Creeping stealthily to the porch she peered in at the window.  Eddie was stretched out in cramped though seeming luxury in an office chair.  His feet were cocked up on the desk before him.  In his lap lay his six-shooter ready for any emergency.  Another reposed in its holster at his belt.

Barbara tiptoed to the door.  Holding her breath she turned the knob gently.  The door swung open without a sound, and an instant later she stood within the room.  Again her eyes were fixed upon Eddie Shorter.  She saw his nerveless fingers relax their hold upon the grip of his revolver.  She saw the weapon slip farther down into his lap.  He did not move, other than to the deep and regular breathing of profound slumber.

Barbara crossed the room to his side.

Behind the ranchhouse three figures crept forward in the shadows.  Behind them a matter of a hundred yards stood a little clump of horses and with them were the figures of more men.  These waited in silence.  The other three crept toward the house.  It was such a ranchhouse as you might find by the scores or hundreds throughout Texas.  Grayson, evidently, or some other Texan, had designed it.  There was nothing Mexican about it, nor anything beautiful.  It stood two storied, verandaed and hideous, a blot upon the soil of picturesque Mexico.

To the roof of the veranda clambered the three prowlers, and across it to an open window.  The window belonged to the bedroom of Miss Barbara Harding.  Here they paused and listened, then two of them entered the room.  They were gone for but a few minutes.  When they emerged they showed evidences, by their gestures to the third man who had awaited outside, of disgust and disappointment.

Cautiously they descended as they had come and made their way back to those other men who had remained with the horses.  Here there ensued a low-toned conference, and while it progressed Barbara Harding reached forth a steady hand which belied the terror in her soul and plucked the revolver from Eddie Shorter’s lap.  Eddie slept on.

Again on tiptoe the girl recrossed the office to the locked door leading into the back room.  The key was in the lock.  Gingerly she turned it, keeping a furtive eye upon the sleeping guard, and the muzzle of his own revolver leveled menacingly upon him.  Eddie Shorter stirred in his sleep and raised a hand to his face.  The heart of Barbara Harding ceased to beat while she stood waiting for the man to open his eyes and discover her; but he did nothing of the kind.  Instead his hand dropped limply at his side and he resumed his regular breathing.

The key turned in the lock beneath the gentle pressure of her fingers, the bolt slipped quietly back and she pushed the door ajar.  Within, Billy Byrne turned inquiring eyes in the direction of the opening door, and as he saw who it was who entered surprise showed upon his face; but he spoke no word for the girl held a silencing finger to her lips.