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Updated: June 3, 2025
"I'll do it, so help me all the gods, I'll do it!" he breathed excitedly. "M'sieur, a woman killed you -as much as Bucky Nome, a woman did it. You couldn't do her any good but you might another. I'm going to send you to her, M'sieur. You're a terrible lesson, and I may be a beast; but you're preaching a powerful sermon, and I guess perhaps you may do her good.
All our lives we have been drifting around, but all the time it had been decided by the God-of-things-as-they-are that our orbits were going to run together and gravitate into the same one when the right time came. It has come now." "Yes, Bucky," she answered softly. "We belong, dear." "Hello, here's the end of the canon. The ranch lies right behind that spur." "Does it?"
He gripped one of Deane's hands in his own. "I hate to do this, old man," he cried, quickly. "It's hell to put those things on a man who's hurt. But I've got to do it. I didn't mean to come no, s'elp me God, I didn't if Bucky Smith and two others hadn't hit your trail back at the old camp. They'd have got you sure. And she wouldn't have been safe with them.
The slim lad facing him was no other than Frank Hardman, whom he had left a few days before at the Rocking Chair under the care of motherly Mrs. Mackenzie. The young man's eyes went back with instant suspicion to the fellow he had just punished, and his suspicions were verified when the leaping light revealed the face of the showman Anderson. Bucky laughed.
He pointed to the bakneesh wreath that still hung to the front of his tent. "`In honor of the living, " he read, aloud, "Just a sort of reminder, you know, that he might have hit me on the head with a club if he'd wanted to." He came nearer to Bucky, and said, good-naturedly: "I guess you've got me beat this time, Bucky. Scottie Deane is pretty safe from me, wherever he is.
Then he was glad to turn his attention to other matters, things close around him. One of these was the coming of the lean man with a pair of familiar objects in his hands this after the noonday meal. "Well, my bucky," he began, turning critical eyes over Pat, "I been studyin' your case a heap, and I've come to think I'm old Doctor Sow himself.
"I reckon, Bucky, the band has begun to play," the rider told himself aloud. "Mebbe we better move on down in time for the music." But no half-expected revolver shots shattered the stillness, even though interest did not abate. "There's ce'tainly something doing at the Silver Dollar this glad mo'ning.
"Would I? Why, I'm hungry enough to eat a leather mail-sack. Trot on your grub, young man, and watch my smoke." Bucky did ample justice to the sandwiches and lemonade the lad set in front of him, but he ate with a wary eye on a possible insurrection on the part of his prisoner. "I'm a new man," he announced briskly, when he had finished. "That veal loaf sandwich went sure to the right spot.
Before she had spoken three sentences he knew she had all her sex's reputed capacity for injustice as well as its characteristic flashes of generosity. "Are you one of the men who have rebelled against my father and attempted to murder him?" she flashed. "I'm the man he condemned to be hanged tomorrow morning at dawn for helping Juan Valdez take the guns," retorted Bucky, with a laugh.
"I warn you that the United States will exact vengeance for my death." "Indeed!" Politely the governor smiled at him with a malice almost devilish. "If so, it will be after you are dead, Senor Bucky O'Connor, of the Arizona Rangers." Colonel Onate leaned forward and whispered something to General Carlo, who shook his head and frowned.
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