Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced BorderRaine, William MacLeod
General
Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border
Raine, William MacLeod
Fiction; Western stories
“Well, I did and I didn’t,” corrected the sheriff easily. “I’ve got a
five-thousand policy in the Southeastern Life Insurance Company, so I
reckon it’s some risk to them. And, by the way, it’s a company I can
recommend.”
“Does it insure against suicide?” asked Leroy, his masked, smiling face
veiling thinly a ruthless purpose.
“And against hanging. Let me strongly urge you to take out a policy at
once,” came the prompt retort.
“You think it necessary?”
“Quite. When you and York Neil and Hardman made an end of Scotty you
threw ropes round your own necks. Any locoed tenderfoot would know
that.”
The sheriff’s unflinching look met the outlaw’s black frown serene and
clear-eyed.
“And would he know that you had committed suicide when you ran this
place down and came here?” asked Leroy, with silken cruelty.
“Well, he ought to know it. The fact is, Mr. Leroy, that it hadn’t
penetrated my think-tank that this was your hacienda when I came
mavericking in.”
“Just out riding for your health?”
“Not exactly. I was looking for Miss Mackenzie. I cut her trail about
six miles from the Rocking Chair and followed it where she wandered
around. The trail led directly away from the ranch toward the
mountains. That didn’t make me any easy in my mind. So I just jogged
along and elected myself an investigating committee. I arrived some
late, but here I am, right side up—and so hearty welcome that my friend
Cork won’t hear of my leaving at all. He don’t do a thing but entertain
me—never lets his attention wander. Oh, I’m the welcome guest, all
right. No doubt about that.”
Wolf Leroy turned to Alice. “I think you had better go to your room,”
he said gently.
“Oh, no, no; let me stay,” she implored. “You would never—you would
never—” The words died on her white lips, but the horror in her eyes
finished the question.
He met her gaze fully, and answered her doggedly. “You’re not in this,
Miss Mackenzie. It’s between him and me. I shan’t allow even you to
interfere.”
“But—oh, it is horrible! for two minutes.”
He shook his head.
“You must! Please.”
“What use?”
Let me see you alone
Her troubled gaze shifted to the strong, brown, sun-baked face of the
man who had put himself in this deadly peril to save her. His keen,
blue-gray eyes, very searching and steady, met hers with a courage she
thought splendid, and her heart cried out passionately against the
sacrifice.
“You shall not do it. Oh, please let me talk it over with you.”
“No.”
“Have you forgotten already?—and you said you would always remember.”
She almost whispered it.
She had stung his consent at last. “Very well,” he said, and opened the
door to let her pass into the inner room.
But she noticed that his eyes were hard as jade.
“Don’t you see that he came here to save me?” she cried, when they were
alone. “Don’t you see it was for me? He didn’t come to spy out your
place of hiding.”
“I see that he has found it. If I let him go, he will bring back a
posse to take us.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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