trail of the fugitive.

As a matter of fact he was much hotter than he imagined,

for Billy and Bridge were that very minute not two squares

from him, debating as to the future and the best manner of

meeting it before it arrived.

"I think," said Billy, "that I'll duck across the border. I

won't never be safe in little old U. S., an' with things hoppin'

in Mexico the way they have been for the last few years I

orter be able to lose myself pretty well.

"Now you're all right, ol' top. You don't have to duck

nothin' for you ain't did nothin'. I don't know what you're

runnin' away from; but I know it ain't nothin' the police is

worryin' about--I can tell that by the way you act--so I

guess we'll split here. You'd be a boob to cross if you don't

have to, fer if Villa don't get you the Carranzistas will, unless

the Zapatistas nab you first.

"Comin' or goin' some greasy-mugged highbinder's bound

to croak you if you cross, from what little I've heard since we

landed in El Paso.

"We'll feed up together tonight, fer the last time. Then I'll

pull my freight." He was silent for a while, and then: "I hate

to do it, bo, fer you're the whitest guy I ever struck," which

was a great deal for Billy Byrne of Grand Avenue to say.

Bridge finished rolling a brown paper cigarette before he

spoke.

"Your words are pure and unadulterated wisdom, my

friend," he said. "The chances are scarcely even that two

gringo hoboes would last the week out afoot and broke in

Viva Mexico; but it has been many years since I followed the

dictates of wisdom. Therefore I am going with you."

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