Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border — John Shaqi
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
“Yes, it’s sure a heap against the law, but then Bucky ain’t a lawyer.
I don’t reckon he cares sour grapes for the law—as law. It’s a right
interesting guess as to whether he will or won’t.”
“There’s a heap of cases the law don’t reach prompt. This is one of
them,” contributed the ranger cheerfully. He pocketed his watch and
picked up the .45. “Any last message or anything of that sort, signor?
I don’t want to be unpleasant about this, you understand.”
The whilom bad man’s teeth chattered. “I’ll tell you anything you want
to know.”
“Now, that’s right sensible. I hate to come into another man’s house
and clutter it up. Reel off your yarn.”
“I don’t know—what you want.”
“I want the whole story of your kidnapping of the Mackenzie child, how
came you to do it, what happened to Dave Henderson, and full directions
where I may locate Frances Mackenzie. Begin at the beginning, and I’ll
fire questions at you when you don’t make any point clear to me. Turn
loose your yarn at me hot off the bat.”
The man told his story sullenly. While he was on the round-up as cook
for the riders he had heard Mackenzie and Henderson discussing together
the story of their adventure with the dying Spaniard and their hopes of
riches from the mine he had left them. From that night he had set
himself to discover the secret of its location, had listened at windows
and at keyholes, and had once intercepted a letter from one to the
other. By chance he had discovered that the baby was carrying the
secret in her locket, and he had set himself to get it from her.
But his chance did not come. He could not make friends with her, and at
last, in despair of finding a better opportunity, he had slipped into
her room one night in the small hours to steal the chain. But it was
wound round her neck in such a way that he could not slip it over her
head. She had awakened while he was fumbling with the clasp and had
begun to cry. Hearing her mother moving about in the next room, he had
hastily carried the child with him, mounted the horse waiting in the
yard, and ridden away.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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