"Hell! I don't fight with boys," he snarled,
"So?"
Bucky moved forward with the curious lightness of a man
spring-footed. His gaze held the other's shifting eyes as he
plucked the knife from his opponent's hand.
"Unbuckle that belt," he ordered.
All said, the eye is a prince of weapons. It is a moral force
more potent than the physical, and by it men may measure strength
to a certainty. So now these two clinched and battled with it
till the best man won. The showman's look gave way before the
stark courage of the other. His was no match for the inscrutable,
unwavering eye that commanded him. His fingers began to twitch,
edged slowly toward his waist. For an instant they fumbled at the
buckle of the belt, which presently fell with a rattle to the
floor.
"Now, roll yore trail to the wall. Face this way! Arms out!
That's good! You rest there comfortable while I take these pins
down and let the kid out."
He removed the knives that hemmed in the boy and supported the
half-fainting figure to a chair beside the roulette table. But
always he remained in such a position as to keep the big bully he
was baiting in view.
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