led to it--of that there\ncould be no longer the slightest doubt. And as they rode with their\ndestination in view black, beady eyes looked down upon them from the\nvery green oasis toward which they urged their ponies--tiring now from\nthe climb.\n\nA lithe, brown body lay stretched comfortably upon a bed of grasses at\nthe edge of a little rise of ground beneath which the riders must pass\nbefore they came to the cluster of huts which squatted in a tiny natural\npark at the foot of the main peak. Far above the watcher a spring of\nclear, pure water bubbled out of the mountain-side, and running downward\nformed little pools among the rocks which held it. And with this water\nthe Pimans irrigated their small fields before it sank from sight again\ninto the earth just below their village. Beside the brown body lay a\nlong rifle. The man's eyes watched, unblinking, the two specks far below\nhim whom he knew and had known for an hour were gringos.\n\nAnother brown body wormed itself forward to his side and peered over the\nedge of the declivity down upon the white men. He spoke a few words in\na whisper to him who watched with the rifle, and then crawled back again\nand disappeared. And all the while, onward and upward came Billy Byrne\nand Eddie Shorter, each knowing in his heart that if not already, then\nat any moment a watcher would discover them and a little later a bullet\nwould fly that would find one of them, and they took the chance for the\nsake of the American girl who lay hidden somewhere in these hills, for\nin no other way could they locate her hiding place more quickly. Any one\nof the other eight Americans who rode in pairs into the hills at other\npoints to the left and right of Billy Byrne and his companion would\nhave and was even then cheerfully taking the same chances that Eddie and\nBilly took, only the latter were now assured that to one of them would\nfall the sacrifice, for as they had come closer Eddie had seen a thin\nwreath of smoke rising from among the trees of the oasis. Now, indeed,\nwere they sure that they had chanced upon the trail to the Piman\nvillage.\n\n\"We gotta keep our eyes peeled,\" said Eddie, as they wound into a ravine\nwhich from its location evidently led directly up to the village. \"We\nain't far from 'em now, an' if they get us they'll get us about here.\"\n\nAs though to punctuate his speech with the final period a rifle cracked\nabove them. Eddie jumped spasmodically and clutched his breast.\n\n\"I'm hit,\" he said, quite unemotionally.\n\nBilly Byrne's revolver had answered the shot from above them, the bullet\nstriking where Billy had seen a puff of smoke following the rifle shot.\nThen Billy turned toward Eddie.\n\n\"Hit bad?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yep, I guess so,\" said Eddie. \"What'll we do? Hide up here, or ride\nback after the others?\"\n\nAnother shot rang out above them, although Billy had been watching for\na target at which to shoot again--a target which he had been positive he\nwould get when the man rose to fire again. And Billy did see the fellow\nat last--a few paces from where he had first fired; but not until the\nother had dropped Eddie's horse beneath him. Byrne fired again, and this\ntime he had the satisfaction of seeing a brown body rise, struggle a\nmoment, and then roll over once upon the grass before it came to rest.\n\n\"I reckon we'll stay here,\" said Billy, looking ruefully at Eddie's\nhorse.\n\nEddie rose and as he did so he staggered and grew very white. Billy\ndismounted and ran forward, putting an arm about him. Another shot came\nfrom above and Billy Byrne's pony grunted and collapsed.\n\n\"Hell!\" exclaimed Byrne. \"We gotta get out of this,\" and lifting his\nwounded comrade in his arms he ran for the shelter of the bluff from the\nsummit of which the snipers had fired upon them. Close in, hugging the\nface of the perpendicular wall of tumbled rock and earth, they were\nout of range of the Indians; but Billy did not stop when he had reached\ntemporary safety. Farther up toward the direction in which lay the\nvillage, and halfway up the side of the bluff Billy saw what he took to\nbe excellent shelter. Here the face of the bluff was less steep and\nupon it lay a number of large bowlders, while others protruded from the\nground about them.\n\nToward these Billy made his way. The wounded man across his shoulder\nwas suffering indescribable agonies; but he bit his lip and stifled the\ncries that each step his comrade took seemed to wrench from him, lest he\nattract the enemy to their position.\n\nAbove them all was silence, yet Billy knew that alert, red foemen were\ncreeping to the edge of the bluff in search of their prey. If he could\nbut reach the shelter of the bowlders before the Pimans discovered them!\n\nThe minutes that were consumed in covering the hundred yards seemed as\nmany hours to Billy Byrne; but at last he dragged the fainting cowboy\nbetween two large bowlders close under the edge of the bluff and found\nhimself in a little, natural fortress, well adapted to defense.\n\nFrom above they were protected from the fire of the Indians upon the\nbluff by the height of the bowlder at the foot of which they lay, while\nanother just in front hid them from possible marksmen across the canyon.\nSmaller rocks scattered about gave promise of shelter from flank fire,\nand as soon as he had deposited Eddie in the comparative safety of their\nretreat Byrne commenced forming a low breastwork upon the side facing\nthe village--the direction from which they might naturally expect\nattack. This done he turned his attention to the opening upon the\nopposite side and soon had a similar defense constructed there, then he\nturned his attention to Eddie, though keeping a watchful eye upon both\napproaches to their stronghold.\n\nThe Kansan lay upon his side, moaning. Blood stained his lips and\nnostrils, and when Billy Byrne opened his shirt and found a gaping wound\nin his right breast he knew how serious was his companion's injury. As\nhe felt Billy working over him the boy opened his eyes.\n\n\"Do you think I'm done for?\" he asked in a tortured whisper.\n\n\"Nothin' doin',\" lied Billy cheerfully. \"Just a scratch. You'll be all\nright in a day or two.\"\n\nEddie shook his head wearily. \"I wish I could believe you,\" he said. \"I\nben figgerin' on goin' back to see maw. I ain't thought o' nothin' else\nsince you told me 'bout how she missed me. I ken see her right now just\nlike I was there. I'll bet she's scrubbin' the kitchen floor. Maw was\nalways a-scrubbin' somethin'. Gee! but it's tough to cash in like this\njust when I was figgerin' on goin' home.\"\n\nBilly couldn't think of anything to say. He turned to look up and down\nthe canyon in search of the enemy.\n\n\"Home!\" whispered Eddie. \"Home!\"\n\n\"Aw, shucks!\" said Billy kindly. \"You'll get home all right, kid. The\nboys must a-heard the shootin' an' they'll be along in no time now. Then\nwe'll clean up this bunch o' coons an' have you back to El Orobo an'\nnursed into shape in no time.\"\n\nEddie tried to smile as he looked up into the other's face. He reached a\nhand out and laid it on Billy's arm.\n\n\"You're all right, old man,\" he whispered. \"I know you're lyin' an' so\ndo you; but it makes me feel better anyway to have you say them things.\"\n\nBilly felt as one who has been caught stealing from a blind man. The\nonly adequate reply of which he could think was, \"Aw, shucks!\"\n\n\"Say,\" said Eddie after a moment's silence, \"if you get out o' here an'\never go back to the States promise me you'll look up maw and paw an'\ntell 'em I was comin' home--to stay. Tell 'em I died decent, too, will\nyou--died like paw was always a-tellin' me my granddad died, fightin'\nInjuns 'round Fort Dodge somewheres.\"\n\n\"Sure,\" said Billy; \"I'll tell 'em. Gee! Look who's comin' here,\" and\nas he spoke he flattened himself to the ground just as a bullet pinged\nagainst the rock above his head and the report of a rifle sounded\nfrom up the canyon. \"That guy most got me. I'll have to be 'tendin' to\nbusiness better'n this.\"\n\nHe drew himself slowly up upon his elbows, his carbine ready in his\nhand, and peered through a small aperture between two of the rocks which\ncomposed his breastwork. Then he stuck the muzzle of the weapon through,\ntook aim and pulled the trigger.\n\n\"Didje get him?\" asked Eddie.\n\n\"Yep,\" said Billy, and fired again. \"Got that one too. Say, they're\ntough-lookin' guys; but I guess they won't come so fast next time. Those\ntwo were right in the open, workin' up to us on their bellies. They must\na-thought we was sleepin'.\"\n\nFor an hour Billy neither saw nor heard any sign of the enemy, though\nseveral times he raised his hat above the breastwork upon the muzzle of\nhis carbine to draw their fire.\n\nIt was midafternoon when the sound of distant rifle fire came faintly to\nthe ears of the two men from somewhere far below them.\n\n\"The boys must be comin',\" whispered Eddie Shorter hopefully.\n\nFor half an hour the firing continued and then silence again fell upon\nthe mountains. Eddie began to wander mentally. He talked much of Kansas\nand his old home, and many times he begged for water.\n\n\"Buck up, kid,\" said Billy; \"the boys'll be along in a minute now an'\nthen we'll get you all the water you want.\"\n\nBut the boys did not come. Billy was standing up now, stretching his\nlegs, and searching up and down the canyon for Indians. He was wondering\nif he could chance making a break for the valley where they stood\nsome slight chance of meeting with their companions, and even as he\nconsidered the matter seriously there came a staccato report and Billy\nByrne fell forward in a heap.\n\n\"God!\" cried Eddie. \"They got him now, they got him.\"\n\nByrne stirred and struggled to rise.\n\n\"Like'll they got me,\" he said, and staggered to his knees.\n\nOver the breastwork he saw a half-dozen Indians running rapidly toward\nthe shelter--he saw them in a haze of red that was caused not by blood\nbut by anger. With an oath Billy Byrne leaped to his feet. From his\nknees up his whole body was exposed to the enemy; but Billy cared not.\nHe was in a berserker rage. Whipping his carbine to his shoulder he let\ndrive at the advancing Indians who were now beyond hope of cover. They\nmust come on or be shot down where they were, so they came on, yelling\nlike devils and stopping momentarily to fire upon the rash white man who\nstood so perfect a target before them.\n\nBut their haste spoiled their marksmanship. The bullets zinged and\nzipped against the rocky little fortress, they nicked Billy's shirt and\ntrousers and hat, and all the while he stood there pumping lead into\nhis assailants--not hysterically; but with the cool deliberation of a\nbutcher slaughtering beeves.\n\nOne by one the Pimans dropped until but a single Indian rushed\nfrantically upon the white man, and then the last of the assailants\nlunged forward across the breastwork with a bullet from Billy's carbine\nthrough his forehead.\n\nEddie Shorter had raised himself painfully upon an elbow that he might\nwitness the battle, and when it was over he sank back, the blood welling\nfrom between his set teeth.\n\nBilly turned to look at him when the last of the Pimans was disposed\nof, and seeing his condition kneeled beside him and took his head in the\nhollow of an arm.\n\n\"You orter lie still,\" he cautioned the Kansan. \"Tain't good for you to\nmove around much.\"\n\n\"It was worth it,\" whispered Eddie. \"Say, but that was some scrap. You\ngot your nerve standin' up there against the bunch of 'em; but if you\nhadn't they'd have rushed us and some of 'em would a-got in.\"\n\n\"Funny the boys don't come,\" said Billy.\n\n\"Yes,\" replied Eddie, with a sigh; \"it's milkin' time now, an' I\nfiggered on goin' to Shawnee this evenin'. Them's nice cookies, maw.\nI--\"\n\nBilly Byrne was bending low to catch his feeble words, and when the\nvoice trailed out into nothingness he lowered the tousled red head to\nthe hard earth and turned away.\n\nCould it be that the thing which glistened on the eyelid of the toughest\nguy on the West Side was a tear?\n\nThe afternoon waned and night came, but it brought to Billy Byrne\nneither renewed attack nor succor. The bullet which had dropped him\nmomentarily had but creased his forehead. Aside from the fact that he\nwas blood covered from the wound it had inconvenienced him in no way,\nand now that darkness had fallen he commenced to plan upon leaving the\nshelter.\n\nFirst he transferred Eddie's ammunition to his own person, and such\nvaluables and trinkets as he thought \"maw\" might be glad to have, then\nhe removed the breechblock from Eddie's carbine and stuck it in his\npocket that the weapon might be valueless to the Indians when they found\nit.\n\n\"Sorry I can't bury you old man,\" was Billy's parting comment, as he\nclimbed over the breastwork and melted into the night.\n\nBilly Byrne moved cautiously through the darkness, and he moved not in\nthe direction of escape and safety but directly up the canyon in the way\nthat the village of the Pimans lay.\n\nSoon he heard the sound of voices and shortly after saw the light of\ncook fires playing upon bronzed faces and upon the fronts of low huts.\nSome women were moaning and wailing. Billy guessed that they mourned for\nthose whom his bullets had found earlier in the day. In the darkness of\nthe night, far up among the rough, forbidding mountains it was all very\nweird and uncanny.\n\nBilly crept closer to the village. Shelter was abundant. He saw no sign\nof sentry and wondered why they should be so lax in the face of almost\ncertain attack. Then it occurred to him that possibly the firing he and\nEddie had heard earlier in the day far down among the foothills might\nhave meant the extermination of the Americans from El Orobo.\n\n\"Well, I'll be next then,\" mused Billy, and wormed closer to the huts.\nHis eyes were on the alert every instant, as were his ears; but no sign\nof that which he sought rewarded his keenest observation.\n\nUntil midnight he lay in concealment and all that time the mourners\ncontinued their dismal wailing. Then, one by one, they entered their\nhuts, and silence reigned within the village.\n\nBilly crept closer. He eyed each hut with longing, wondering gaze. Which\ncould it be? How could he determine? One seemed little more promising\nthan the others. He had noted those to which Indians had retired. There\nwere three into which he had seen none go. These, then, should be the\nfirst to undergo his scrutiny.\n\nThe night was dark. The moon had not yet risen. Only a few dying fires\ncast a wavering and uncertain light upon the scene. Through the shadows\nBilly Byrne crept closer and closer. At last he lay close beside one of\nthe huts which was to be the first to claim his attention.\n\nFor several moments he lay listening intently for any sound which might\ncome from within; but there was none. He crawled to the doorway and\npeered within. Utter darkness shrouded and hid the interior.\n\nBilly rose and walked boldly inside. If he could see no one within, then\nno one could see him once he was inside the door. Therefore, so reasoned\nBilly Byrne, he would have as good a chance as the occupants of the hut,\nshould they prove to be enemies.\n\nHe crossed the floor carefully, stopping often to listen. At last he\nheard a rustling sound just ahead of him. His fingers tightened upon the\nrevolver he carried in his right hand, by the barrel, clublike. Billy\nhad no intention of making any more noise than necessary.\n\nAgain he heard a sound from the same direction. It was not at all unlike\nthe frightened gasp of a woman. Billy emitted a low growl, in fair\nimitation of a prowling dog that has been disturbed.\n\nAgain the gasp, and a low: \"Go away!\" in liquid feminine tones--and in\nEnglish!\n\nBilly uttered a low: \"S-s-sh!\" and tiptoed closer. Extending his hands\nthey presently came in contact with a human body which shrank from him\nwith another smothered cry.\n\n\"Barbara!\" whispered Billy, bending closer.\n\nA hand reached out through the darkness, found him, and closed upon his\nsleeve.\n\n\"Who are you?\" asked a low voice.\n\n\"Billy,\" he replied. \"Are you alone in here?\"\n\n\"No, an old woman guards me,\" replied the girl, and at the same time\nthey both heard a movement close at hand, and something scurried\npast them to be silhouetted for an instant against the path of lesser\ndarkness which marked the location of the doorway.\n\n\"There she goes!\" cried Barbara. \"She heard you and she has gone for\nhelp.\"\n\n\"Then come!\" said Billy, seizing the girl's arm and dragging her to her\nfeet; but they had scarce crossed half the distance to the doorway when\nthe cries of the old woman without warned them that the camp was being\naroused.\n\nBilly thrust a revolver into Barbara's hand. \"We gotta make a fight of\nit, little girl,\" he said. \"But you'd better die than be here alone.\"\n\nAs they emerged from the hut they saw warriors running from every\ndoorway. The old woman stood screaming in Piman at the top of her lungs.\nBilly, keeping Barbara in front of him that he might shield her body\nwith his own, turned directly out of the village. He did not fire at\nfirst hoping that they might elude detection and thus not draw the fire\nof the Indians upon them; but he was doomed to disappointment, and they\nhad taken scarcely a dozen steps when a rifle spoke above the noise of\nhuman voices and a bullet whizzed past them.\n\nThen Billy replied, and Barbara, too, from just behind his shoulder.\nTogether they backed away toward the shadow of the trees beyond the\nvillage and as they went they poured shot after shot into the village.\n\nThe Indians, but just awakened and still half stupid from sleep, did not\nknow but that they were attacked by a vastly superior force, and this\nfear held them in check for several minutes--long enough for Billy and\nBarbara to reach the summit of the bluff from which Billy and Eddie had\nfirst been fired upon.\n\nHere they were hidden from the view of the Indians, and Billy broke\nat once into a run, half carrying the girl with a strong arm about her\nwaist.\n\n\"If we can reach the foothills,\" he said, \"I think we can dodge 'em, an'\nby goin' all night we may reach the river and El Orobo by morning. It's\na long hike, Barbara, but we gotta make it--we gotta, for if daylight\nfinds us in the Piman country we won't never make it. Anyway,\" he\nconcluded optimistically, \"it's all down hill.\"\n\n\"We'll make it, Billy,\" she replied, \"if we can get past the sentry.\"\n\n\"What sentry?\" asked Billy. \"I didn't see no sentry when I come in.\"\n\n\"They keep a sentry way down the trail all night,\" replied the girl. \"In\nthe daytime he is nearer the village--on the top of this bluff, for from\nhere he can see the whole valley; but at night they station him farther\naway in a narrow part of the trail.\"\n\n\"It's a mighty good thing you tipped me off,\" said Billy; \"for I'd a-run\nright into him. I thought they was all behind us now.\"\n\nAfter that they went more cautiously, and when they reached the part of\nthe trail where the sentry might be expected to be found, Barbara warned\nBilly of the fact. Like two thieves they crept along in the shadow of\nthe canyon wall. Inwardly Billy cursed the darkness of the night which\nhid from view everything more than a few paces from them; yet it may\nhave been this very darkness which saved them, since it hid them as\neffectually from an enemy as it hid the enemy from them. They had\nreached the point where Barbara was positive the sentry should be.\nThe girl was clinging tightly to Billy's left arm. He could feel the\npressure of her fingers as they sunk into his muscles, sending little\ntremors and thrills through his giant frame. Even in the face of death\nBilly Byrne could sense the ecstasies of personal contact with this\ngirl--the only woman he ever had loved or ever would.\n\nAnd then a black shadow loomed before them, and a rifle flashed in their\nfaces without a word or a sign of warning.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII. \"YOU ARE MY GIRL!\"\n\nMR. ANTHONY HARDING was pacing back and forth the length of the veranda\nof the ranchhouse at El Orobo waiting for some word of hope from those\nwho had ridden out in search of his daughter, Barbara. Each swirling\ndust devil that eddied across the dry flat on either side of the river\nroused hopes within his breast that it might have been spurred into\nactivity by the hoofs of a pony bearing a messenger of good tidings; but\nalways his hopes were dashed, for no horseman emerged from the heat haze\nof the distance where the little dust devils raced playfully among the\ncacti and the greasewood.\n\nBut at last, in the northwest, a horseman, unheralded by gyrating dust\ncolumn, came into sight. Mr. Harding shook his head sorrowfully. It had\nnot been from this direction that he had expected word of Barbara, yet\nhe kept his eyes fastened upon the rider until the latter reined in at\nthe ranchyard and loped a tired and sweating pony to the foot of the\nveranda steps. Then Mr. Harding saw who the newcomer was.\n\n\"Bridge!\" he exclaimed. \"What brings you back here? Don't you know that\nyou endanger us as well as yourself by being seen here? General Villa\nwill think that we have been harboring you.\"\n\nBridge swung from the saddle and ran up onto the veranda. He paid not\nthe slightest attention to Anthony Harding's protest.\n\n\"How many men you got here that you can depend on?\" he asked.\n\n\"None,\" replied the Easterner. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"None!\" cried Bridge, incredulity and hopelessness showing upon his\ncountenance. \"Isn't there a Chinaman and a couple of faithful Mexicans?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, of course,\" assented Mr. Harding; \"but what are you driving\nat?\"\n\n\"Pesita is on his way here to clean up El Orobo. He can't be very far\nbehind me. Call the men you got, and we'll get together all the guns and\nammunition on the ranch, and barricade the ranchhouse. We may be able to\nstand 'em off. Have you heard anything of Miss Barbara?\"\n\nAnthony Harding shook his head sadly.\n\n\"Then we'll have to stay right here and do the best we can,\" said\nBridge. \"I was thinking we might make a run for it if Miss Barbara was\nhere; but as she's not we must wait for those who went out after her.\"\n\nMr. Harding summoned the two Mexicans while Bridge ran to the cookhouse\nand ordered the Chinaman to the ranchhouse. Then the erstwhile\nbookkeeper ransacked the bunkhouse for arms and ammunition. What little\nhe found he carried to the ranchhouse, and with the help of the others\nbarricaded the doors and windows of the first floor.\n\n\"We'll have to make our fight from the upper windows,\" he explained to\nthe ranch owner. \"If Pesita doesn't bring too large a force we may be\nable to stand them off until you can get help from Cuivaca. Call up\nthere now and see if you can get Villa to send help--he ought to protect\nyou from Pesita. I understand that there is no love lost between the\ntwo.\"\n\nAnthony Harding went at once to the telephone and rang for the central\nat Cuivaca.\n\n\"Tell it to the operator,\" shouted Bridge who stood peering through an\nopening in the barricade before a front window; \"they are coming now,\nand the chances are that the first thing they'll do is cut the telephone\nwires.\"\n\nThe Easterner poured his story and appeal for help into the ears of the\ngirl at the other end of the line, and then for a few moments there was\nsilence in the room as he listened to her reply.\n\n\"Impossible!\" and \"My God! it can't be true,\" Bridge heard the older man\nejaculate, and then he saw him hang up the receiver and turn from the\ninstrument, his face drawn and pinched with an expression of utter\nhopelessness.\n\n\"What's wrong?\" asked Bridge.\n\n\"Villa has turned against the Americans,\" replied Harding, dully. \"The\noperator evidently feels friendly toward us, for she warned me not to\nappeal to Villa and told me why. Even now, this minute, the man has a\nforce of twenty-five hundred ready to march on Columbus, New Mexico.\nThree Americans were hanged in Cuivaca this afternoon. It's horrible,\nsir! It's horrible! We are as good as dead this very minute. Even if\nwe stand off Pesita we can never escape to the border through Villa's\nforces.\"\n\n\"It looks bad,\" admitted Bridge. \"In fact it couldn't look much worse;\nbut here we are, and while our ammunition holds out about all we can\ndo is stay here and use it. Will you men stand by us?\" he addressed the\nChinaman and the two Mexicans, who assured him that they had no love for\nPesita and would fight for Anthony Harding in preference to going over\nto the enemy.\n\n\"Good!\" exclaimed Bridge, \"and now for upstairs. They'll be howling\naround here in about five minutes, and we want to give them a reception\nthey won't forget.\"\n\nHe led the way to the second floor, where the five took up positions\nnear the front windows. A short distance from the ranchhouse they could\nsee the enemy, consisting of a detachment of some twenty of Pesita's\ntroopers riding at a brisk trot in their direction.\n\n\"Pesita's with them,\" announced Bridge, presently. \"He's the little\nfellow on the sorrel. Wait until they are close up, then give them a few\nrounds; but go easy on the ammunition--we haven't any too much.\"\n\nPesita, expecting no resistance, rode boldly into the ranchyard. At the\nbunkhouse and the office his little force halted while three or four\ntroopers dismounted and entered the buildings in search of victims.\nDisappointed there they moved toward the ranchhouse.\n\n\"Lie low!\" Bridge cautioned his companions. \"Don't let them see you, and\nwait till I give the word before you fire.\"\n\nOn came the horsemen at a slow walk. Bridge waited until they were\nwithin a few yards of the house, then he cried: \"Now! Let 'em have it!\"\nA rattle of rifle fire broke from the upper windows into the ranks of\nthe Pesitistas. Three troopers reeled and slipped from their saddles.\nTwo horses dropped in their tracks. Cursing and yelling, the balance of\nthe horsemen wheeled and galloped away in the direction of the office\nbuilding, followed by the fire of the defenders.\n\n\"That wasn't so bad,\" cried Bridge. \"I'll venture a guess that Mr.\nPesita is some surprised--and sore. There they go behind the office.\nThey'll stay there a few minutes talking it over and getting up their\ncourage to try it again. Next time they'll come from another direction.\nYou two,\" he continued, turning to the Mexicans, \"take positions on\nthe east and south sides of the house. Sing can remain here with Mr.\nHarding. I'll take the north side facing the office. Shoot at the first\nman who shows his head. If we can hold them off until dark we may be\nable to get away. Whatever happens don't let one of them get close\nenough to fire the house. That's what they'll try for.\"\n\nIt was fifteen minutes before the second attack came. Five dismounted\ntroopers made a dash for the north side of the house; but when Bridge\ndropped the first of them before he had taken ten steps from the office\nbuilding and wounded a second the others retreated for shelter.\n\nTime and again as the afternoon wore away Pesita made attempts to get\nmen close up to the house; but in each instance they were driven back,\nuntil at last they desisted from their efforts to fire the house or rush\nit, and contented themselves with firing an occasional shot through the\nwindows opposite them.\n\n\"They're waiting for dark,\" said Bridge to Mr. Harding during a\ntemporary lull in the hostilities, \"and then we're goners, unless the\nboys come back from across the river in time.\"\n\n\"Couldn't we get away after dark?\" asked the Easterner.\n\n\"It's our only hope if help don't reach us,\" replied Bridge.\n\nBut when night finally fell and the five men made an attempt to leave\nthe house upon the side away from the office building they were met\nwith the flash of carbines and the ping of bullets. One of the Mexican\ndefenders fell, mortally wounded, and the others were barely able to\ndrag him within and replace the barricade before the door when five\nof Pesita's men charged close up to their defenses. These were finally\ndriven off and again there came a lull; but all hope of escape was gone,\nand Bridge reposted the defenders at the upper windows where they might\nwatch every approach to the house.\n\nAs the hours dragged on the hopelessness of their position grew upon the\nminds of all. Their ammunition was almost gone--each man had but a few\nrounds remaining--and it was evident that Pesita, through an inordinate\ndesire for revenge, would persist until he had reduced their fortress\nand claimed the last of them as his victim.\n\nIt was with such cheerful expectations that they awaited the final\nassault which would see them without ammunition and defenseless in the\nface of a cruel and implacable foe.\n\nIt was just before daylight that the anticipated rush occurred. From\nevery side rang the reports of carbines and the yells of the bandits.\nThere were scarcely more than a dozen of the original twenty left; but\nthey made up for their depleted numbers by the rapidity with which they\nworked their firearms and the loudness and ferocity of their savage\ncries.\n\nAnd this time they reached the shelter of the veranda and commenced\nbattering at the door.\n\nAt the report of the rifle so close to them Billy Byrne shoved Barbara\nquickly to one side and leaped forward to close with the man who barred\ntheir way to liberty.\n\nThat they had surprised him even more than he had them was evidenced by\nthe wildness of his shot which passed harmlessly above their heads as\nwell as by the fact that he had permitted them to come so close before\nengaging them.\n\nTo the latter event was attributable his undoing, for it permitted Billy\nByrne to close with him before the Indian could reload his antiquated\nweapon. Down the two men went, the American on top, each striving for\na death-hold; but in weight and strength and skill the Piman was far\noutclassed by the trained fighter, a part of whose daily workouts had\nconsisted in wrestling with proficient artists of the mat.\n\nBarbara Harding ran forward to assist her champion but as the men rolled\nand tumbled over the ground she could find no opening for a blow that\nmight not endanger Billy Byrne quite as much as it endangered his\nantagonist; but presently she discovered that the American required no\nassistance. She saw the Indian's head bending slowly forward beneath the\nresistless force of the other's huge muscles, she heard the crack that\nannounced the parting of the vertebrae and saw the limp thing which\nhad but a moment before been a man, pulsing with life and vigor, roll\nhelplessly aside--a harmless and inanimate lump of clay.\n\nBilly Byrne leaped to his feet, shaking himself as a great mastiff might\nwhose coat had been ruffled in a fight.\n\n\"Come!\" he whispered. \"We gotta beat it now for sure. That guy's shot'll\nlead 'em right down to us,\" and once more they took up their flight down\ntoward the valley, along an unknown trail through the darkness of the\nnight.\n\nFor the most part they moved in silence, Billy holding the girl's arm\nor hand to steady her over the rough and dangerous portions of the path.\nAnd as they went there grew in Billy's breast a love so deep and so\nresistless that he found himself wondering that he had ever imagined\nthat his former passion for this girl was love.\n\nThis new thing surged through him and over him with all the blind,\nbrutal, compelling force of a mighty tidal wave. It battered down and\nswept away the frail barriers of his new-found gentleness. Again he was\nthe Mucker--hating the artificial wall of social caste which separated\nhim from this girl; but now he was ready to climb the wall, or, better\nstill, to batter it down with his huge fists. But the time was not\nyet--first he must get Barbara to a place of safety.\n\nOn and on they went. The night grew cold. Far ahead there sounded the\noccasional pop of a rifle. Billy wondered what it could mean and as they\napproached the ranch and he discovered that it came from that direction\nhe hastened their steps to even greater speed than before.\n\n\"Somebody's shootin' up the ranch,\" he volunteered. \"Wonder who it could\nbe.\"\n\n\"Suppose it is your friend and general?\" asked the girl.\n\nBilly made no reply. They reached the river and as Billy knew not where\nthe fords lay he plunged in at the point at which the water first barred\ntheir progress and dragging the girl after him, plowed bull-like for\nthe opposite shore. Where the water was above his depth he swam while\nBarbara clung to his shoulders. Thus they made the passage quickly and\nsafely.\n\nBilly stopped long enough to shake the water out of his carbine, which\nthe girl had carried across, and then forged ahead toward the ranchhouse\nfrom which the sounds of battle came now in increased volume.\n\nAnd at the ranchhouse \"hell was popping.\" The moment Bridge realized\nthat some of the attackers had reached the veranda he called the\nsurviving Mexican and the Chinaman to follow him to the lower floor\nwhere they might stand a better chance to repel this new attack. Mr.\nHarding he persuaded to remain upstairs.\n\nOutside a dozen men were battering to force an entrance. Already one\npanel had splintered, and as Bridge entered the room he could see the\nfigures of the bandits through the hole they had made. Raising his\nrifle he fired through the aperture. There was a scream as one of the\nattackers dropped; but the others only increased their efforts, their\noaths, and their threats of vengeance.\n\nThe three defenders poured a few rounds through the sagging door, then\nBridge noted that the Chinaman ceased firing.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" he asked.\n\n\"Allee gonee,\" replied Sing, pointing to his ammunition belt.\n\nAt the same instant the Mexican threw down his carbine and rushed for\na window on the opposite side of the room. His ammunition was exhausted\nand with it had departed his courage. Flight seemed the only course\nremaining. Bridge made no effort to stop him. He would have been glad to\nfly, too; but he could not leave Anthony Harding, and he was sure that\nthe older man would prove unequal to any sustained flight on foot.\n\n\"You better go, too, Sing,\" he said to the Chinaman, placing another\nbullet through the door; \"there's nothing more that you can do, and it\nmay be that they are all on this side now--I think they are. You fellows\nhave fought splendidly. Wish I could give you something more substantial\nthan thanks; but that's all I have now and shortly Pesita won't even\nleave me that much.\"\n\n\"Allee light,\" replied Sing cheerfully, and a second later he was\nclambering through the window in the wake of the loyal Mexican.\n\nAnd then the door crashed in and half a dozen troopers followed by\nPesita himself burst into the room.\n\nBridge was standing at the foot of the stairs, his carbine clubbed, for\nhe had just spent his last bullet. He knew that he must die; but he was\ndetermined to make them purchase his life as dearly as he could, and to\ndie in defense of Anthony Harding, the father of the girl he loved, even\nthough hopelessly.\n\nPesita saw from the American's attitude that he had no more ammunition.\nHe struck up the carbine of a trooper who was about to shoot Bridge\ndown.\n\n\"Wait!\" commanded the bandit. \"Cease firing! His ammunition is gone.\nWill you surrender?\" he asked of Bridge.\n\n\"Not until I have beaten from the heads of one or two of your friends,\"\nhe replied, \"that which their egotism leads them to imagine are brains.\nNo, if you take me alive, Pesita, you will have to kill me to do it.\"\n\nPesita shrugged. \"Very well,\" he said, indifferently, \"it makes little\ndifference to me--that stairway is as good as a wall. These brave\ndefenders of the liberty of poor, bleeding Mexico will make an excellent\nfiring squad. Attention, my children! Ready! Aim!\"\n\nEleven carbines were leveled at Bridge. In the ghastly light of early\ndawn the sallow complexions of the Mexicans took on a weird hue. The\nAmerican made a wry face, a slight shudder shook his slender frame, and\nthen he squared his shoulders and looked Pesita smilingly in the face.\n\nThe figure of a man appeared at the window through which the Chinaman\nand the loyal Mexican had escaped. Quick eyes took in the scene within\nthe room.\n\n\"Hey!\" he yelled. \"Cut the rough stuff!\" and leaped into the room.\n\nPesita, surprised by the interruption, turned toward the intruder before\nhe had given the command to fire. A smile lit his features when he saw\nwho it was.\n\n\"Ah!\" he exclaimed, \"my dear Captain Byrne. Just in time to see a\ntraitor and a spy pay the penalty for his crimes.\"\n\n\"Nothin' doin',\" growled Billy Byrne, and then he threw his carbine to\nhis shoulder and took careful aim at Pesita's face.\n\nHow easy it would have been to have hesitated a moment in the window\nbefore he made his presence known--just long enough for Pesita to speak\nthe single word that would have sent eleven bullets speeding into the\nbody of the man who loved Barbara and whom Billy believed the girl\nloved. But did such a thought occur to Billy Byrne of Grand Avenue? It\ndid not. He forgot every other consideration beyond his loyalty to a\nfriend. Bridge and Pesita were looking at him in wide-eyed astonishment.\n\n\"Lay down your carbines!\" Billy shot his command at the firing squad.\n\"Lay 'em down or I'll bore Pesita. Tell 'em to lay 'em down, Pesita. I\ngotta bead on your beezer.\"\n\nPesita did as he was bid, his yellow face pasty with rage.\n\n\"Now their cartridge belts!\" snapped Billy, and when these had been\ndeposited upon the floor he told Bridge to disarm the bandit chief.\n\n\"Is Mr. Harding safe?\" he asked of Bridge, and receiving an affirmative\nhe called upstairs for the older man to descend.\n\nAs Mr. Harding reached the foot of the stairs Barbara entered the room\nby the window through which Billy had come--a window which opened upon\nthe side veranda.\n\n\"Now we gotta hike,\" announced Billy. \"It won't never be safe for\nnone of you here after this, not even if you do think Villa's your\nfriend--which he ain't the friend of no American.\"\n\n\"We know that now,\" said Mr. Harding, and repeated to Billy that which\nthe telephone operator had told him earlier in the day.\n\nMarching Pesita and his men ahead of them Billy and the others made\ntheir way to the rear of the office building where the horses of the\nbandits were tethered. They were each armed now from the discarded\nweapons of the raiders, and well supplied with ammunition. The Chinaman\nand the loyal Mexican also discovered themselves when they learned that\nthe tables had been turned upon Pesita. They, too, were armed and all\nwere mounted, and when Billy had loaded the remaining weapons upon the\nbalance of the horses the party rode away, driving Pesita's live stock\nand arms ahead of them.\n\n\"I imagine,\" remarked Bridge, \"that you've rather discouraged\npursuit for a while at least,\" but pursuit came sooner than they had\nanticipated.\n\nThey had reached a point on the river not far from Jose's when a band\nof horsemen appeared approaching from the west. Billy urged his party to\ngreater speed that they might avoid a meeting if possible; but it soon\nbecame evident that the strangers had no intention of permitting them to\ngo unchallenged, for they altered their course and increased their\nspeed so that they were soon bearing down upon the fugitives at a rapid\ngallop.\n\n\"I guess,\" said Billy, \"that we'd better open up on 'em. It's a cinch\nthey ain't no friends of ours anywhere in these parts.\"\n\n\"Hadn't we better wait a moment,\" said Mr. Harding; \"we do not want to\nchance making any mistake.\"\n\n\"It ain't never a mistake to shoot a Dago,\" replied Billy. His eyes\nwere fastened upon the approaching horsemen, and he presently gave an\nexclamation of recognition. \"There's Rozales,\" he said. \"I couldn't\nmistake that beanpole nowheres. We're safe enough in takin' a shot\nat 'em if Rosie's with 'em. He's Pesita's head guy,\" and he drew his\nrevolver and took a single shot in the direction of his former comrades.\nBridge followed his example. The oncoming Pesitistas reined in. Billy\nreturned his revolver to its holster and drew his carbine.\n\n\"You ride on ahead,\" he said to Mr. Harding and Barbara. \"Bridge and\nI'll bring up the rear.\"\n\nThen he stopped his pony and turning took deliberate aim at the knot of\nhorsemen to their left. A bandit tumbled from his saddle and the fight\nwas on.\n\nFortunately for the Americans Rozales had but a handful of men with him\nand Rozales himself was never keen for a fight in the open.\n\nAll morning he hovered around the rear of the escaping Americans; but\nneither side did much damage to the other, and during the afternoon\nBilly noticed that Rozales merely followed within sight of them, after\nhaving dispatched one of his men back in the direction from which they\nhad come.\n\n\"After reinforcements,\" commented Byrne.\n\nAll day they rode without meeting with any roving bands of soldiers or\nbandits, and the explanation was all too sinister to the Americans when\ncoupled with the knowledge that Villa was to attack an American town\nthat night.\n\n\"I wish we could reach the border in time to warn 'em,\" said Billy; \"but\nthey ain't no chance. If we cross before sunup tomorrow morning we'll be\ndoin' well.\"\n\nHe had scarcely spoken to Barbara Harding all day, for his duties as\nrear guard had kept him busy; nor had he conversed much with Bridge,\nthough he had often eyed the latter whose gaze wandered many times to\nthe slender, graceful figure of the girl ahead of them.\n\nBilly was thinking as he never had thought before. It seemed to him a\ncruel fate that had so shaped their destinies that his best friend loved\nthe girl Billy loved. That Bridge was ignorant of Billy's infatuation\nfor her the latter well knew. He could not blame Bridge, nor could he,\nupon the other hand, quite reconcile himself to the more than apparent\nadoration which marked his friend's attitude toward Barbara.\n\nAs daylight waned the fugitives realized from the shuffling gait\nof their mounts, from drooping heads and dull eyes that rest was\nimperative. They themselves were fagged, too, and when a ranchhouse\nloomed in front of them they decided to halt for much-needed\nrecuperation.\n\nHere they found three Americans who were totally unaware of Villa's\ncontemplated raid across the border, and who when they were informed of\nit were doubly glad to welcome six extra carbines, for Barbara not\nonly was armed but was eminently qualified to expend ammunition without\nwasting it.\n\nRozales and his small band halted out of range of the ranch; but they\nwent hungry while their quarry fed themselves and their tired mounts.\n\nThe Clark brothers and their cousin, a man by the name of Mason, who\nwere the sole inhabitants of the ranch counseled a long rest--two hours\nat least, for the border was still ten miles away and speed at the last\nmoment might be their sole means of salvation.\n\nBilly was for moving on at once before the reinforcements, for which he\nwas sure Rozales had dispatched his messenger, could overtake them. But\nthe others were tired and argued, too, that upon jaded ponies they could\nnot hope to escape and so they waited, until, just as they were ready to\ncontinue their flight, flight became impossible.\n\nDarkness had fallen when the little party commenced to resaddle\ntheir ponies and in the midst of their labors there came a rude and\ndisheartening interruption. Billy had kept either the Chinaman or Bridge\nconstantly upon watch toward the direction in which Rozales' men lolled\nsmoking in the dark, and it was the crack of Bridge's carbine which\nawoke the Americans to the fact that though the border lay but a few\nmiles away they were still far from safety.\n\nAs he fired Bridge turned in his saddle and shouted to the others to\nmake for the shelter of the ranchhouse.\n\n\"There are two hundred of them,\" he cried. \"Run for cover!\"\n\nBilly and the Clark brothers leaped to their saddles and spurred toward\nthe point where Bridge sat pumping lead into the advancing enemy.\nMason and Mr. Harding hurried Barbara to the questionable safety of the\nranchhouse. The Mexican followed them, and Bridge ordered Sing back to\nassist in barricading the doors and windows, while he and Billy and the\nClark boys held the bandits in momentary check.\n\nFalling back slowly and firing constantly as they came the four\napproached the house while Pesita and his full band advanced cautiously\nafter them. They had almost reached the house when Bridge lunged forward\nfrom his saddle. The Clark boys had dismounted and were leading their\nponies inside the house. Billy alone noted the wounding of his friend.\nWithout an instant's hesitation he slipped from his saddle, ran back\nto where Bridge lay and lifted him in his arms. Bullets were pattering\nthick about them. A horseman far in advance of his fellows galloped\nforward with drawn saber to cut down the gringos.\n\nBilly, casting an occasional glance behind, saw the danger in time to\nmeet it--just, in fact, as the weapon was cutting through the air toward\nhis head. Dropping Bridge and dodging to one side he managed to escape\nthe cut, and before the swordsman could recover Billy had leaped to his\npony's side and seizing the rider about the waist dragged him to the\nground.\n\n\"Rozales!\" he exclaimed, and struck the man as he had never struck\nanother in all his life, with the full force of his mighty muscles\nbacked by his great weight, with clenched fist full in the face.\n\nThere was a spurting of blood and a splintering of bone, and Captain\nGuillermo Rozales sank senseless to the ground, his career of crime and\nrapine ended forever.\n\nAgain Billy lifted Bridge in his arms and this time he succeeded in\nreaching the ranchhouse without opposition though a little crimson\nstream trickled down his left arm to drop upon the face of his friend as\nhe deposited Bridge upon the floor of the house.\n\nAll night the Pesitistas circled the lone ranchhouse. All night they\npoured their volleys into the adobe walls and through the barricaded\nwindows. All night the little band of defenders fought gallantly for\ntheir lives; but as day approached the futility of their endeavors was\nborne in upon them, for of the nine one was dead and three wounded, and\nthe numbers of their assailants seemed undiminished.\n\nBilly Byrne had been lying all night upon his stomach before a window\nfiring out into the darkness at the dim forms which occasionally showed\nagainst the dull, dead background of the moonless desert.\n\nPresently he leaped to his feet and crossed the floor to the room in\nwhich the horses had been placed.\n\n\"Everybody fire toward the rear of the house as fast as they can,\" said\nBilly. \"I want a clear space for my getaway.\"\n\n\"Where you goin?\" asked one of the Clark brothers.\n\n\"North,\" replied Billy, \"after some of Funston's men on the border.\"\n\n\"But they won't cross,\" said Mr. Harding. \"Washington won't let them.\"\n\n\"They gotta,\" snapped Billy Byrne, \"an' they will when they know there's\nan American girl here with a bunch of Dagos yappin' around.\"\n\n\"You'll be killed,\" said Price Clark. \"You can't never get through.\"\n\n\"Leave it to me,\" replied Billy. \"Just get ready an' open that back door\nwhen I give the word, an' then shut it again in a hurry when I've gone\nthrough.\"\n\nHe led a horse from the side room, and mounted it.\n\n\"Open her up, boes!\" he shouted, and \"S'long everybody!\"\n\nPrice Clark swung the door open. Billy put spurs to his mount and threw\nhimself forward flat against the animal's neck. Another moment he was\nthrough and a rattling fusillade of shots proclaimed the fact that his\nbold feat had not gone unnoted by the foe.\n\nThe little Mexican pony shot like a bolt from a crossbow out across the\nlevel desert. The rattling of carbines only served to add speed to its\nfrightened feet. Billy sat erect in the saddle, guiding the horse with\nhis left hand and working his revolver methodically with his right.\n\nAt a window behind him Barbara Harding stood breathless and spellbound\nuntil he had disappeared into the gloom of the early morning darkness\nto the north, then she turned with a weary sigh and resumed her place\nbeside the wounded Bridge whose head she bathed with cool water, while\nhe tossed in the delirium of fever.\n\nThe first streaks of daylight were piercing the heavens, the Pesitistas\nwere rallying for a decisive charge, the hopes of the little band of\nbesieged were at low ebb when from the west there sounded the pounding\nof many hoofs.\n\n\"Villa,\" moaned Westcott Clark, hopelessly. \"We're done for now, sure\nenough. He must be comin' back from his raid on the border.\"\n\nIn the faint light of dawn they saw a column of horsemen deploy suddenly\ninto a long, thin line which galloped forward over the flat earth,\ncoming toward them like a huge, relentless engine of destruction.\n\nThe Pesitistas were watching too. They had ceased firing and sat in\ntheir saddles forgetful of their contemplated charge.\n\nThe occupants of the ranchhouse were gathered at the small windows.\n\n\"What's them?\" cried Mason--\"them things floating over 'em.\"\n\n\"They're guidons!\" exclaimed Price Clark \"--the guidons of the United\nStates cavalry regiment. See 'em! See 'em? God! but don't they look\ngood?\"\n\nThere was a wild whoop from the lungs of the advancing cavalrymen.\nPesita's troops answered it with a scattering volley, and a moment later\nthe Americans were among them in that famous revolver charge which is\nnow history.\n\nDaylight had come revealing to the watchers in the ranchhouse the\nfigures of the combatants. In the thick of the fight loomed the giant\nfigure of a man in nondescript garb which more closely resembled the\napparel of the Pesitistas than it did the uniforms of the American\nsoldiery, yet it was with them he fought. Barbara's eyes were the first\nto detect him.\n\n\"There's Mr. Byrne,\" she cried. \"It must have been he who brought the\ntroops.\"\n\n\"Why, he hasn't had time to reach the border yet,\" remonstrated one of\nthe Clark boys, \"much less get back here with help.\"\n\n\"There he is though,\" said Mr. Harding. \"It's certainly strange. I can't\nunderstand what American troops are doing across the border--especially\nunder the present administration.\"\n\nThe Pesitistas held their ground for but a moment then they wheeled and\nfled; but not before Pesita himself had forced his pony close to that of\nBilly Byrne.\n\n\"Traitor!\" screamed the bandit. \"You shall die for this,\" and fired\npoint-blank at the American.\n\nBilly felt a burning sensation in his already wounded left arm; but his\nright was still good.\n\n\"For poor, bleeding Mexico!\" he cried, and put a bullet through Pesita's\nforehead.\n\n\nUnder escort of the men of the Thirteenth Cavalry who had pursued\nVilla's raiders into Mexico and upon whom Billy Byrne had stumbled by\nchance, the little party of fugitives came safely to United States soil,\nwhere all but one breathed sighs of heartfelt relief.\n\nBridge was given first aid by members of the hospital corps, who assured\nBilly that his friend would not die. Mr. Harding and Barbara were taken\nin by the wife of an officer, and it was at the quarters of the latter\nthat Billy Byrne found her alone in the sitting-room.\n\nThe girl looked up as he entered, a sad smile upon her face. She was\nabout to ask him of his wound; but he gave her no opportunity.\n\n\"I've come for you,\" he said. \"I gave you up once when I thought it was\nbetter for you to marry a man in your own class. I won't give you up\nagain. You're mine--you're my girl, and I'm goin' to take you with me.\nWere goin' to Galveston as fast as we can, and from there we're goin' to\nRio. You belonged to me long before Bridge saw you. He can't have you.\nNobody can have you but me, and if anyone tries to keep me from taking\nyou they'll get killed.\"\n\nHe took a step nearer that brought him close to her. She did not\nshrink--only looked up into his face with wide eyes filled with wonder.\nHe seized her roughly in his arms.\n\n\"You are my girl!\" he cried hoarsely. \"Kiss me!\"\n\n\"Wait!\" she said. \"First tell me what you meant by saying that Bridge\ncouldn't have me. I never knew that Bridge wanted me, and I certainly\nhave never wanted Bridge. O Billy! Why didn't you do this long ago?\nMonths ago in New York I wanted you to take me; but you left me to\nanother man whom I didn't love. I thought you had ceased to care, Billy,\nand since we have been together here--since that night in the room back\nof the office--you have made me feel that I was nothing to you. Take me,\nBilly! Take me anywhere in the world that you go. I love you and I'll\nslave for you--anything just to be with you.\"\n\n\"Barbara!\" cried Billy Byrne, and then his voice was smothered by the\npressure of warm, red lips against his own.\n\nA half hour later Billy stepped out into the street to make his way to\nthe railroad station that he might procure transportation for three\nto Galveston. Anthony Harding was going with them. He had listened\nto Barbara's pleas, and had finally volunteered to back Billy Byrne's\nflight from the jurisdiction of the law, or at least to a place where,\nunder a new name, he could start life over again and live it as the\nson-in-law of old Anthony Harding should live.\n\nAmong the crowd viewing the havoc wrought by the raiders the previous\nnight was a large man with a red face. It happened that he turned\nsuddenly about as Billy Byrne was on the point of passing behind him.\nBoth men started as recognition lighted their faces and he of the red\nface found himself looking down the barrel of a six-shooter.\n\n\"Put it up, Byrne,\" he admonished the other coolly. \"I didn't know you\nwere so good on the draw.\"\n\n\"I'm good on the draw all right, Flannagan,\" said Billy, \"and I ain't\ndrawin' for amusement neither. I gotta chance to get away and live\nstraight, and have a little happiness in life, and, Flannagan, the man\nwho tries to crab my game is goin' to get himself croaked. I'll never go\nback to stir alive. See?\"\n\n\"Yep,\" said Flannagan, \"I see; but I ain't tryin' to crab your game. I\nain't down here after you this trip. Where you been, anyway, that you\ndon't know the war's over? Why Coke Sheehan confessed a month ago that\nit was him that croaked Schneider, and the governor pardoned you about\nten days ago.\"\n\n\"You stringin' me?\" asked Billy, a vicious glint in his eyes.\n\n\"On the level,\" Flannagan assured him. \"Wait, I gotta clippin' from the\nTrib in my clothes somewheres that gives all the dope.\"\n\nHe drew some papers from his coat pocket and handed one to Billy.\n\n\"Turn your back and hold up your hands while I read,\" said Byrne, and as\nFlannagan did as he was bid Billy unfolded the soiled bit of newspaper\nand read that which set him a-trembling with nervous excitement.\n\nA moment later Detective Sergeant Flannagan ventured a rearward glance\nto note how Byrne was receiving the joyful tidings which the newspaper\narticle contained.\n\n\"Well, I'll be!\" ejaculated the sleuth, for Billy Byrne was already\na hundred yards away and breaking all records in his dash for the\nsitting-room he had quitted but a few minutes before.\n\nIt was a happy and contented trio who took the train the following day\non their way back to New York City after bidding Bridge good-bye in the\nimprovised hospital and exacting his promise that he would visit them in\nNew York in the near future.\n\n\nIt was a month later; spring was filling the southland with new, sweet\nlife. The joy of living was reflected in the song of birds and the\nopening of buds. Beside a slow-moving stream a man squatted before a\ntiny fire. A battered tin can, half filled with water stood close to the\nburning embers. Upon a sharpened stick the man roasted a bit of meat,\nand as he watched it curling at the edges as the flame licked it he\nspoke aloud though there was none to hear:\n\n  Just for a con I'd like to know (yes, he crossed over long ago;\n And he was right, believe me, bo!) if somewhere in the South,\n  Down where the clouds lie on the sea, he found his sweet Penelope\n With buds of roses in her hair and kisses on her mouth.\n\n\n\"Which is what they will be singing about me one of these days,\" he\ncommented."