“Oh, Villa’ll give us the paper all right,” said Grayson; “but it won’t do us no good unless we don’t meet nobody but Villa’s men on the way out.  This here Pesita’s the critter I’m leery of.  He’s got it in for all Americans, and especially for El Orobo Rancho.  You know we beat off a raid of his about six months ago—­killed half a dozen of his men, an’ he won’t never forgive that.  Villa can’t spare a big enough force to give us safe escort to the border and he can’t assure the safety of the train service.  It looks mighty bad, sir—­I don’t see what in hell you came for.”

“Neither do I, Grayson,” agreed the boss; “but I’m here and we’ve got to make the best of it.  All this may blow over—­ it has before—­and we’ll laugh at our fears in a few weeks.”

“This thing that’s happenin’ now won’t never blow over ’til the stars and stripes blow over Chihuahua,” said Grayson with finality.

A few moments later Bridge returned to the office, having unsaddled his pony and turned it into the pasture.

“What’s your name?” asked Grayson, preparing to enter it in his time book.

“Bridge,” replied the new bookkeeper.

“’Nitials,” snapped Grayson.

Bridge hesitated.  “Oh, put me down as L. Bridge,” he said.

“Where from?” asked the ranch foreman.

“El Orobo Rancho,” answered Bridge.

Grayson shot a quick glance at the man.  The answer confirmed his suspicions that the stranger was probably a horse thief, which, in Grayson’s estimation, was the worst thing a man could be.

“Where did you get that pony you come in on?” he demanded.  “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ of course, but I jest want to tell you that we ain’t got no use for horse thieves here.”

The Easterner, who had been a listener, was shocked by the brutality of Grayson’s speech; but Bridge only laughed.

“If you must know,” he said, “I never bought that horse, an’ the man he belonged to didn’t give him to me.  I just took him.”

“You got your nerve,” growled Grayson.  “I guess you better git out.  We don’t want no horse thieves here.”

“Wait,” interposed the boss.  “This man doesn’t act like a horse thief.  A horse thief, I should imagine, would scarcely admit his guilt.  Let’s have his story before we judge him.”

“All right,” said Grayson; “but he’s just admitted he stole the horse.”

Bridge turned to the boss.  “Thanks,” he said; “but really I did steal the horse.”

Grayson made a gesture which said:  “See, I told you so.”

“It was like this,” went on Bridge.  “The gentleman who owned the horse, together with some of his friends, had been shooting at me and my friends.  When it was all over there was no one left to inform us who were the legal heirs of the late owners of this and several other horses which were left upon our hands, so I borrowed this one.  The law would say, doubtless, that I had stolen it; but I am perfectly willing to return it to its rightful owners if someone will find them for me.”