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Billy Byrne had been lying all night upon his stomach before a window firing out

into the darkness at the dim forms which occasionally showed against the dull,

dead background of the moonless desert.

Presently he leaped to his feet and crossed the floor to the room in which the

horses had been placed.

"Everybody fire toward the rear of the house as fast as they can," said Billy. "I

want a clear space for my getaway."

Where you goin?" asked one of the Clark brothers.

North," replied Billy, "after some of Funston's men on the border."

But they won't cross," said Mr. Harding. "Washington won't let them."

They gotta," snapped Billy Byrne, "an' they will when they know there's an

American girl here with a bunch of Dagos yappin' around."

"You'll be killed," said Price Clark. "You can't never get through."

"Leave it to me," replied Billy. "Just get ready an' open that back door when I give

the word, an' then shut it again in a hurry when I've gone through."

He led a horse from the side room, and mounted it.

"Open her up, boes!" he shouted, and "S'long everybody!"

Price Clark swung the door open. Billy put spurs to his mount and threw himself

forward flat against the animal's neck. Another moment he was through and a

rattling fusillade of shots proclaimed the fact that his bold feat had not gone

unnoted by the foe.

The little Mexican pony shot like a bolt from a crossbow out across the level

desert. The rattling of carbines only served to add speed to its frightened feet.

Billy sat erect in the saddle, guiding the horse with his left hand and working his

revolver methodically with his right.

At a window behind him Barbara Harding stood breathless and spellbound until

he had disappeared into the gloom of the early morning darkness to the north,

then she turned with a weary sigh and resumed her place beside the wounded

Bridge whose head she bathed with cool water, while he tossed in the delirium of

fever.

301

The Mucker