Observe, pleash, that these will land less than an inch from hish
eyes. As the champion knife thrower in the universe I claim--"
What he claimed his audience had to guess, for at this instant
another person took a part in the act. Bucky had stepped lightly
across the intervening space on the shoulders of the tightly
packed crowd and had dropped as lightly to the ground in front of
the astonished champion of the universe.
"I reckon you've about wore out that target. What's the matter
with trying a brand new one drawled the ranger, his quiet,
unwavering eye fixed on the bloated, mottled face of the
imitation "bad man."
The bully, half seas over, leaned forward and gripped his knife.
He was sober enough to catch the jeer running through the other's
words without being sufficiently master of himself to appreciate
the menace that underlay them.
"Wha's that? Say that again!" he burst out, purple to the collar
line. He was not used to having beardless boys with long, soft
eyelashes interfering with his amusements, and a blind rage
flooded his heart.
"I allowed that a change of targets would vary the entertainment,
if you haven't any objections, seh," the blue-eyed stranger
explained mildly.
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