CHAPTER XV
AN INDIAN'S TREACHERY
THE Brazos pony had traveled far that day but for only a
trifle over ten miles had he carried a rider upon his back. He
was, consequently, far from fagged as he leaped forward to
the lifted reins and tore along the dusty river trail back in the
direction of Orobo.
Never before had Brazos covered ten miles in so short a
time, for it was not yet five o'clock when, reeling with fatigue,
he stopped, staggered and fell in front of the office building at
El Orobo.
Eddie Shorter had sat in the chair as Barbara and Billy had
last seen him waiting until Byrne should have an ample start
before arousing Grayson and reporting the prisoner's escape.
Eddie had determined that he would give Billy an hour. He
grinned as he anticipated the rage of Grayson and the Villistas
when they learned that their bird had flown, and as he mused
and waited he fell asleep.
It was broad daylight when Eddie awoke, and as he
looked up at the little clock ticking against the wall, and saw
the time he gave an exclamation of surprise and leaped to his
feet. Just as he opened the outer door of the office he saw a
horseman leap from a winded pony in front of the building.
He saw the animal collapse and sink to the ground, and then
he recognized the pony as Brazos, and another glance at the
man brought recognition of him, too.
"You?" cried Eddie. "What are you doin' back here? I
gotta take you now," and he started to draw his revolver; but
Billy Byrne had him covered before ever his hand reached the
grip of his gun.
"Put 'em up!" admonished Billy, "and listen to me. This
ain't no time fer gunplay or no such foolishness. I ain't back
here to be took--get that out o' your nut. I'm tipped off that
a bunch o' siwashes was down here last night to swipe Miss
Harding. Come! We gotta go see if she's here or not, an' don't
try any funny business on me, Eddie. I ain't a-goin' to be
taken again, an' whoever tries it gets his, see?"
Eddie was down off the porch in an instant, and making
for the ranchhouse.
"I'm with you," he said. "Who told you? And who done
it?"
"Never mind who told me; but a siwash named Esteban
was to pull the thing off for Grayson. Grayson wanted Miss
Harding an' he was goin' to have her stolen for him."
"The hound!" muttered Eddie.
The two men dashed up onto the veranda of the ranchhouse
and pounded at the door until a Chinaman opened it
and stuck out his head, inquiringly.
"Is Miss Harding here?" demanded Billy.
"Mlissy Hardie Kleep," snapped the servant. "Wally wanee
here flo blekfas?", and would have shut the door in their faces
had not Billy intruded a heavy boot. The next instant he
placed a large palm over the celestial's face and pushed the
man back into the house. Once inside he called Mr. Harding's
name aloud.
"What is it?" asked the gentleman a moment later as he
appeared in a bedroom doorway off the living-room clad in
his pajamas. "What's the matter? Why, gad man, is that you?
Is this really Billy Byrne?"
"Sure," replied Byrne shortly; "but we can't waste any time
chinnin'. I heard that Miss Barbara was goin' to be swiped
last night--I heard that she had been. Now hurry and see if
she is here."
Anthony Harding turned and leaped up the narrow stairway
to the second floor four steps at a time. He hadn't gone
upstairs in that fashion in forty years. Without even pausing
to rap he burst into his daughter's bedroom. It was empty.
The bed was unruffled. It had not been slept in. With a moan
the man turned back and ran hastily to the other rooms upon
the second floor--Barbara was nowhere to be found. Then he
hastened downstairs to the two men awaiting him.
As he entered the room from one end Grayson entered it
from the other through the doorway leading out upon the
veranda. Billy Byrne had heard footsteps upon the boards
without and he was ready, so that as Grayson entered he
found himself looking straight at the business end of a sixshooter.
The foreman halted, and stood looking in surprise
first at Billy Byrne, and then at Eddie Shorter and Mr.
Harding.
"What does this mean?" he demanded, addressing Eddie.
"What you doin' here with your prisoner? Who told you to
let him out, eh?"
"Can the chatter," growled Billy Byrne. "Shorter didn't let
me out. I escaped hours ago, and I've just come back from
Jose's to ask you where Miss Harding is, you low-lived cur,
you. Where is she?"
"What has Mr. Grayson to do with it?" asked Mr. Harding.
"How should he know anything about it? It's all a mystery to
me--you here, of all men in the world, and Grayson talking
about you as the prisoner. I can't make it out. Quick, though,
Byrne, tell me all you know about Barbara."
Billy kept Grayson covered as he replied to the request of
Harding.
"This guy hires a bunch of Pimans to steal Miss Barbara,"
he said. "I got it straight from the fellow he paid the money
to for gettin' him the right men to pull off the job. He wants
her it seems," and Billy shot a look at the ranch foreman that
would have killed if looks could. "She can't have been gone
long. I seen her after midnight, just before I made my getaway,
so they can't have taken her very far. This thing here
can't help us none neither, for he don't know where she is
any more'n we do. He thinks he does; but he don't. The
siwashes framed it on him, an' they've doubled-crossed him. I
got that straight too; but, Gawd! I don't know where they've
taken her or what they're goin' to do with her."
As he spoke he turned his eyes for the first time away from
Grayson and looked full in Anthony Harding's face. The
latter saw beneath the strong character lines of the other's
countenance the agony of fear and doubt that lay heavy upon
his heart.
In the brief instant that Billy's watchful gaze left the figure
of the ranch foreman the latter saw the opportunity he craved.
He was standing directly in the doorway--a single step would
carry him out of range of Byrne's gun, placing a wall between
it and him, and Grayson was not slow in taking that step.
When Billy turned his eyes back the Texan had disappeared,
and by the time the former reached the doorway
Grayson was halfway to the office building on the veranda of
which stood the four soldiers of Villa grumbling and muttering
over the absence of their prisoner of the previous evening.
Billy Byrne stepped out into the open. The ranch foreman
called aloud to the four Mexicans that their prisoner was at
the ranchhouse and as they looked in that direction they saw
him, revolver in hand, coming slowly toward them. There was
a smile upon his lips which they could not see because of the
distance, and which, not knowing Billy Byrne, they would not
have interpreted correctly; but the revolver they did understand,
and at sight of it one of them threw his carbine to his
shoulder. His finger, however, never closed upon the trigger,
for there came the sound of a shot from beyond Billy Byrne
and the Mexican staggered forward, pitching over the edge of
the porch to the ground.
Billy turned his head in the direction from which the shot
had come and saw Eddie Shorter running toward him, a
smoking six-shooter in his right hand.
"Go back," commanded Byrne; "this is my funeral."
"Not on your life," replied Eddie Shorter. "Those greasers
don't take no white man off'n El Orobo, while I'm here. Get
busy! They're comin'."
And sure enough they were coming, and as they came their
carbines popped and the bullets whizzed about the heads of
the two Americans. Grayson, too, had taken a hand upon the
side of the Villistas. From the bunkhouse other men were
running rapidly in the direction of the fight, attracted by the
first shots.
Billy and Eddie stood their ground, a few paces apart. Two
more of Villa's men went down. Grayson ran for cover. Then
Billy Byrne dropped the last of the Mexicans just as the men
from the bunkhouse came panting upon the scene. There were
both Americans and Mexicans among them. All were armed
and weapons were ready in their hands.
They paused a short distance from the two men. Eddie's
presence upon the side of the stranger saved Billy from instant
death, for Eddie was well liked by both his Mexican and
American fellow-workers.
"What's the fuss?" asked an American.
Eddie told them, and when they learned that the boss's
daughter had been spirited away and that the ranch foreman
was at the bottom of it the anger of the Americans rose to a
dangerous pitch.
"Where is he?" someone asked. They were gathered in a
little cluster now about Billy Byrne and Shorter.
"I saw him duck behind the office building," said Eddie.
"Come on," said another. "We'll get him."
"Someone get a rope." The men spoke in low, ordinary
tones--they appeared unexcited. Determination was the most
apparent characteristic of the group. One of them ran back
toward the bunkhouse for his rope. The others walked slowly
in the direction of the rear of the office building. Grayson was
not there. The search proceeded. The Americans were in
advance. The Mexicans kept in a group by themselves a little
in rear of the others--it was not their trouble. If the gringos
wanted to lynch another gringo, well and good--that was the
gringos' business. They would keep out of it, and they did.
Down past the bunkhouse and the cookhouse to the stables
the searchers made their way. Grayson could not be found. In
the stables one of the men made a discovery--the foreman's
saddle had vanished. Out in the corrals they went. One of the
men laughed--the bars were down and the saddle horses
gone. Eddie Shorter presently pointed out across the pasture
and the river to the skyline of the low bluffs beyond. The
others looked. A horseman was just visible urging his mount
upward to the crest, the two stood in silhouette against the
morning sky pink with the new sun.
"That's him," said Eddie.
"Let him go," said Billy Byrne. "He won't never come back
and he ain't worth chasin'. Not while we got Miss Barbara to
look after. My horse is down there with yours. I'm goin'
down to get him. Will you come, Shorter? I may need help--I
ain't much with a rope yet."
He started off without waiting for a reply, and all the
Americans followed. Together they circled the horses and
drove them back to the corral. When Billy had saddled and
mounted he saw that the others had done likewise.
"We're goin' with you," said one of the men. "Miss Barbara
b'longs to us."
Billy nodded and moved off in the direction of the
ranchhouse. Here he dismounted and with Eddie Shorter and Mr.
Harding commenced circling the house in search of some
manner of clue to the direction taken by the abductors. It was
not long before they came upon the spot where the Indians'
horses had stood the night before. From there the trail led
plainly down toward the river. In a moment ten Americans
were following it, after Mr. Harding had supplied Billy Byrne
with a carbine, another six-shooter, and ammunition.
Through the river and the cut in the barbed-wire fence,
then up the face of the bluff and out across the low mesa
beyond the trail led. For a mile it was distinct, and then
disappeared as though the riders had separated.
"Well," said Billy, as the others drew around him for
consultation, "they'd be goin' to the hills there. They was
Pimans--Esteban's tribe. They got her up there in the hills
somewheres. Let's split up an' search the hills for her.
Whoever comes on 'em first'll have to do some shootin' and the rest
of us can close in an' help. We can go in pairs--then if
one's killed the other can ride out an' lead the way back to
where it happened."
The men seemed satisfied with the plan and broke up into
parties of two. Eddie Shorter paired off with Billy Byrne.
"Spread out," said the latter to his companions. "Eddie an'
I'll ride straight ahead--the rest of you can fan out a few
miles on either side of us. S'long an' good luck," and he
started off toward the hills, Eddie Shorter at his side.
Back at the ranch the Mexican vaqueros lounged about,
grumbling. With no foreman there was nothing to do except
talk about their troubles. They had not been paid since the
looting of the bank at Cuivaca, for Mr. Harding had been
unable to get any silver from elsewhere until a few days since.
He now had assurances that it was on the way to him; but
whether or not it would reach El Orobo was a question.
"Why should we stay here when we are not paid?" asked
one of them.
"Yes, why?" chorused several others.
"There is nothing to do here," said another. "We will go to
Cuivaca. I, for one, am tired of working for the gringos."
This met with the unqualified approval of all, and a few
moments later the men had saddled their ponies and were
galloping away in the direction of sun-baked Cuivaca. They
sang now, and were happy, for they were as little boys playing
hooky from school--not bad men; but rather irresponsible
children.
Once in Cuivaca they swooped down upon the drinking-place,
where, with what little money a few of them had left
they proceeded to get drunk.
Later in the day an old, dried-up Indian entered. He was
hot and dusty from a long ride.
"Hey, Jose!" cried one of the vaqueros from El Orobo
Rancho; "you old rascal, what are you doing here?"
Jose looked around upon them. He knew them all--they
represented the Mexican contingent of the riders of El Orobo.
Jose wondered what they were all doing here in Cuivaca at
one time. Even upon a pay day it never had been the rule of
El Orobo to allow more than four men at a time to come to
town.
"Oh, Jose come to buy coffee and tobacco," he replied. He
looked about searchingly. "Where are the others?" he asked,
"--the gringos?"
"They have ridden after Esteban," explained one of the
vaqueros. "He has run off with Senorita Harding."
Jose raised his eyebrows as though this was all news.
"And Senor Grayson has gone with them?" he asked. "He
was very fond of the senorita."
"Senor Grayson has run away," went on the other speaker.
"The other gringos wished to hang him, for it is said he has
bribed Esteban to do this thing."
Again Jose raised his eyebrows. "Impossible!" he ejaculated.
"And who then guards the ranch?" he asked presently.
"Senor Harding, two Mexican house servants, and a Chinaman,"
and the vaquero laughed.
"I must be going," Jose announced after a moment. "It is a
long ride for an old man from my poor home to Cuivaca, and
back again."
The vaqueros were paying no further attention to him, and
the Indian passed out and sought his pony; but when he had
mounted and ridden from town he took a strange direction
for one whose path lies to the east, since he turned his pony's
head toward the northwest.
Jose had ridden far that day, since Billy had left his humble
hut. He had gone to the west to the little rancho of one of
Pesita's adherents who had dispatched a boy to carry word to
the bandit that his Captain Byrne had escaped the Villistas,
and then Jose had ridden into Cuivaca by a circuitous route
which brought him up from the east side of the town.
Now he was riding once again for Pesita; but this time he
would bear the information himself. He found the chief in
camp and after begging tobacco and a cigarette paper the
Indian finally reached the purpose of his visit.
"Jose has just come from Cuivaca," he said, "and there he
drank with all the Mexican vaqueros of El Orobo Rancho--
ALL, my general, you understand. It seems that Esteban has
carried off the beautiful senorita of El Orobo Rancho, and the
vaqueros tell Jose that ALL the American vaqueros have ridden
in search of her--ALL, my general, you understand. In such
times of danger it is odd that the gringos should leave El
Orobo thus unguarded. Only the rich Senor Harding, two
house servants, and a Chinaman remain."
A man lay stretched upon his blankets in a tent next to
that occupied by Pesita. At the sound of the speaker's voice,
low though it was, he raised his head and listened. He heard
every word, and a scowl settled upon his brow. Barbara
stolen! Mr Harding practically alone upon the ranch! And
Pesita in possession of this information!
Bridge rose to his feet. He buckled his cartridge belt about
his waist and picked up his carbine, then he crawled under the
rear wall of his tent and walked slowly off in the direction of
the picket line where the horses were tethered.
"Ah, Senor Bridge," said a pleasant voice in his ear;
"where to?"
Bridge turned quickly to look into the smiling, evil face of
Rozales.
"Oh," he replied, "I'm going out to see if I can't find some
shooting. It's awfully dull sitting around here doing nothing."
"Si, senor," agreed Rozales; "I, too, find it so. Let us
go together--I know where the shooting is best."
"I don't doubt it," thought Bridge; "probably in the back;"
but aloud he said: "Certainly, that will be fine," for he
guessed that Rozales had been set to watch his movements
and prevent his escape, and, perchance, to be the sole witness
of some unhappy event which should carry Senor Bridge to
the arms of his fathers.
Rozales called a soldier to saddle and bridle their horses
and shortly after the two were riding abreast down the trail
out of the hills. Where it was necessary that they ride in single
file Bridge was careful to see that Rozales rode ahead, and the
Mexican graciously permitted the American to fall behind.
If he was inspired by any other motive than simple espionage
he was evidently content to bide his time until chance
gave him the opening he desired, and it was equally evident
that he felt as safe in front of the American as behind him.
At a point where a ravine down which they had ridden
debauched upon a mesa Rozales suggested that they ride to
the north, which was not at all the direction in which Bridge
intended going. The American demurred.
"But there is no shooting down in the valley," urged
Rozales.
"I think there will be," was Bridge's enigmatical reply, and
then, with a sudden exclamation of surprise he pointed over
Rozales' shoulder. "What's that?" he cried in a voice tense
with excitement.
The Mexican turned his head quickly in the direction
Bridge's index finger indicated.
"I see nothing," said Rozales, after a moment.
"You do now, though," replied Bridge, and as the Mexican's
eyes returned in the direction of his companion he was
forced to admit that he did see something--the dismal, hollow
eye of a six-shooter looking him straight in the face.
"Senor Bridge!" exclaimed Rozales. "What are you doing?
What do you mean?"
"I mean," said Bridge, "that if you are at all solicitous of
your health you'll climb down off that pony, not forgetting to
keep your hands above your head when you reach the
ground. Now climb!"
Rozales dismounted.
"Turn your back toward me," commanded the American,
and when the other had obeyed him, Bridge dismounted and
removed the man's weapons from his belt. "Now you may go,
Rozales," he said, "and should you ever have an American in
your power again remember that I spared your life when I
might easily have taken it--when it would have been infinitely
safer for me to have done it."
The Mexican made no reply, but the black scowl that
clouded his face boded ill for the next gringo who should be
so unfortunate as to fall into his hands. Slowly he wheeled
about and started back up the trail in the direction of the
Pesita camp.
"I'll be halfway to El Orobo," thought Bridge, "before he
gets a chance to tell Pesita what happened to him," and then
be remounted and rode on down into the valley, leading
Rozales' horse behind him.
It would never do, he knew, to turn the animal loose too
soon, since he would doubtless make his way back to camp,
and in doing so would have to pass Rozales who would catch
him. Time was what Bridge wanted--to be well on his way to
Orobo before Pesita should learn of his escape.
Bridge knew nothing of what had happened to Billy, for
Pesita had seen to it that the information was kept from the
American. The latter had, nevertheless, been worrying not a
little at the absence of his friend for he knew that he had
taken his liberty and his life in his hands in riding down to El
Orobo among avowed enemies.
Far to his rear Rozales plodded sullenly up the steep trail
through the mountains, revolving in his mind various exquisite
tortures he should be delighted to inflict upon the next gringo
who came into his power.
