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Spurring after him Billy and Bridge ran their horses over the rough ground at the

base of the little hill, and then parallel to the arroyo for a matter of a hundred

yards, where they espied two Indians, carbines in hand, standing in evident

consternation because of the unexpected fusillade of shots which they had just

heard and which they were unable to account for.

At the sight of the three the sharpshooters dropped behind cover and fired. Billy's

horse stumbled at the first report, caught himself, reared high upon his hind legs

and then toppled over, dead.

His rider, throwing himself to one side, scrambled to his feet and fired twice at

the partially concealed men. Miguel and Bridge rode in rapidly to close quarters,

firing as they came. One of the two men Pesita had sent to assassinate his

"guests" dropped his gun, clutched at his breast, screamed, and sank back

behind a clump of mesquite. The other turned and leaped over the edge of the

bank into the arroyo, rolling and tumbling to the bottom in a cloud of dry dust.

As he rose to his feet and started on a run up the bed of the dry stream, dodging

a zigzag course from one bit of scant cover to another Billy Byrne stepped to the

edge of the washout and threw his carbine to his shoulder. His face was flushed,

his eyes sparkled, a smile lighted his regular features.

This is the life!" he cried, and pulled the trigger.

The man beneath him, running for his life like a frightened jackrabbit, sprawled

forward upon his face, made a single effort to rise and then slumped limply down,

forever.

Miguel and Bridge, dismounted now, came to Byrne's side. The Mexican was

grinning broadly.

"The captain is one grand fighter," he said. "How my dear general would admire

such a man as the captain. Doubtless he would make him a colonel. Come with

me Senor Capitan and your fortune is made."

"Come where?" asked Billy Byrne.

To the camp of the liberator of poor, bleeding Mexico--to General Francisco

Villa."

"Nothin' doin'," said Billy. "I'm hooked up with this Pesita person now, an' I guess

I'll stick. He's given me more of a run for my money in the last twenty-four hours

than I've had since I parted from my dear old friend, the Lord of Yoka."

211

The Mucker