“Oh, Villa'll give us the paper all right,” said Grayson; “but it won't do us no good unless we don't meet nobody but Villa's men on the way out. This here Pesita's the critter I'm leery of. He's got it in for all Americans, and especially for El Orobo Rancho. You know we beat off a raid of his about six months ago—killed half a dozen of his men, an' he won't never forgive that. Villa can't spare a big enough force to give us safe escort to the border and he can't assure the safety of the train service. It looks mighty bad, sir—I don't see what in hell you came for.”
“Neither do I, Grayson,” agreed the boss; “but I'm here and we've got to make the best of it. All this may blow over—it has before—and we'll laugh at our fears in a few weeks.”
“This thing that's happenin' now won't never blow over 'til the stars and stripes blow over Chihuahua,” said Grayson with finality.
A few moments later Bridge returned to the office, having unsaddled his pony and turned it into the pasture.
“What's your name?” asked Grayson, preparing to enter it in his time book.
“Bridge,” replied the new bookkeeper.
“'Nitials,” snapped Grayson.
Bridge hesitated. “Oh, put me down as L. Bridge,” he said.
“Where from?” asked the ranch foreman.
“El Orobo Rancho,” answered Bridge.