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Barbara tiptoed to the door. Holding her breath she turned the knob gently. The

door swung open without a sound, and an instant later she stood within the

room. Again her eyes were fixed upon Eddie Shorter. She saw his nerveless

fingers relax their hold upon the grip of his revolver. She saw the weapon slip

farther down into his lap. He did not move, other than to the deep and regular

breathing of profound slumber.

Barbara crossed the room to his side.

Behind the ranchhouse three figures crept forward in the shadows. Behind them

a matter of a hundred yards stood a little clump of horses and with them were the

figures of more men. These waited in silence. The other three crept toward the

house. It was such a ranchhouse as you might find by the scores or hundreds

throughout Texas. Grayson, evidently, or some other Texan, had designed it.

There was nothing Mexican about it, nor anything beautiful. It stood two storied,

verandaed and hideous, a blot upon the soil of picturesque Mexico.

To the roof of the veranda clambered the three prowlers, and across it to an open

window. The window belonged to the bedroom of Miss Barbara Harding. Here

they paused and listened, then two of them entered the room. They were gone for

but a few minutes. When they emerged they showed evidences, by their gestures

to the third man who had awaited outside, of disgust and disappointment.

Cautiously they descended as they had come and made their way back to those

other men who had remained with the horses. Here there ensued a low-toned

conference, and while it progressed Barbara Harding reached forth a steady hand

which belied the terror in her soul and plucked the revolver from Eddie Shorter's

lap. Eddie slept on.

Again on tiptoe the girl recrossed the office to the locked door leading into the

back room. The key was in the lock. Gingerly she turned it, keeping a furtive eye

upon the sleeping guard, and the muzzle of his own revolver leveled menacingly

upon him. Eddie Shorter stirred in his sleep and raised a hand to his face. The

heart of Barbara Harding ceased to beat while she stood waiting for the man to

open his eyes and discover her; but he did nothing of the kind. Instead his hand

dropped limply at his side and he resumed his regular breathing.

The key turned in the lock beneath the gentle pressure of her fingers, the bolt

slipped quietly back and she pushed the door ajar. Within, Billy Byrne turned

inquiring eyes in the direction of the opening door, and as he saw who it was who

entered surprise showed upon his face; but he spoke no word for the girl held a

silencing finger to her lips.

267

The Mucker