The Return of the Mucker by Edgar Rice Burroughs (best motivational books of all time txt) 📖

never tell with conditions here such as they are. Have you any hope that you will be able to obtain a safe conduct for us from General Villa?”

“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.

Grayson shot a quick glance at the man. The answer confirmed his suspicions that the stranger was probably a horse thief, which, in Grayson’s estimation, was the worst thing a man could be.

“Where did you get that pony you come in on?” he demanded. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ of course, but I jest want to tell you that we ain’t got no use for horse thieves here.”

The Easterner, who had been a listener, was shocked by the brutality of Grayson’s speech; but Bridge only laughed.

“If you must know,” he said, “I never bought that horse, an’ the man he belonged to didn’t give him to me. I just took him.”

“You got your nerve,” growled Grayson. “I guess you better git out. We don’t want no horse thieves here.”

“Wait,” interposed the boss. “This man doesn’t act like a horse thief. A horse thief, I should imagine, would scarcely admit his guilt. Let’s have his story before we judge him.”

“All right,” said Grayson; “but he’s just admitted he stole the horse.”

Bridge turned to the boss. “Thanks,” he said; “but really I did steal the horse.”

Grayson made a gesture which said: “See, I told you so.”

“It was like this,” went on Bridge. “The gentleman who owned the horse, together with some of his friends, had been shooting at me and my friends. When it was all over there was no one left to inform us who were the legal heirs of the late owners of this and several other horses which were left upon our hands, so I borrowed this one. The law would say, doubtless, that I had stolen it; but I am perfectly willing to return it to its rightful owners if someone will find them for me.”

“You been in a scrap?” asked Grayson. “Who with?”

“A party of Pesita’s men,” replied Bridge.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

“You see they are working pretty close,” said Grayson, to his employer, and then to Bridge: “Well, if you took that cayuse from one of Pesita’s bunch you can’t call that stealin’. Your room’s in there, back of the office, an’ you’ll find some clothes there that the last man forgot to take with him. You ken have ‘em, an’ from the looks o’ yourn you need ‘em.”

“Thank you,” replied Bridge. “My clothes are a bit rusty. I shall have to speak to James about them,” and he passed through into the little bedroom off the office, and closed the door behind him.

“James?” grunted Grayson. “Who the devil does he mean by James? I hain’t seen but one of ‘em.”

The boss was laughing quietly.

“The man’s a character,” he said. “He’ll be worth all you pay him—if you can appreciate him, which I doubt, Grayson.”

“I ken appreciate him if he ken keep books,” replied Grayson. “That’s all I ask of him.”

When Bridge emerged from the bedroom he was clothed in white duck trousers, a soft shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, and such a change had they wrought in his appearance that neither Grayson nor his employer would have known him had they not seen him come from the room into which they had sent him to make the exchange of clothing.

“Feel better?” asked the boss, smiling.

“Clothes are but an incident with me,” replied Bridge. “I wear them because it is easier to do so than it would be to dodge the weather and the police. Whatever I may have upon my back affects in no way what I have within my head. No, I cannot say that I feel any better, since these clothes are not as comfortable as my old ones. However if it pleases Mr. Grayson that I should wear a pink kimono while working for him I shall gladly wear a pink kimono. What shall I do first, sir?” The question was directed toward Grayson.

“Sit down here an’ see what you ken make of this bunch of trouble,” replied the foreman. “I’ll talk with you again this evenin’.”

As Grayson and his employer quitted the office and walked together toward the corrals the latter’s brow was corrugated by thought and his facial expression that of one who labors to fasten upon a baffling and illusive recollection.

“It beats all, Grayson,” he said presently; “but I am sure that I have known this new bookkeeper of yours before. The moment he came out of that room dressed like a human being I knew that I had known him; but for the life of me I can’t place him. I should be willing to wager considerable, however, that his name is not Bridge.”

“S’pect you’re right,” assented Grayson. “He’s probably one o’ them eastern dude bank clerks what’s gone wrong and come down here to hide. Mighty fine place to hide jest now, too.

“And say, speakin’ of banks,” he went on, “what’ll I do ‘bout sendin’ over to Cuivaca fer the pay tomorrow. Next day’s pay day. I don’t like to send this here bum, I can’t trust a greaser no better, an’ I can’t spare none of my white men thet I ken trust.”

“Send him with a couple of the most trustworthy Mexicans you have,” suggested the boss.

“There ain’t no sich critter,” replied Grayson; “but I guess that’s the best I ken do. I’ll send him along with Tony an’ Benito—they hate each other too much to frame up anything together, an’ they both hate a gringo. I reckon they’ll hev a lovely trip.”

“But they’ll get back with the money, eh?” queried the boss.

“If Pesita don’t get ‘em,” replied Grayson.