By the time Grayson and the Mexicans had wormed their
way through one of the small windows of the office the new
bookkeeper was beyond sight and earshot.
As the ranch foreman was saddling up with several of his
men in the corral to give chase to the fugitive the boss strolled
in and touched him on the arm.
"Mr. Grayson," he said, "I have made it a point never to
interfere with you; but I am going to ask you now not to
pursue Mr. Bridge. I shall be glad if he makes good his
escape. Barbara was right--he is a fellow-American. We cannot
turn him over to Villa, or any other Mexican to be murdered."
Grumblingly Grayson unsaddled. "Ef you'd seen what I've
seen around here," he said, "I guess you wouldn't be so keen
to save this feller's hide."
"What do you mean?" asked the boss.
"I mean that he's ben tryin' to make love to your daughter."
The older man laughed. "Don't be a fool, Grayson," he
said, and walked away.
An hour later Barbara was strolling up and down before
the ranchhouse in the cool and refreshing air of the Chihuahua
night. Her mind was occupied with disquieting reflections
of the past few hours. Her pride was immeasurably hurt by
the part impulse had forced her to take in the affair at the
office.
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