The boy dropped into the chair and covered
his face with his hands, sobbing with deep, broken breaths. The
ranger touched caressingly the crisp, fair hair that covered the
head in short curls.
"Don't you worry, bub. Now, don't you. It's all over with now.
That coyote won't pester you any more. Will you, Mr. False Alarm
Bad Man?"
At the last words he wheeled suddenly to the showman. "You're
right sorry already you got so gay, ain't you? Come! Speak yore
little piece, please."
He waited for an answer, and his gaze held fast to the bloated
face that cringed before his attack.
"What's your name?"
"Jay Hardman," quavered the now thoroughly sobered bad man.
"Dead easy jay, I reckon you mean. Now, chirp, up and tell the
boy how sorry you are you got fresh with your hardware."
"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.
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