The Mucker

by Edgar Rice Burroughs

  CHAPTER XII. BILLY TO THE RESCUE

  IT WAS nearly ten o'clock the following morning when Barbara, sittingupon the veranda of the ranchhouse, saw her father approaching from thedirection of the office. His face wore a troubled expression which thegirl could not but note.

  "What's the matter, Papa?" she asked, as he sank into a chair at herside.

  "Your self-sacrifice of last evening was all to no avail," he replied."Bridge has been captured by Villistas."

  "What?" cried the girl. "You can't mean it--how did you learn?"

  "Grayson just had a phone message from Cuivaca," he explained. "Theyonly repaired the line yesterday since Pesita's men cut it last month.This was our first message. And do you know, Barbara, I can't helpfeeling sorry. I had hoped that he would get away."

  "So had I," said the girl.

  Her father was eyeing her closely to note the effect of his announcementupon her; but he could see no greater concern reflected than that whichhe himself felt for a fellow-man and an American who was doomed to deathat the hands of an alien race, far from his own land and his own people.

  "Can nothing be done?" she asked.

  "Absolutely," he replied with finality. "I have talked it over withGrayson and he assures me that an attempt at intervention upon our partmight tend to antagonize Villa, in which case we are all as good aslost. He is none too fond of us as it is, and Grayson believes, andnot without reason, that he would welcome the slightest pretext forwithdrawing the protection of his favor. Instantly he did that we shouldbecome the prey of every marauding band that infests the mountains. Notonly would Pesita swoop down upon us, but those companies of freebooterswhich acknowledge nominal loyalty to Villa would be about our ears in notime. No, dear, we may do nothing. The young man has made his bed, andnow I am afraid that he will have to lie in it alone."

  For awhile the girl sat in silence, and presently her father arose andentered the house. Shortly after she followed him, reappearing soonin riding togs and walking rapidly to the corrals. Here she found anAmerican cowboy busily engaged in whittling a stick as he sat upon anupturned cracker box and shot accurate streams of tobacco juice at acouple of industrious tumble bugs that had had the great impudence toroll their little ball of provender within the whittler's range.

  "O Eddie!" she cried.

  The man looked up, and was at once electrified into action. He sprangto his feet and whipped off his sombrero. A broad smile illumined hisfreckled face.

  "Yes, miss," he answered. "What can I do for you?"

  "Saddle a pony for me, Eddie," she explained. "I want to take a littleride."

  "Sure!" he assured her cheerily. "Have it ready in a jiffy," and awayhe went, uncoiling his riata, toward the little group of saddle ponieswhich stood in the corral against necessity for instant use.

  In a couple of minutes he came back leading one, which he tied to thecorral bars.

  "But I can't ride that horse," exclaimed the girl. "He bucks."

  "Sure," said Eddie. "I'm a-goin' to ride him."

  "Oh, are you going somewhere?" she asked.

  "I'm goin' with you, miss," announced Eddie, sheepishly.

  "But I didn't ask you, Eddie, and I don't want you--today," she urged.

  "Sorry, miss," he threw back over his shoulder as he walked back to ropea second pony; "but them's orders. You're not to be allowed to ride noplace without a escort. 'Twouldn't be safe neither, miss," he almostpleaded, "an' I won't hinder you none. I'll ride behind far enough to bethere ef I'm needed."

  Directly he came back with another pony, a sad-eyed, gentle-appearinglittle beast, and commenced saddling and bridling the two.

  "Will you promise," she asked, after watching him in silence for a time,"that you will tell no one where I go or whom I see?"

  "Cross my heart hope to die," he assured her.

  "All right, Eddie, then I'll let you come with me, and you can ridebeside me, instead of behind."

  Across the flat they rode, following the windings of the river road,one mile, two, five, ten. Eddie had long since been wondering what thepurpose of so steady a pace could be. This was no pleasure ride whichtook the boss's daughter--"heifer," Eddie would have called her--tenmiles up river at a hard trot. Eddie was worried, too. They had passedthe danger line, and were well within the stamping ground of Pesita andhis retainers. Here each little adobe dwelling, and they were scatteredat intervals of a mile or more along the river, contained a rabidpartisan of Pesita, or it contained no one--Pesita had seen to thislatter condition personally.

  At last the young lady drew rein before a squalid and dilapidated hut.Eddie gasped. It was Jose's, and Jose was a notorious scoundrel whom oldage alone kept from the active pursuit of the only calling he ever hadknown--brigandage. Why should the boss's daughter come to Jose? Jose washand in glove with every cutthroat in Chihuahua, or at least within aradius of two hundred miles of his abode.

  Barbara swung herself from the saddle, and handed her bridle reins toEddie.

  "Hold him, please," she said. "I'll be gone but a moment."

  "You're not goin' in there to see old Jose alone?" gasped Eddie.

  "Why not?" she asked. "If you're afraid you can leave my horse and ridealong home."

  Eddie colored to the roots of his sandy hair, and kept silent. The girlapproached the doorway of the mean hovel and peered within. At one endsat a bent old man, smoking. He looked up as Barbara's figure darkenedthe doorway.

  "Jose!" said the girl.

  The old man rose to his feet and came toward her.

  "Eh? Senorita, eh?" he cackled.

  "You are Jose?" she asked.

  "Si, senorita," replied the old Indian. "What can poor old Jose do toserve the beautiful senorita?"

  "You can carry a message to one of Pesita's officers," replied the girl."I have heard much about you since I came to Mexico. I know that thereis not another man in this part of Chihuahua who may so easily reachPesita as you." She raised her hand for silence as the Indian would haveprotested. Then she reached into the pocket of her riding breeches andwithdrew a handful of silver which she permitted to trickle, tinklingly,from one palm to the other. "I wish you to go to the camp of Pesita,"she continued, "and carry word to the man who robbed the bank atCuivaca--he is an American--that his friend, Senor Bridge has beencaptured by Villa and is being held for execution in Cuivaca. You mustgo at once--you must get word to Senor Bridge's friend so that help mayreach Senor Bridge before dawn. Do you understand?"

  The Indian nodded assent.

  "Here," said the girl, "is a payment on account. When I know that youdelivered the message in time you shall have as much more. Will you doit?"

  "I will try," said the Indian, and stretched forth a clawlike hand forthe money.

  "Good!" exclaimed Barbara. "Now start at once," and she dropped thesilver coins into the old man's palm.

  It was dusk when Captain Billy Byrne was summoned to the tent of Pesita.There he found a weazened, old Indian squatting at the side of theoutlaw.

  "Jose," said Pesita, "has word for you."

  Billy Byrne turned questioningly toward the Indian.

  "I have been sent, Senor Capitan," explained Jose, "by the beautifulsenorita of El Orobo Rancho to tell you that your friend, Senor Bridge,has been captured by General Villa, and is being held at Cuivaca, wherehe will doubtless be shot--if help does not reach him before tomorrowmorning."

  Pesita was looking questioningly at Byrne. Since the gringo had returnedfrom Cuivaca with the loot of the bank and turned the last penny of itover to him the outlaw had looked upon his new captain as something justshort of superhuman. To have robbed the bank thus easily while Villa'ssoldiers paced back and forth before the doorway seemed little short ofan indication of miraculous powers, while to have turned the lootover intact to his chief, not asking for so much as a peso of it, wasabsolutely incredible.

  Pesita could not understand this man; but he admired him greatly andfeared him, too. Such a man was worth a hundred of the ordinary run of
humanity that enlisted beneath Pesita's banners. Byrne had but to ask afavor to have it granted, and now, when he called upon Pesita tofurnish him with a suitable force for the rescue of Bridge the brigandenthusiastically acceded to his demands.

  "I will come," he exclaimed, "and all my men shall ride with me. We willtake Cuivaca by storm. We may even capture Villa himself."

  "Wait a minute, bo," interrupted Billy Byrne. "Don't get excited. I'mlookin' to get my pal outen' Cuivaca. After that I don't care whoyou capture; but I'm goin' to get Bridgie out first. I ken do it withtwenty-five men--if it ain't too late. Then, if you want to, you canshoot up the town. Lemme have the twenty-five, an' you hang around theedges with the rest of 'em 'til I'm done. Whaddaya say?"

  Pesita was willing to agree to anything, and so it came that half anhour later Billy Byrne was leading a choice selection of some two dozencutthroats down through the hills toward Cuivaca. While a couple ofmiles in the rear followed Pesita with the balance of his band.

  Billy rode until the few remaining lights of Cuivaca shone but a shortdistance ahead and they could hear plainly the strains of a gratinggraphophone from beyond the open windows of a dance hall, and the voicesof the sentries as they called the hour.

  "Stay here," said Billy to a sergeant at his side, "until you heara hoot owl cry three times from the direction of the barracks andguardhouse, then charge the opposite end of the town, firing off yourcarbines like hell an' yellin' yer heads off. Make all the racket youcan, an' keep it up 'til you get 'em comin' in your direction, see? Thenturn an' drop back slowly, eggin' 'em on, but holdin' 'em to it as longas you can. Do you get me, bo?"

  From the mixture of Spanish and English and Granavenooish the sergeantgleaned enough of the intent of his commander to permit him to saluteand admit that he understood what was required of him.

  Having given his instructions Billy Byrne rode off to the west, circledCuivaca and came close up upon the southern edge of the little village.Here he dismounted and left his horse hidden behind an outbuilding,while he crept cautiously forward to reconnoiter.

  He knew that the force within the village had no reason to fear attack.Villa knew where the main bodies of his enemies lay, and that no forcecould approach Cuivaca without word of its coming reaching the garrisonmany hours in advance of the foe. That Pesita, or another of the severalbandit chiefs in the neighborhood would dare descend upon a garrisonedtown never for a moment entered the calculations of the rebel leader.

  For these reasons Billy argued that Cuivaca would be poorly guarded. Onthe night he had spent there he had seen sentries before the bank, theguardhouse, and the barracks in addition to one who paced to and fro infront of the house in which the commander of the garrison maintained hisheadquarters. Aside from these the town was unguarded.

  Nor were conditions different tonight. Billy came within a hundred yardsof the guardhouse before he discovered a sentinel. The fellow lolledupon his gun in front of the building--an adobe structure in the rearof the barracks. The other three sides of the guardhouse appeared to beunwatched.

  Billy threw himself upon his stomach and crawled slowly forward stoppingoften. The sentry seemed asleep. He did not move. Billy reached theshadow at the side of the structure and some fifty feet from the soldierwithout detection. Then he rose to his feet directly beneath a barredwindow.

  Within Bridge paced back and forth the length of the little building. Hecould not sleep. Tomorrow he was to be shot! Bridge did not wish to die.That very morning General Villa in person had examined him. The generalhad been exceedingly wroth--the sting of the theft of his funds stillirritated him; but he had given Bridge no inkling as to his fate. It hadremained for a fellow-prisoner to do that. This man, a deserter, was tobe shot, so he said, with Bridge, a fact which gave him an additionaltwenty-four hours of life, since, he asserted, General Villa wishedto be elsewhere than in Cuivaca when an American was executed. Thus hecould disclaim responsibility for the act.

  The general was to depart in the morning. Shortly after, Bridge and thedeserter would be led out and blindfolded before a stone wall--if therewas such a thing, or a brick wall, or an adobe wall. It made littledifference to the deserter, or to Bridge either. The wall was but atrivial factor. It might go far to add romance to whomever should readof the affair later; but in so far as Bridge and the deserter wereconcerned it meant nothing. A billboard, thought Bridge, bearingthe slogan: "Eventually! Why not now?" would have been equally asefficacious and far more appropriate.

  The room in which he was confined was stuffy with the odor ofaccumulated filth. Two small barred windows alone gave means ofventilation. He and the deserter were the only prisoners. The latterslept as soundly as though the morrow held nothing more momentous in hisdestiny than any of the days that had preceded it. Bridge was moved tokick the fellow into consciousness of his impending fate. Instead hewalked to the south window to fill his lungs with the free air beyondhis prison pen, and gaze sorrowfully at the star-lit sky which he shouldnever again behold.

  In a low tone Bridge crooned a snatch of the poem that he and Billyliked best:

  And you, my sweet Penelope, out there somewhere you wait for me, With buds of roses in your hair and kisses on your mouth.

  Bridge's mental vision was concentrated upon the veranda of awhite-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 becamesuddenly intent upon the thing. He saw it rise and resolve itself intothe 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 cityblock. How's the door o' this thing fastened?" The speaker was quiteclose 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 openthe door. I got a pony south o' town that'll have to carry double for alittle way tonight."

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

  "Lay low a few minutes," said Billy, and moved away toward the rear ofthe guardhouse.

  A few minutes later there broke upon the night air the dismal hoot ofan owl. At intervals of a few seconds it was repeated twice. The sentrybefore the guardhouse shifted his position and looked about, then hesettled back, transferring his weight to the other foot, and resumed hisbovine meditations.

  The man at the rear of the guardhouse moved silently along the sideof the structure until he stood within a few feet of the unsuspectingsentinel, hidden from him by the corner of the building. A heavyrevolver 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 theeast came a single shot, followed immediately by a scattering fusilladeand a chorus of hoarse cries.

  Billy Byrne smiled. The sentry resumed indications of quickness. Fromthe barracks beyond the guardhouse came sharp commands and the soundsof men running. From the opposite end of the town the noise of battlewelled up to ominous proportions.

  Billy heard the soldiers stream from their quarters and a moment latersaw them trot up the street at the double. Everyone was moving towardthe opposite end of the town except the lone sentinel before theguardhouse. The moment seemed propitious for his attempt.

  Billy peered around the corner of the guardhouse. Conditions werejust as he had pictured they would be. The sentry stood gazing in thedirection of the firing, his back toward the guardhouse door and Billy.

  With a bound the American cleared the space between himself and theunsuspecting and unfortunate soldier. The butt of the heavy revolverfell, almost noiselessly, upon the back of the sentry's head, and theman sank to the ground without even a moan.

 
Turning to the door Billy knocked the bar from its place, the door swungin and Bridge slipped through to liberty.

  "Quick!" said Billy. "Follow me," and turned at a rapid run toward thesouth edge of the town. He made no effort now to conceal his movements.Speed was the only essential, and the two covered the ground swiftly andopenly without any attempt to take advantage of cover.

  They reached Billy's horse unnoticed, and a moment later were trottingtoward the west to circle the town and regain the trail to the north andsafety.

  To the east they heard the diminishing rifle fire of the combatants asPesita's men fell steadily back before the defenders, and drew them awayfrom Cuivaca in accordance with Billy's plan.

  "Like takin' candy from a baby," said Billy, when the flickering lightsof Cuivaca shone to the south of them, and the road ahead lay clear tothe rendezvous of the brigands.

  "Yes," agreed Bridge; "but what I'd like to know, Billy, is how youfound out I was there."

  "Penelope," said Byrne, laughing.

  "Penelope!" queried Bridge. "I'm not at all sure that I follow you,Billy."

  "Well, seein' as you're sittin' on behind you can't be leadin' me,"returned Billy; "but cuttin' the kid it was a skirt tipped it off to mewhere you was--the beautiful senorita of El Orobo Rancho, I think Josecalled her. Now are you hep?"

  Bridge gave an exclamation of astonishment. "God bless her!" he said."She did that for me?"

  "She sure did," Billy assured him, "an' I'll bet an iron case she'sa-waitin' for you there with buds o' roses in her hair an' kisses on hermouth, you old son-of-a-gun, you." Billy laughed happily. He was happyanyway at having rescued Bridge, and the knowledge that his friend wasin love and that the girl reciprocated his affection--all of which Billyassumed as the only explanation of her interest in Bridge--only added tohis joy. "She ain't a greaser is she?" he asked presently.

  "I should say not," replied Bridge. "She's a perfect queen from NewYork City; but, Billy, she's not for me. What she did was prompted by agenerous heart. She couldn't care for me, Billy. Her father is a wealthyman--he could have the pick of the land--of many lands--if she cared tomarry. You don't think for a minute she'd want a hobo, do you?"

  "You can't most always tell," replied Billy, a trifle sadly. "I knewsuch a queen once who would have chosen a mucker, if he'd a-let her.You're stuck on her, ol' man?"

  "I'm afraid I am, Billy," Bridge admitted; "but what's the use? Let'sforget it. Oh, say, is this the horse I let you take the night yourobbed the bank?"

  "Yes," said Billy; "same little pony, an' a mighty well-behaved one,too. Why?"

  "It's hers," said Bridge.

  "An' she wants it back?"

  "She didn't say so; but I'd like to get it to her some way," saidBridge.

  "You ride it back when you go," suggested Billy.

  "But I can't go back," said Bridge; "it was Grayson, the foreman, whomade it so hot for me I had to leave. He tried to arrest me and send meto Villa."

  "What for?" asked Billy.

  "He didn't like me, and wanted to get rid of me." Bridge wouldn't saythat his relations with Billy had brought him into trouble.

  "Oh, well, I'll take it back myself then, and at the same time I'll tellPenelope what a regular fellow you are, and punch in the foreman's facefor good luck."

  "No, you mustn't go there. They know you now. It was some of El Orobo'smen you shot up day before yesterday when you took their steers fromthem. They recognized the pony, and one of them had seen you in Cuivacathe night of the robbery. They would be sure to get you, Billy."

  Shortly the two came in touch with the retreating Pesitistas who wereriding slowly toward their mountain camp. Their pursuers had long sincegiven up the chase, fearing that they might be being lured into themidst of a greatly superior force, and had returned to Cuivaca.

  It was nearly morning when Bridge and Billy threw themselves down uponthe latter's blankets, fagged.

  "Well, well," murmured Billy Byrne; "li'l ol' Bridgie's found hisPenelope," and fell asleep.