Bridge was given first aid by members of the hospital corps, who assured Billy that his friend would not die.  Mr. Harding and Barbara were taken in by the wife of an officer, and it was at the quarters of the latter that Billy Byrne found her alone in the sitting-room.

The girl looked up as he entered, a sad smile upon her face.  She was about to ask him of his wound; but he gave her no opportunity.

“I’ve come for you,” he said.  “I gave you up once when I thought it was better for you to marry a man in your own class.  I won’t give you up again.  You’re mine—­you’re my girl, and I’m goin’ to take you with me.  Were goin’ to Galveston as fast as we can, and from there we’re goin’ to Rio.  You belonged to me long before Bridge saw you.  He can’t have you.  Nobody can have you but me, and if anyone tries to keep me from taking you they’ll get killed.”

He took a step nearer that brought him close to her.  She did not shrink—­only looked up into his face with wide eyes filled with wonder.  He seized her roughly in his arms.

“You are my girl!” he cried hoarsely.  “Kiss me!”

“Wait!” she said.  “First tell me what you meant by saying that Bridge couldn’t have me.  I never knew that Bridge wanted me, and I certainly have never wanted Bridge.  O Billy!  Why didn’t you do this long ago?  Months ago in New York I wanted you to take me; but you left me to another man whom I didn’t love.  I thought you had ceased to care, Billy, and since we have been together here—­since that night in the room back of the office—­you have made me feel that I was nothing to you.  Take me, Billy!  Take me anywhere in the world that you go.  I love you and I’ll slave for you—­anything just to be with you.”

“Barbara!” cried Billy Byrne, and then his voice was smothered by the pressure of warm, red lips against his own.

A half hour later Billy stepped out into the street to make his way to the railroad station that he might procure transportation for three to Galveston.  Anthony Harding was going with them.  He had listened to Barbara’s pleas, and had finally volunteered to back Billy Byrne’s flight from the jurisdiction of the law, or at least to a place where, under a new name, he could start life over again and live it as the son-in-law of old Anthony Harding should live.

Among the crowd viewing the havoc wrought by the raiders the previous night was a large man with a red face.  It happened that he turned suddenly about as Billy Byrne was on the point of passing behind him.  Both men started as recognition lighted their faces and he of the red face found himself looking down the barrel of a six-shooter.

“Put it up, Byrne,” he admonished the other coolly.  “I didn’t know you were so good on the draw.”

“I’m good on the draw all right, Flannagan,” said Billy, “and I ain’t drawin’ for amusement neither.  I gotta chance to get away and live straight, and have a little happiness in life, and, Flannagan, the man who tries to crab my game is goin’ to get himself croaked.  I’ll never go back to stir alive.  See?”