Shortly the two came in touch with the retreating Pesitistas who were riding slowly toward their mountain camp.  Their pursuers had long since given up the chase, fearing that they might be being lured into the midst of a greatly superior force, and had returned to Cuivaca.

It was nearly morning when Bridge and Billy threw themselves down upon the latter’s blankets, fagged.

“Well, well,” murmured Billy Byrne; “li’l ol’ Bridgie’s found his Penelope,” and fell asleep.

CHAPTER XIII

BARBARA AGAIN

Captain Billy Byrne rode out of the hills the following afternoon upon a pinto pony that showed the whites of its eyes in a wicked rim about the iris and kept its ears perpetually flattened backward.

At the end of a lariat trailed the Brazos pony, for Billy, laughing aside Bridge’s pleas, was on his way to El Orobo Rancho to return the stolen horse to its fair owner.

At the moment of departure Pesita had asked Billy to ride by way of Jose’s to instruct the old Indian that he should bear word to one Esteban that Pesita required his presence.

It is a long ride from the retreat of the Pesitistas to Jose’s squalid hut, especially if one be leading an extra horse, and so it was that darkness had fallen long before Billy arrived in sight of Jose’s.  Dismounting some distance from the hut, Billy approached cautiously, since the world is filled with dangers for those who are beyond the law, and one may not be too careful.

Billy could see a light showing through a small window, and toward this he made his way.  A short distance from Jose’s is another, larger structure from which the former inhabitants had fled the wrath of Pesita.  It was dark and apparently tenantless; but as a matter of fact a pair of eyes chanced at the very moment of Billy’s coming to be looking out through the open doorway.

The owner turned and spoke to someone behind him.

“Jose has another visitor,” he said.  “Possibly this one is less harmless than the other.  He comes with great caution.  Let us investigate.”

Three other men rose from their blankets upon the floor and joined the speaker.  They were all armed, and clothed in the nondescript uniforms of Villistas.  Billy’s back was toward them as they sneaked from the hut in which they were intending to spend the night and crept quietly toward him.

Billy was busily engaged in peering through the little window into the interior of the old Indian’s hovel.  He saw an American in earnest conversation with Jose.  Who could the man be?  Billy did not recognize him; but presently Jose answered the question.

“It shall be done as you wish, Senor Grayson,” he said.

“Ah!” thought Billy; “the foreman of El Orobo.  I wonder what business he has with this old scoundrel—­and at night.”