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Updated: May 3, 2025
Now looking back to the rim at Yaki Point, we see beneath it, and corresponding to the Battleship, an imposing structure. It has been named O'Neill Butte, in honor of "Bucky" O'Neill, one of Roosevelt's Rough Riders, who was slain during the heroic charge at San Juan Hill.
"I don't object in the least, but I want him to understand the agreement. I've got a posse waiting at Eldorado Springs, and as soon as I get back there we take the trail after you. Bucky O'Connor is at the head of the posse." York grinned. "We'll be in Sonora then, Val. Think I'm going to wait and let you shoot off my other fingers?"
"The Golden Rule, that's all," replied Billy, proffering his tobacco. "The half-breed treated me square and made me comfortable, even if he did take his pay afterward. I'm doing the same." "And what do you expect to take afterward?" Billy's eyes narrowed as he returned the other's searching look. "Bucky, I didn't think you were quite a fool," he said.
Dave disappeared too that night, with my little girl." Bucky cut in sharply with a question. "Did he? How do you know he disappeared WITH her? Why not AFTER? That's the theory my mind is groping on just now." "That's a blind trail to me. Why AFTER? And what difference does it make?" "All the difference in the world.
Nor did Luck confine his efforts to self-defense. He knew that to convict Fendrick of the robbery he must first lay hands upon Blackwell. It was, however, Bucky that caught the convict. The two men met at the top of a mountain pass. Blackwell, headed south, was slipping down toward Stone's horse ranch when they came face to face.
"You young limb, I want you to tell me all about it this very minute, before I punch holes in yez." Bucky lit his cigar, leaned back, and began to tell the story of Frank Hardman and the knife-thrower. Only one thing he omitted to tell, and that was the conviction that had come home to him a few moments ago that his little comrade was no boy, but a woman.
"More than I do, perhaps," he suggested. Her eyes dilated. He could see suspicion take hold of her. "Perhaps," she answered quietly. "Does that mean you think I'm not Bucky O'Connor?" He had pushed his pony forward so as to cut off her advance, and both had halted for the moment. She looked at him with level, fearless eyes. "I don't know who you are."
How's that for Thirkle?" "Let him go, Bucky," whined Petrak, with quivering knees and terror in his face. "I'd look a fine fish letting of him go now, after what's passed between us!" laughed Buckrow. "Ye mind what he'd do the minute he got his paws free. Reddy, if ye don't shut yer trap I'll drill ye, that's what." "No arms for me," suggested Thirkle.
"He's my boy. I guess I can do what I like with him," the man burst out angrily. "I wasn't hurting him any, either. That's part of our show, to " Bucky fondled suggestively the revolver in his hand. A metallic click came to his victim. "Don't you shoot at me again," the man broke off to scream. The Colt clipped the sentence and the man's other ear.
The sheep owner flicked his cigarette ash into the tray, and looked at the lieutenant out of half-shuttered, indolent eyes. "Gave it to you, Bucky." O'Connor sat up. His blue Irish eyes were dancing. "You're a cool customer, Cass." "Fact, just the same. Got that letter I handed you the other day?" The officer produced it from his safe. "Open it."
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