"Billy!" he exclaimed. "Why--Billy--was it you who

robbed the bank?"

Even as he spoke Bridge was busy easing the weight of the

dead pony from Billy's leg.

"Anything broken?" he asked as the bandit struggled to

free himself.

"Not so you could notice it," replied Billy, and a moment

later he was on his feet. "Say, bo," he added, "it's a mighty

good thing you dropped little pinto here, for I'd a sure got

you my next shot. Gee! it makes me sweat to think of it. But

about this bank robbin' business. You can't exactly say that

I robbed a bank. That money was the enemy's resources, an' I

just nicked their resources. That's war. That ain't robbery. I

ain't takin' it for myself--it's for the cause--the cause o' poor,

bleedin' Mexico," and Billy grinned a large grin.

"You took it for Pesita?" asked Bridge.

"Of course," replied Billy. "I won't get a jitney of it. I

wouldn't take none of it, Bridge, honest. I'm on the square

now."

"I know you are, Billy," replied the other; "but if you're

caught you might find it difficult to convince the authorities of

your highmindedness and your disinterestedness."

"Authorities!" scoffed Billy. "There ain't no authorities in

Mexico. One bandit is just as good as another, and from Pesita

to Carranza they're all bandits at heart. They ain't a one of

'em that gives two whoops in hell for poor, bleedin' Mexico--

unless they can do the bleedin' themselves. It's dog eat dog

here. If they caught me they'd shoot me whether I'd robbed

their bank or not. What's that?" Billy was suddenly alert,

straining his eyes back in the direction of Cuivaca.

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