‘Yes, I am American. I come from your father—’
‘Open, hombre!’ the command now, and, ‘I don’t know you. You’re a lot safer where you are, but I’m letting you out.’
‘I came down for you. I’ve got a horse—’
Banging was now heard at the lower door to the barracks.
‘You’ll have to saddle fast. The soldiers are sure coming-to, but they can only get out the upper windows.’
For just a second, as the cell door swung, Elbert saw the lift of a dark face—a glitter to the laugh, that low, easy flowing tone; then he was running across the moonlit patio—saddle-blankets over his left arm, saddle itself trailing from his right hand, a call on his lips for the mare to stand round. The blankets fell in place; cinches came to hand. Mamie’s clean warm mouth closed over the bit, her ears wiggled straight in the head stall. Still, Elbert was the last man out of the patio, Bart standing in the street, covering the flight of his men. Shots rained down from the windows of the second floor of the barracks. A few of Cordano’s soldiers had already dropped down to the street; others were crashing at the lower door which Bart had locked.
‘The horses are in the hollow back of the quarters!’ he yelled in Mexican.
The hand of one soldier reached up to Mamie’s bridle-rein, but Bart’s pistol-butt thudded upon the bone. Even in the tumult, Elbert saw that nothing escaped Bart—that he was marvelously on the job, but cool.
‘Follow the others, stranger!’ he called now. ‘I didn’t catch your name!’
‘Get up here behind me, don’t you want to?’ Elbert answered above the din.