There was
a smile upon his lips which they could not see because of the
distance, and which, not knowing Billy Byrne, they would not
have interpreted correctly; but the revolver they did understand,
and at sight of it one of them threw his carbine to his
shoulder. His finger, however, never closed upon the trigger,
for there came the sound of a shot from beyond Billy Byrne
and the Mexican staggered forward, pitching over the edge of
the porch to the ground.
Billy turned his head in the direction from which the shot
had come and saw Eddie Shorter running toward him, a
smoking six-shooter in his right hand.
"Go back," commanded Byrne; "this is my funeral."
"Not on your life," replied Eddie Shorter. "Those greasers
don't take no white man off'n El Orobo, while I'm here. Get
busy! They're comin'."
And sure enough they were coming, and as they came their
carbines popped and the bullets whizzed about the heads of
the two Americans. Grayson, too, had taken a hand upon the
side of the Villistas. From the bunkhouse other men were
running rapidly in the direction of the fight, attracted by the
first shots.
Billy and Eddie stood their ground, a few paces apart. Two
more of Villa's men went down. Grayson ran for cover.
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