"Young man, I want you."
The lieutenant whirled like a streak of lightning, finger on
trigger already. "I'll trouble you for yore warrant, seh," he
retorted.
The man confronting him was the big cattleman who had entered the
Silver Dollar in time to see O'Connor's victory over the showman.
Now he stood serenely under Bucky's gun and laughed.
"Put up your .45, my friend. It's a peaceable conference I want
with you."
The level eyes of the young man fastened on those of the
cattleman, and, before he spoke again, were satisfied. For both
of these men belonged to the old West whose word is as good as
its bond, that West which will go the limit for a cause once
under taken without any thought of retreat, regardless of the
odds or the letter of the law. Though they had never met before,
each knew at a glance the manner of man the other was.
"All right, seh. If you want me I reckon I'm here large as life,"
the ranger said,
"We'll adjourn to the poker room upstairs then, Mr. O'Connor"
Bucky laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy. "This kid goes with
me. I'm keeping an eye on him for the present.
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