He fooled me, the scoundrel;
but I will tell you--he rode south. I saw him ride south with
my own eyes."
"Then we shall have him before morning," cried the captain,
"for there is but one place to the south where a robber
would ride, and he has not had sufficient start of us that he
can reach safety before we overhaul him. Forward! March!"
and the detachment moved down the narrow street. "Trot!
March!" And as they passed the store: "Gallop! March!"
Bridge almost ran the length of the street to the corral. His
pony must be rested by now, and a few miles to the north the
gringo whose capture meant a thousand dollars to Bridge was
on the road to liberty.
"I hate to do it," thought Bridge; "because, even if he is a
bank robber, he's an American; but I need the money and in
all probability the fellow is a scoundrel who should have been
hanged long ago."
Over the trail to the north rode Captain Billy Byrne, secure
in the belief that no pursuit would develop until after the
opening hour of the bank in the morning, by which time he
would be halfway on his return journey to Pesita's camp.
"Ol' man Pesita'll be some surprised when I show him what
I got for him," mused Billy. "Say!" he exclaimed suddenly and
aloud, "Why the devil should I take all this swag back to that
yellow-faced yegg? Who pulled this thing off anyway? Why
me, of course, and does anybody think Billy Byrne's boob
enough to split with a guy that didn't have a hand in it at all.
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