"
"Keep your shirt on, old fire-eater. Who told you I was wronging
her any?"
"Are you married to her?"
"You bet I ain't. You see, Mick, that handsome lady you're going
to lick the stuffing out of me about is only a plumb ornery sassy
young boy, after all."
"No!" denied Mick, his eyes two excited interrogation-points.
"You can't stuff me with any such fairy-tale, me lad."
"All right. Wait and see," suggested the ranger easily. "Have a
smoke while you're falling out of love."
"You young limb, I want you to tell me all about it this very
minute, before I punch holes in yez."
Bucky lit his cigar, leaned back, and began to tell the story of
Frank Hardman and the knife-thrower. Only one thing he omitted to
tell, and that was the conviction that had come home to him a few
moments ago that his little comrade was no boy, but a woman.
O'Halloran was a chivalrous Irishman, a daredevil of an
adventurer, with a pure love of freedom that might very likely in
the end bring him to face a row of loaded carbines with his back
to a wall, but Bucky had his reticencies that even loyal
friendship could not break down.
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