But Bridge did not lie awake to
inspect his surroundings. For years he had not ridden as many
miles as he had during the past two days, so that long unused
muscles cried out for rest and relaxation. As a result, Bridge
was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, and
so profound was his slumber that it seemed that nothing short
of a convulsion of nature would arouse him.
As Bridge lay down upon his bed Billy Byrne left his room
and descended to the street. The sentry before the bank paid
no attention to him, and Billy passed along, unhindered, to
the corral where he had left his horse. Here, as he was
saddling the animal, he was accosted, much to his disgust, by
the proprietor.
In broken English the man expressed surprise that Billy
rode out so late at night, and the American thought that he
detected something more than curiosity in the other's manner
and tone--suspicion of the strange gringo.
It would never do to leave the fellow in that state of mind,
and so Billy leaned close to the other's ear, and with a broad
grin and a wink whispered: "Senorita," and jerked his thumb
toward the south. "I'll be back by mornin'," he added.
The Mexican's manner altered at once. He laughed and
nodded, knowingly, and poked Billy in the ribs.
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