His face was
flushed, his eyes sparkled, a smile lighted his regular features.
"This is the life!" he cried, and pulled the trigger.
The man beneath him, running for his life like a frightened
jackrabbit, sprawled forward upon his face, made a single
effort to rise and then slumped limply down, forever.
Miguel and Bridge, dismounted now, came to Byrne's side.
The Mexican was grinning broadly.
"The captain is one grand fighter," he said. "How my dear
general would admire such a man as the captain. Doubtless he
would make him a colonel. Come with me Senor Capitan and
your fortune is made."
"Come where?" asked Billy Byrne.
"To the camp of the liberator of poor, bleeding Mexico--to
General Francisco Villa."
"Nothin' doin'," said Billy. "I'm hooked up with this Pesita
person now, an' I guess I'll stick. He's given me more of a run
for my money in the last twenty-four hours than I've had
since I parted from my dear old friend, the Lord of Yoka."
"But Senor Capitan," cried Miguel, "you do not mean to
say that you are going back to Pesita! He will shoot you
down with his own hand when he has learned what has
happened here."
"I guess not," said Billy.
"You'd better go with Miguel, Billy," urged Bridge.
Pages:
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379