The Mucker

  CHAPTER XI. BARBARA RELEASES A CONSPIRATOR

  IT was a week later, yet Grayson still was growling about the loss of"that there Brazos pony." Grayson, the boss, and the boss's daughterwere sitting upon the veranda of the ranchhouse when the foremanreverted to the subject.

  "I knew I didn't have no business hirin' a man thet can't ride," hesaid. "Why thet there Brazos pony never did stumble, an' if he'd ofstumbled he'd a-stood aroun' a year waitin' to be caught up agin. I jestcain't figger it out no ways how thet there tenderfoot bookkeeper losthim. He must a-shooed him away with a stick. An' saddle an' bridle an'all gone too. Doggone it!"

  "I'm the one who should be peeved," spoke up the girl with a wry smile."Brazos was my pony. He's the one you picked out for me to ride whileI am here; but I am sure poor Mr. Bridge feels as badly about it asanyone, and I know that he couldn't help it. We shouldn't be too hardon him. We might just as well attempt to hold him responsible for thelooting of the bank and the loss of the pay-roll money."

  "Well," said Grayson, "I give him thet horse 'cause I knew he couldn'tride, an' thet was the safest horse in the cavvy. I wisht I'd given himSanta Anna instid--I wouldn't a-minded losin' him. There won't no oneride him anyhow he's thet ornery."

  "The thing that surprises me most," remarked the boss, "is that Brazosdoesn't come back. He was foaled on this range, and he's never beenridden anywhere else, has he?"

  "He was foaled right here on this ranch," Grayson corrected him, "andhe ain't never been more'n a hundred mile from it. If he ain't dead orstolen he'd a-ben back afore the bookkeeper was. It's almighty queer."

  "What sort of bookkeeper is Mr. Bridge?" asked the girl.

  "Oh, he's all right I guess," replied Grayson grudgingly. "A feller'sgot to be some good at something. He's probably one of these herepaper-collar, cracker-fed college dudes thet don't know nothin' else'cept writin' in books."

  The girl rose, smiled, and moved away.

  "I like Mr. Bridge, anyhow," she called back over her shoulder, "forwhatever he may not be he is certainly a well-bred gentleman," whichspeech did not tend to raise Mr. Bridge in the estimation of thehard-fisted ranch foreman.

  "Funny them greasers don't come in from the north range with thet buncho' steers. They ben gone all day now," he said to the boss, ignoring thegirl's parting sally.

  Bridge sat tip-tilted against the front of the office building readingan ancient magazine which he had found within. His day's work was doneand he was but waiting for the gong that would call him to the eveningmeal with the other employees of the ranch. The magazine failed to rousehis interest. He let it drop idly to his knees and with eyes closedreverted to his never-failing source of entertainment.

  And then that slim, poetic guy he turned and looked me in the eye, "....It's overland and overland and overseas to--where?" "Most anywhere that isn't here," I says. His face went kind of queer. "The place we're in is always here. The other place is there."

  Bridge stretched luxuriously. "'There,'" he repeated. "I've beensearching for THERE for many years; but for some reason I can never getaway from HERE. About two weeks of any place on earth and that place isjust plain HERE to me, and I'm longing once again for THERE."

  His musings were interrupted by a sweet feminine voice close by. Bridgedid not open his eyes at once--he just sat there, listening.

  As I was hiking past the woods, the cool and sleepy summer woods, I saw a guy a-talking to the sunshine in the air, Thinks I, "He's going to have a fit--I'll stick around and watch a bit," But he paid no attention, hardly knowing I was there.

  Then the girl broke into a merry laugh and Bridge opened his eyes andcame to his feet.

  "I didn't know you cared for that sort of stuff," he said. "Knibbswrites man-verse. I shouldn't have imagined that it would appeal to ayoung lady."

  "But it does, though," she replied; "at least to me. There's a swing toit and a freedom that 'gets me in the eye.'"

  Again she laughed, and when this girl laughed, harder-headed and mucholder men than Mr. L. Bridge felt strange emotions move within theirbreasts.

  For a week Barbara had seen a great deal of the new bookkeeper. Asidefrom her father he was the only man of culture and refinement of whichthe rancho could boast, or, as the rancho would have put it, be ashamedof.

  She had often sought the veranda of the little office and lured the newbookkeeper from his work, and on several occasions had had him at theranchhouse. Not only was he an interesting talker; but there was anelement of mystery about him which appealed to the girl's sense ofromance.

  She knew that he was a gentleman born and reared, and she often foundherself wondering what tragic train of circumstances had set him adriftamong the flotsam of humanity's wreckage. Too, the same persistentconviction that she had known him somewhere in the past that possessedher father clung to her mind; but she could not place him.

  "I overheard your dissertation on HERE AND THERE," said the girl. "Icould not very well help it--it would have been rude to interrupt aconversation." Her eyes sparkled mischievously and her cheeks dimpled.

  "You wouldn't have been interrupting a conversation," objected Bridge,smiling; "you would have been turning a monologue into a conversation."

  "But it was a conversation," insisted the girl. "The wanderer wasconversing with the bookkeeper. You are a victim of wanderlust, Mr. L.Bridge--don't deny it. You hate bookkeeping, or any other such prosaicvocation as requires permanent residence in one place."

  "Come now," expostulated the man. "That is hardly fair. Haven't I beenhere a whole week?"

  They both laughed.

  "What in the world can have induced you to remain so long?" criedBarbara. "How very much like an old timer you must feel--one of theoldest inhabitants."

  "I am a regular aborigine," declared Bridge; but his heart would havechosen another reply. It would have been glad to tell the girl thatthere was a very real and a very growing inducement to remain at ElOrobo Rancho. The man was too self-controlled, however, to give way tothe impulses of his heart.

  At first he had just liked the girl, and been immensely glad of hercompanionship because there was so much that was common to them both--alove for good music, good pictures, and good literature--things Bridgehadn't had an opportunity to discuss with another for a long, long time.

  And slowly he had found delight in just sitting and looking at her. Hewas experienced enough to realize that this was a dangerous symptom, andso from the moment he had been forced to acknowledge it to himself hehad been very careful to guard his speech and his manner in the girl'spresence.

  He found pleasure in dreaming of what might have been as he sat watchingthe girl's changing expression as different moods possessed her; but asfor permitting a hope, even, of realization of his dreams--ah, he wasfar too practical for that, dreamer though he was.

  As the two talked Grayson passed. His rather stern face clouded as hesaw the girl and the new bookkeeper laughing there together.

  "Ain't you got nothin' to do?" he asked Bridge.

  "Yes, indeed," replied the latter.

  "Then why don't you do it?" snapped Grayson.

  "I am," said Bridge.

  "Mr. Bridge is entertaining me," interrupted the girl, before Graysoncould make any rejoinder. "It is my fault--I took him from his work. Youdon't mind, do you, Mr. Grayson?"

  Grayson mumbled an inarticulate reply and went his way.

  "Mr. Grayson does not seem particularly enthusiastic about me," laughedBridge.

  "No," replied the girl, candidly; "but I think it's just because youcan't ride."

  "Can't ride!" ejaculated Bridge. "Why, haven't I been riding ever sinceI came here?"

  "Mr. Grayson doesn't consider anything in the way of equestrianismriding unless the ridden is perpetually seeking the life of the rider,"explained Barbara. "Just at present he is terribly put out because youlost Brazos. He says Brazos never stumbled in his life, and even if youhad fallen from his back he would have stood beside you waiting foryou to remount
him. You see he was the kindest horse on theranch--especially picked for me to ride. However in the world DID youlose him, Mr. Bridge?"

  The girl was looking full at the man as she propounded her query. Bridgewas silent. A faint flush overspread his face. He had not before knownthat the horse was hers. He couldn't very well tell her the truth, andhe wouldn't lie to her, so he made no reply.

  Barbara saw the flush and noted the man's silence. For the first timeher suspicions were aroused, yet she would not believe that this gentle,amiable drifter could be guilty of any crime greater than negligenceor carelessness. But why his evident embarrassment now? The girl wasmystified. For a moment or two they sat in silence, then Barbara rose.

  "I must run along back now," she explained. "Papa will be wondering whathas become of me."

  "Yes," said Bridge, and let her go. He would have been glad to tell herthe truth; but he couldn't do that without betraying Billy. He had heardenough to know that Francisco Villa had been so angered over the boldlooting of the bank in the face of a company of his own soldiers thathe would stop at nothing to secure the person of the thief once hisidentity was known. Bridge was perfectly satisfied with the ethics ofhis own act on the night of the bank robbery. He knew that the girlwould have applauded him, and that Grayson himself would have done whatBridge did had a like emergency confronted the ranch foreman; but tohave admitted complicity in the escape of the fugitive would have beento have exposed himself to the wrath of Villa, and at the same timerevealed the identity of the thief. "Nor," thought Bridge, "would it getBrazos back for Barbara."

  It was after dark when the vaqueros Grayson had sent to the north rangereturned to the ranch. They came empty-handed and slowly for one of themsupported a wounded comrade on the saddle before him. They rode directlyto the office where Grayson and Bridge were going over some of thebusiness of the day, and when the former saw them his brow clouded forhe knew before he heard their story what had happened.

  "Who done it?" he asked, as the men filed into the office, half carryingthe wounded man.

  "Some of Pesita's followers," replied Benito.

  "Did they git the steers, too?" inquired Grayson.

  "Part of them--we drove off most and scattered them. We saw the Brazospony, too," and Benito looked from beneath heavy lashes in the directionof the bookkeeper.

  "Where?" asked Grayson.

  "One of Pesita's officers rode him--an Americano. Tony and I saw thissame man in Cuivaca the night the bank was robbed, and today he wasriding the Brazos pony." Again the dark eyes turned toward Bridge.

  Grayson was quick to catch the significance of the Mexican's meaning.The more so as it was directly in line with suspicions which he himselfhad been nursing since the robbery.

  During the colloquy the boss entered the office. He had heard thereturning vaqueros ride into the ranch and noting that they brought nosteers with them had come to the office to hear their story. Barbara,spurred by curiosity, accompanied her father.

  "You heard what Benito says?" asked Grayson, turning toward hisemployer.

  The latter nodded. All eyes were upon Bridge.

  "Well," snapped Grayson, "what you gotta say fer yourself? I bensuspectin' you right along. I knew derned well that that there Brazospony never run off by hisself. You an' that other crook from the Statesframed this whole thing up pretty slick, didn'tcha? Well, we'll--"

  "Wait a moment, wait a moment, Grayson," interrupted the boss. "GiveMr. Bridge a chance to explain. You're making a rather seriouscharge against him without any particularly strong proof to back youraccusation."

  "Oh, that's all right," exclaimed Bridge, with a smile. "I have knownthat Mr. Grayson suspected me of implication in the robbery; but who canblame him--a man who can't ride might be guilty of almost anything."

  Grayson sniffed. Barbara took a step nearer Bridge. She had been readyto doubt him herself only an hour or so ago; but that was before he hadbeen accused. Now that she found others arrayed against him her impulsewas to come to his defense.

  "You didn't do it, did you, Mr. Bridge?" Her tone was almost pleading.

  "If you mean robbing the bank," he replied; "I did not, Miss Barbara. Iknew no more about it until after it was over than Benito or Tony--infact they were the ones who discovered it while I was still asleep in myroom above the bank."

  "Well, how did the robber git thet there Brazos pony then?" demandedGrayson savagely. "Thet's what I want to know."

  "You'll have to ask him, Mr. Grayson," replied Bridge.

  "Villa'll ask him, when he gits holt of him," snapped Grayson; "but Ireckon he'll git all the information out of you thet he wants first.He'll be in Cuivaca tomorrer, an' so will you."

  "You mean that you are going to turn me over to General Villa?" askedBridge. "You are going to turn an American over to that butcher knowingthat he'll be shot inside of twenty-four hours?"

  "Shootin's too damned good fer a horse thief," replied Grayson.

  Barbara turned impulsively toward her father. "You won't let Mr. Graysondo that?" she asked.

  "Mr. Grayson knows best how to handle such an affair as this, Barbara,"replied her father. "He is my superintendent, and I have made it a pointnever to interfere with him."

  "You will let Mr. Bridge be shot without making an effort to save him?"she demanded.

  "We do not know that he will be shot," replied the ranch owner. "Ifhe is innocent there is no reason why he should be punished. If he isguilty of implication in the Cuivaca bank robbery he deserves, accordingto the rules of war, to die, for General Villa, I am told, considersthat a treasonable act. Some of the funds upon which his governmentdepends for munitions of war were there--they were stolen and turnedover to the enemies of Mexico."

  "And if we interfere we'll turn Villa against us," interposed Grayson."He ain't any too keen for Americans as it is. Why, if this fellow wasmy brother I'd hev to turn him over to the authorities."

  "Well, I thank God," exclaimed Bridge fervently, "that in addition tobeing shot by Villa I don't have to endure the added disgrace of beingrelated to you, and I'm not so sure that I shall be hanged by Villa,"and with that he wiped the oil lamp from the table against which he hadbeen leaning, and leaped across the room for the doorway.

  Barbara and her father had been standing nearest the exit, and as thegirl realized the bold break for liberty the man was making, she pushedher father to one side and threw open the door.

  Bridge was through it in an instant, with a parting, "God bless you,little girl!" as he passed her. Then the door was closed with a bang.Barbara turned the key, withdrew it from the lock and threw it acrossthe darkened room.

  Grayson and the unwounded Mexicans leaped after the fugitive only tofind their way barred by the locked door. Outside Bridge ran to thehorses standing patiently with lowered heads awaiting the return oftheir masters. In an instant he was astride one of them, and lashing theothers ahead of him with a quirt he spurred away into the night.

  By the time Grayson and the Mexicans had wormed their way through one ofthe small windows of the office the new bookkeeper was beyond sight andearshot.

  As the ranch foreman was saddling up with several of his men in thecorral to give chase to the fugitive the boss strolled in and touchedhim on the arm.

  "Mr. Grayson," he said, "I have made it a point never to interfere withyou; but I am going to ask you now not to pursue Mr. Bridge. I shallbe glad if he makes good his escape. Barbara was right--he is afellow-American. We cannot turn him over to Villa, or any other Mexicanto be murdered."

  Grumblingly Grayson unsaddled. "Ef you'd seen what I've seen aroundhere," he said, "I guess you wouldn't be so keen to save this feller'shide."

  "What do you mean?" asked the boss.

  "I mean that he's ben tryin' to make love to your daughter."

  The older man laughed. "Don't be a fool, Grayson," he said, and walkedaway.

  An hour later Barbara was strolling up and down before the ranchhousein the cool and refreshing air of the Chihuahua night. Her min
d wasoccupied with disquieting reflections of the past few hours. Her pridewas immeasurably hurt by the part impulse had forced her to take in theaffair at the office. Not that she regretted that she had connived inthe escape of Bridge; but it was humiliating that a girl of her positionshould have been compelled to play so melodramatic a part before Graysonand his Mexican vaqueros.

  Then, too, was she disappointed in Bridge. She had looked upon him asa gentleman whom misfortune and wanderlust had reduced to the loweststratum of society. Now she feared that he belonged to that substratumwhich lies below the lowest which society recognizes as a part ofitself, and which is composed solely of the criminal class.

  It was hard for Barbara to realize that she had associated with athief--just for a moment it was hard, until recollection forced upon herthe unwelcome fact of the status of another whom she had known--to whomshe had given her love. The girl did not wince at the thought--insteadshe squared her shoulders and raised her chin.

  "I am proud of him, whatever he may have been," she murmured; but shewas not thinking of the new bookkeeper. When she did think again ofBridge it was to be glad that he had escaped--"for he is an American,like myself."

  "Well!" exclaimed a voice behind her. "You played us a pretty trick,Miss Barbara."

  The girl turned to see Grayson approaching. To her surprise he seemed tohold no resentment whatsoever. She greeted him courteously.

  "I couldn't let you turn an American over to General Villa," she said,"no matter what he had done."

  "I liked your spirit," said the man. "You're the kind o' girl I benlookin' fer all my life--one with nerve an' grit, an' you got 'em both.You liked thet bookkeepin' critter, an' he wasn't half a man. I like youan' I am a man, ef I do say so myself."

  The girl drew back in astonishment.

  "Mr. Grayson!" she exclaimed. "You are forgetting yourself."

  "No I ain't," he cried hoarsely. "I love you an' I'm goin' to have you.You'd love me too ef you knew me better."

  He took a step forward and grasped her arm, trying to draw her to him.The girl pushed him away with one hand, and with the other struck himacross the face.

  Grayson dropped her arm, and as he did so she drew herself to her fullheight and looked him straight in the eyes.

  "You may go now," she said, her voice like ice. "I shall never speak ofthis to anyone--provided you never attempt to repeat it."

  The man made no reply. The blow in the face had cooled his ardortemporarily, but had it not also served another purpose?--to crystallizeit into a firm and inexorable resolve.

  When he had departed Barbara turned and entered the house.