e adobe walls and through the barricaded
windows. All night the little band of defenders fought gallantly for
their lives; but as day approached the futility of their endeavors was
borne in upon them, for of the nine one was dead and three wounded, and
the numbers of their assailants seemed undiminished.

Billy Byrne had been lying all night upon his stomach before a window
firing out into the darkness at the dim forms which occasionally showed
against the dull, dead background of the moonless desert.

Presently he leaped to his feet and crossed the floor to the room in
which the horses had been placed.

"Everybody fire toward the rear of the house as fast as they can," said
Billy. "I want a clear space for my getaway."

"Where you goin?" asked one of the Clark brothers.

"North," replied Billy, "after some of Funston's men on the border."

"But they won't cross," said Mr. Harding. "Washington won't let them."

"They gotta," snapped Billy Byrne, "an' they will when they know there's
an American girl here with a bunch of Dagos yappin' around."

"You'll be killed," said Price Clark. "You can't never get through."

"Leave it to me," replied Billy. "Just get ready an' open that back door
when I give the word, an' then shut it again in a hurry when I've gone
through."

He led a horse from the side room, and mounted it.

"Open her up, boes!" he shouted, and "S'long everybody!"

Price Clark swung the door open. Billy put spurs to his mount and threw
himself forward flat against the animal's neck. Another moment he was
through and a rattling fusillade of shots proclaimed the fact that his
bold feat had not gone unnoted by the foe.

The little Mexican pony shot like a bolt from a crossbow out across the
level desert. The rattling of carbines only served to add speed to its
frightened feet. Billy sat erect in the saddle, guiding the horse with
his left hand and working his revolver methodically with his right.

At a window behind him Barbara Harding stood breathless and spellbound
until he had disappeared into the gloom of the early morning darkness
to the north, then she turned with a weary sigh and resumed her place
beside the wounded Bridge whose head she bathed with cool water, while
he tossed in the delirium of fever.

The first streaks of daylight were piercing the heavens, the Pesitistas
were rallying for a decisive charge, the hopes of the little band of
besieged were at low ebb when from the west there so