www.freeclassicebooks.com

CHAPTER XII. BILLY TO THE RESCUE

IT WAS nearly ten o'clock the following morning when Barbara, sitting upon the

veranda of the ranchhouse, saw her father approaching from the direction of the

office. His face wore a troubled expression which the girl could not but note.

What's the matter, Papa?" she asked, as he sank into a chair at her side.

Your self-sacrifice of last evening was all to no avail," he replied. "Bridge has

been captured by Villistas."

What?" cried the girl. "You can't mean it--how did you learn?"

Grayson just had a phone message from Cuivaca," he explained. "They only

repaired the line yesterday since Pesita's men cut it last month. This was our first

message. And do you know, Barbara, I can't help feeling sorry. I had hoped that

he would get away."

"So had I," said the girl.

Her father was eyeing her closely to note the effect of his announcement upon

her; but he could see no greater concern reflected than that which he himself felt

for a fellow-man and an American who was doomed to death at the hands of an

alien race, far from his own land and his own people.

Can nothing be done?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he replied with finality. "I have talked it over with Grayson and he

assures me that an attempt at intervention upon our part might tend to

antagonize Villa, in which case we are all as good as lost. He is none too fond of

us as it is, and Grayson believes, and not without reason, that he would welcome

the slightest pretext for withdrawing the protection of his favor. Instantly he did

that we should become the prey of every marauding band that infests the

mountains. Not only would Pesita swoop down upon us, but those companies of

freebooters which acknowledge nominal loyalty to Villa would be about our ears

in no time. No, dear, we may do nothing. The young man has made his bed, and

now I am afraid that he will have to lie in it alone."

For awhile the girl sat in silence, and presently her father arose and entered the

house. Shortly after she followed him, reappearing soon in riding togs and

walking rapidly to the corrals. Here she found an American cowboy busily

engaged in whittling a stick as he sat upon an upturned cracker box and shot

accurate streams of tobacco juice at a couple of industrious tumble bugs that had

244

The Mucker