“Where?” asked Grayson.

“One of Pesita’s officers rode him—­an Americano.  Tony and I saw this same man in Cuivaca the night the bank was robbed, and today he was riding the Brazos pony.”  Again the dark eyes turned toward Bridge.

Grayson was quick to catch the significance of the Mexican’s meaning.  The more so as it was directly in line with suspicions which he himself had been nursing since the robbery.

During the colloquy the boss entered the office.  He had heard the returning vaqueros ride into the ranch and noting that they brought no steers with them had come to the office to hear their story.  Barbara, spurred by curiosity, accompanied her father.

“You heard what Benito says?” asked Grayson, turning toward his employer.

The latter nodded.  All eyes were upon Bridge.

“Well,” snapped Grayson, “what you gotta say fer yourself?  I ben suspectin’ you right along.  I knew derned well that that there Brazos pony never run off by hisself.  You an’ that other crook from the States framed this whole thing up pretty slick, didn’tcha?  Well, we’ll—­”

“Wait a moment, wait a moment, Grayson,” interrupted the boss.  “Give Mr. Bridge a chance to explain.  You’re making a rather serious charge against him without any particularly strong proof to back your accusation.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” exclaimed Bridge, with a smile.  “I have known that Mr. Grayson suspected me of implication in the robbery; but who can blame him—­a man who can’t ride might be guilty of almost anything.”

Grayson sniffed.  Barbara took a step nearer Bridge.  She had been ready to doubt him herself only an hour or so ago; but that was before he had been accused.  Now that she found others arrayed against him her impulse was to come to his defense.

“You didn’t do it, did you, Mr. Bridge?” Her tone was almost pleading.

“If you mean robbing the bank,” he replied; “I did not Miss Barbara.  I knew no more about it until after it was over than Benito or Tony—­in fact they were the ones who discovered it while I was still asleep in my room above the bank.”

“Well, how did the robber git thet there Brazos pony then?” demanded Grayson savagely.  “Thet’s what I want to know.”

“You’ll have to ask him, Mr. Grayson,” replied Bridge.

“Villa’ll ask him, when he gits holt of him,” snapped Grayson; “but I reckon he’ll git all the information out of you thet he wants first.  He’ll be in Cuivaca tomorrer, an’ so will you.”

“You mean that you are going to turn me over to General Villa?” asked Bridge.  “You are going to turn an American over to that butcher knowing that he’ll be shot inside of twenty-four hours?”

“Shootin’s too damned good fer a horse thief,” replied Grayson.

Barbara turned impulsively toward her father.  “You won’t let Mr. Grayson do that?” she asked.

“Mr. Grayson knows best how to handle such an affair as this, Barbara,” replied her father.  “He is my superintendent, and I have made it a point never to interfere with him.”