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CHAPTER XVII. "YOU ARE MY GIRL!"

MR. ANTHONY HARDING was pacing back and forth the length of the veranda of

the ranchhouse at El Orobo waiting for some word of hope from those who had

ridden out in search of his daughter, Barbara. Each swirling dust devil that

eddied across the dry flat on either side of the river roused hopes within his

breast that it might have been spurred into activity by the hoofs of a pony bearing

a messenger of good tidings; but always his hopes were dashed, for no horseman

emerged from the heat haze of the distance where the little dust devils raced

playfully among the cacti and the greasewood.

But at last, in the northwest, a horseman, unheralded by gyrating dust column,

came into sight. Mr. Harding shook his head sorrowfully. It had not been from

this direction that he had expected word of Barbara, yet he kept his eyes fastened

upon the rider until the latter reined in at the ranchyard and loped a tired and

sweating pony to the foot of the veranda steps. Then Mr. Harding saw who the

newcomer was.

"Bridge!" he exclaimed. "What brings you back here? Don't you know that you

endanger us as well as yourself by being seen here? General Villa will think that

we have been harboring you."

Bridge swung from the saddle and ran up onto the veranda. He paid not the

slightest attention to Anthony Harding's protest.

How many men you got here that you can depend on?" he asked.

None," replied the Easterner. "What do you mean?"

None!" cried Bridge, incredulity and hopelessness showing upon his

countenance. "Isn't there a Chinaman and a couple of faithful Mexicans?"

Oh, yes, of course," assented Mr. Harding; "but what are you driving at?"

"Pesita is on his way here to clean up El Orobo. He can't be very far behind me.

Call the men you got, and we'll get together all the guns and ammunition on the

ranch, and barricade the ranchhouse. We may be able to stand 'em off. Have you

heard anything of Miss Barbara?"

Anthony Harding shook his head sadly.

"Then we'll have to stay right here and do the best we can," said Bridge. "I was

thinking we might make a run for it if Miss Barbara was here; but as she's not we

must wait for those who went out after her."

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The Mucker