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As the ranch foreman was saddling up with several of his men in the corral to

give chase to the fugitive the boss strolled in and touched him on the arm.

"Mr. Grayson," he said, "I have made it a point never to interfere with you; but I

am going to ask you now not to pursue Mr. Bridge. I shall be glad if he makes

good his escape. Barbara was right--he is a fellow-American. We cannot turn him

over to Villa, or any other Mexican to be murdered."

Grumblingly Grayson unsaddled. "Ef you'd seen what I've seen around here," he

said, "I guess you wouldn't be so keen to save this feller's hide."

What do you mean?" asked the boss.

I mean that he's ben tryin' to make love to your daughter."

The older man laughed. "Don't be a fool, Grayson," he said, and walked away.

An hour later Barbara was strolling up and down before the ranchhouse in the

cool and refreshing air of the Chihuahua night. Her mind was occupied with

disquieting reflections of the past few hours. Her pride was immeasurably hurt by

the part impulse had forced her to take in the affair at the office. Not that she

regretted that she had connived in the escape of Bridge; but it was humiliating

that a girl of her position should have been compelled to play so melodramatic a

part before Grayson and his Mexican vaqueros.

Then, too, was she disappointed in Bridge. She had looked upon him as a

gentleman whom misfortune and wanderlust had reduced to the lowest stratum

of society. Now she feared that he belonged to that substratum which lies below

the lowest which society recognizes as a part of itself, and which is composed

solely of the criminal class.

It was hard for Barbara to realize that she had associated with a thief--just for a

moment it was hard, until recollection forced upon her the unwelcome fact of the

status of another whom she had known--to whom she had given her love. The girl

did not wince at the thought--instead she squared her shoulders and raised her

chin.

"I am proud of him, whatever he may have been," she murmured; but she was not

thinking of the new bookkeeper. When she did think again of Bridge it was to be

glad that he had escaped--"for he is an American, like myself."

Well!" exclaimed a voice behind her. "You played us a pretty trick, Miss Barbara."

The girl turned to see Grayson approaching. To her surprise he seemed to hold no

resentment whatsoever. She greeted him courteously.

242

The Mucker