"What in the world can have induced you to remain so long?" cried Barbara."How very much like an old timer you must feel--one of the oldest inhabitants.""I am a regular aborigine," declared Bridge; but his heart would have chosen another reply.It would have been glad to tell the girl that there was a very real and a very growing inducement to remain at El Orobo Rancho.The man was too self-controlled, however, to give way to the impulses of his heart.
At first he had just liked the girl, and been immensely glad of her companionship because there was so much that was common to them both--a love for good music, good pictures, and good literature--things Bridge hadn'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.He was experienced enough to realize that this was a dangerous symptom, and so from the moment he had been forced to acknowledge it to himself he had been very careful to guard his speech and his manner in the girl's presence.
He found pleasure in dreaming of what might have been as he sat watching the girl's changing expression as different moods possessed her; but as for permitting a hope, even, of realization of his dreams--ah, he was far too practical for that, dreamer though he was.
As the two talked Grayson passed.His rather stern face clouded as he saw 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 Grayson could make any rejoinder."It is my fault--I took him from his work.You don't mind, do you, Mr.Grayson?"Grayson mumbled an inarticulate reply and went his way.
"Mr.Grayson does not seem particularly enthusiastic about me," laughed Bridge.
"No," replied the girl, candidly; "but I think it's just because you can't ride.""Can't ride!" ejaculated Bridge."Why, haven't I been riding ever since I came here?""Mr.Grayson doesn't consider anything in the way of equestrianism riding unless the ridden is perpetually seeking the life of the rider," explained Barbara."Just at present he is terribly put out because you lost Brazos.He says Brazos never stumbled in his life, and even if you had fallen from his back he would have stood beside you waiting for you to remount him.You see he was the kindest horse on the ranch--especially picked for me to ride.However in the world DIDyou lose him, Mr.Bridge?"
The girl was looking full at the man as she propounded her query.Bridge was silent.A faint flush overspread his face.He had not before known that the horse was hers.He couldn't very well tell her the truth, and he wouldn't lie to her, so he made no reply.
Barbara saw the flush and noted the man's silence.For the first time her suspicions were aroused, yet she would not believe that this gentle, amiable drifter could be guilty of any crime greater than negligence or carelessness.But why his evident embarrassment now? The girl was mystified.For a moment or two they sat in silence, then Barbara rose.
"I must run along back now," she explained."Papa will be wondering what has become of me.""Yes," said Bridge, and let her go.He would have been glad to tell her the truth; but he couldn't do that without betraying Billy.He had heard enough to know that Francisco Villa had been so angered over the bold looting of the bank in the face of a company of his own soldiers that he would stop at nothing to secure the person of the thief once his identity was known.Bridge was perfectly satisfied with the ethics of his own act on the night of the bank robbery.He knew that the girl would have applauded him, and that Grayson himself would have done what Bridge did had a like emergency confronted the ranch foreman; but to have admitted complicity in the escape of the fugitive would have been to have exposed himself to the wrath of Villa, and at the same time revealed the identity of the thief."Nor," thought Bridge, "would it get Brazos back for Barbara."It was after dark when the vaqueros Grayson had sent to the north range returned to the ranch.They came empty-handed and slowly for one of them supported a wounded comrade on the saddle before him.They rode directly to the office where Grayson and Bridge were going over some of the business of the day, and when the former saw them his brow clouded for he knew before he heard their story what had happened.
"Who done it?" he asked, as the men filed into the office, half carrying the 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 Brazos pony, too," and Benito looked from beneath heavy lashes in the direction of the bookkeeper.
"Where?" asked Grayson.
"One of Pesita's officers rode him--an Americano.Tony and I saw this same man in Cuivaca the night the bank was robbed, and today he was riding 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 himself had been nursing since the robbery.
During the colloquy the boss entered the office.He had heard the returning vaqueros ride into the ranch and noting that they brought no steers 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 his employerThe latter nodded.All eyes were upon Bridge.
"Well," snapped Grayson, "what you gotta say fer yourself?
