"You're mine to do with as I like. I'm your uncle. I've raised
you from a kid, and, by the great mogul! you can't sneak off with
the first good-for nothing scoundrel that makes eyes at you.
Thought you had slipped away from me, you white-faced, sniveling
little idiot, but I'll show you who is master."
The lash of a whip rose and fell twice on quivering flesh before
Bucky leaped into the fireglow and wrested the riding-whip from
the hands of the angry man who was plying it.
"Dare to touch a woman, would you?" cried the ranger, swinging
the whip vigorously across the broad shoulders of the man. "Take
that--and that--and that, you brute!"
But when Bucky had finished with the fellow and flung him a limp,
writhing huddle of welts to the ground, three surprises awaited
him. The first was that it was not a woman he had rescued at all,
but a boy, and, as the flickering firelight played on his face,
the ranger came to an unexpected recognition. 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.
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