“Who said he was an Eyetalian?” demanded Byrne. As the two Americans and the Mexican conversed within the hut there approached across the dusty flat, from the direction of the nearer hills, a party of five horsemen. They rode rapidly, coming toward the hut from the side which had neither door nor window, so that those within had no warning of their coming. They were swarthy, ragged ruffians, fully armed, and with an equipment which suggested that they might be a part of a quasi-military organization. Close behind the hut four of them dismounted while the fifth, remaining in his saddle, held the bridle reins of the horses of his companions. The latter crept stealthily around the outside of the building, toward the door--their carbines ready in their hands. It was one of the little children who first discovered the presence of the newcomers. With a piercing scream she bolted into the interior and ran to cling to her mother's skirts. Billy, Bridge, and the Mexican wheeled toward the doorway simultaneously to learn the cause of the girl's fright, and as they did so found themselves covered by four carbines in the hands of as many men. As his eyes fell upon the faces of the intruders the countenance of the Mexican fell, while his wife dropped to the floor and embraced his knees, weeping. “Wotinell?” ejaculated Billy Byrne. “What's doin'?” “We seem to have been made prisoners,” suggested Bridge; “but whether by Villistas or Carranzistas I do not know.” Their host understood his words and turned toward the two Americans. “These are Pesita's men,” he said. “Yes,” spoke up one of the bandits, “we are Pesita's men, and Pesita will be delighted, Miguel, to greet you, especially when he sees the sort of company you have been keeping. You know how much Pesita loves the gringos!” “But this man does not even know us,” spoke up Bridge. “We stopped here to get a meal. He never saw us before. We are on our way to the El Orobo Rancho in search of work. We have no money and have broken no laws. Let us go our way in peace. You can gain nothing by detaining us, and as for Miguel here--that is what you called him, I believe--I think from what he said to us that he loves a gringo about as much as your revered chief seems to.” Miguel looked his appreciation of Bridge's defense of him; but it was evident that he did not expect it to bear fruit. Nor did it. The brigand spokesman only grinned sardonically. “You may tell all this to Pesita himself, senor,” he said. “Now come--get a move on--beat it!” The fellow had once worked in El Paso and took great pride in his “higher English” education. As he started to herd them from the hut Billy demurred. He turned toward Bridge. “Most of this talk gets by me,” he said. “I ain't jerry to all the Dago jabber yet, though I've copped off a little of it in the past two weeks. Put me wise to the gink's lay.”