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Bridge's mental vision was concentrated upon the veranda of a white-walled

ranchhouse to the east. He shook his head angrily.

"It's just as well," he thought. "She's not for me."

Something moved upon the ground beyond the window. Bridge became suddenly

intent upon the thing. He saw it rise and resolve itself into the figure of a man,

and then, in a low whisper, came a familiar voice:

"There ain't no roses in my hair, but there's a barker in my shirt, an' another at

me side. Here's one of 'em. They got kisses beat a city block. How's the door o'

this thing fastened?" The speaker was quite close to the window now, his face but

a few inches from Bridge's.

Billy!" ejaculated the condemned man.

Surest thing you know; but about the door?"

Just a heavy bar on the outside," replied Bridge.

Easy," commented Billy, relieved. "Get ready to beat it when I open the door. I got

a pony south o' town that'll have to carry double for a little way tonight."

God bless you, Billy!" whispered Bridge, fervently.

"Lay low a few minutes," said Billy, and moved away toward the rear of the

guardhouse.

A few minutes later there broke upon the night air the dismal hoot of an owl. At

intervals of a few seconds it was repeated twice. The sentry before the guardhouse

shifted his position and looked about, then he settled back, transferring his

weight to the other foot, and resumed his bovine meditations.

The man at the rear of the guardhouse moved silently along the side of the

structure until he stood within a few feet of the unsuspecting sentinel, hidden

from him by the corner of the building. A heavy revolver dangled from his right

hand. He held it loosely by the barrel, and waited.

For five minutes the silence of the night was unbroken, then from the east came a

single shot, followed immediately by a scattering fusillade and a chorus of hoarse

cries.

Billy Byrne smiled. The sentry resumed indications of quickness. From the

barracks beyond the guardhouse came sharp commands and the sounds of men

running. From the opposite end of the town the noise of battle welled up to

ominous proportions.

250

The Mucker