Nor did he blame Barbara because she
loved Bridge. Bridge was more her kind anyway. He was a
college guy. Billy was only a mucker.
"Bridge got away all right," he said. "And say, he didn't
have nothin' to do with pullin' off that safe crackin'. I done it
myself. He didn't know I was in town an' I didn't know he
was there. He's the squarest guy in the world, Bridge is. He
follered me that night an' took a shot at me, thinkin' I was
the robber all right but not knowin' I was me. He got my
horse, an' when he found it was me, he made me take your
pony an' make my get-away, fer he knew Villa's men would
croak me sure if they caught me. You can't blame him fer
that, can you? Him an' I were good pals--he couldn't do
nothin' else. It was him that made me bring your pony back
to you. It's in the corral now, I reckon. I was a-bringin' it
back when they got me. Now you better go. This ain't no
place fer you, an' I ain't had no sleep fer so long I'm most
dead." His tones were cool. He appeared bored by her company;
though as a matter of fact his heart was breaking with
love for her--love that he believed unrequited--and he
yearned to tear loose his bonds and crush her in his arms.
It was Barbara's turn now to be hurt.
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