In the thick of the fight
loomed the giant figure of a man in nondescript garb which
more closely resembled the apparel of the Pesitistas than it did
the uniforms of the American soldiery, yet it was with them he
fought. Barbara's eyes were the first to detect him.
"There's Mr. Byrne," she cried. "It must have been he who
brought the troops."
"Why, he hasn't had time to reach the border yet,"
remonstrated one of the Clark boys, "much less get back here with
help."
"There he is though," said Mr. Harding. "It's certainly
strange. I can't understand what American troops are doing
across the border--especially under the present administration."
The Pesitistas held their ground for but a moment then they
wheeled and fled; but not before Pesita himself had forced his
pony close to that of Billy Byrne.
"Traitor!" screamed the bandit. "You shall die for this,"
and fired point-blank at the American.
Billy felt a burning sensation in his already wounded left
arm; but his right was still good.
"For poor, bleeding Mexico!" he cried, and put a bullet
through Pesita's forehead.
Under escort of the men of the Thirteenth Cavalry who
had pursued Villa's raiders into Mexico and upon whom Billy
Byrne had stumbled by chance, the little party of fugitives
came safely to United States soil, where all but one breathed
sighs of heartfelt relief.
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