Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border. William MacLeod Raine

      “I beg pardon. You—what?”

      “Earmarked him. Figure of speech, ma'am. You may not have observed that the curly-headed person behind the guns was shy the forefinger of his right hand. We had a little difficulty once when he was resisting arrest, and it just happened that my gun fanned away his trigger finger.” He added reminiscently:

      “A good boy, too, Neil was once. We used to punch together on the Hashknife. A straight-up rider, the kind a fellow wants when Old Man Trouble comes knocking at the door. Well, I reckon he's a miscreant now, all right.”

      “They knew YOU—at least two of them did.”

      “I've been pirootin' around this country, boy and man, for fifteen years. I ain't responsible for every yellow dog that knows me,” he drawled.

      “And I noticed that when you told them not to rob the children and not to touch me they did as you said.”

      “Hypnotism,” he suggested, with a smile.

      “So, not being a child, I put two and two together and draw an inference.”

      He seemed to be struggling with his mirth. “I see you do. Well, ma'am, I've been most everything since I hit the West, but this is the first time I've been taken for a train robber.”

      “I didn't say that,” she cried quickly.

      “I think you mentioned an inference.” The low laugh welled out of him and broke in his face. “I've been busy on one, too. It's a heap nearer the truth than yours, Miss Mackenzie.”

      Her startled eyes and the swift movement of her hand toward her heart showed him how nearly he had struck home, how certainly he had shattered her cool indifference of manner.

      He leaned forward, so close that even in the roar of the train his low whisper reached her. “Shall I tell you why the hold-ups didn't find more money on your father or in the express car, Miss Mackenzie?”

      She was shaken, so much so that her agitation trembled on her lips.

      “Shall I tell you why your hand went to your breast when I first mentioned that the train was going to be held up, and again when your father's eyes were firing a mighty pointed question at you?”

      “I don't know what you mean,” she retorted, again mistress of herself.

      Her gallant bearing compelled his admiration. The scornful eyes, the satirical lift of the nostrils, the erect, graceful figure, all flung a challenge at him. He called himself hard names for putting her on the rack, but the necessity to make her believe in him was strong within him.

      “I noticed you went right chalky when I announced the hold-up, and I thought it was because you were scared. That was where I did you an injustice, ma'am, and you can call this an apology. You've got sand. If it hadn't been for what you carry in the chamois skin hanging on the chain round your neck you would have enjoyed every minute of the little entertainment. You're as game as they make them.”

      “May I ask how you arrived at this melodramatic conclusion?” she asked, her disdainful lip curling.

      “By using my eyes and my ears, ma'am. I shouldn't have noticed your likeness to Major Mackenzie, perhaps, if I hadn't observed that there was a secret understanding between you. Now, whyfor should you be passing as strangers? I could guess one reason, and only one. There have twice been attempted hold-ups of the paymaster of the Yuba reservoir. It was to avoid any more of these that Major Mackenzie took charge personally of paying the men. He has made good up till now. But there have been rumors for months that he would be held up either before leaving the train or while he was crossing the desert. He didn't want to be seen taking the boodle from the express company at Tucson. He would rather have the impression get out that this was just a casual visit. It occurred to him to bring along some unsuspected party to help him out. The robbers would never expect to find the money on a woman. That's why the major brought his daughter with him. Doesn't it make you some uneasy to be carrying fifty thousand in small bills sewed in your clothes and hung round your neck?”

      She broke into musical laughter, natural and easy. “I don't happen to have fifty thousand with me.”

      “Oh, well, say forty thousand. I'm no wizard to guess the exact figure.”

      Her swift glance at him was almost timid.

      “Nor forty thousand,” she murmured.

      “I should think, ma'am, you'd crinkle more than a silk-lined lady sailing down a church aisle on Sunday.”

      A picture in the magazine she was toying with seemed to interest her.

      “I expect that's the signal for 'Exit Collins.' I'll say good-by till next time, Miss Mackenzie.”

      “Oh, is there going to be a next time?” she asked, with elaborate carelessness.

      “Several of them.”

      “Indeed!”

      He took a notebook from his pocket and wrote.

      “I ain't the son of a prophet, but I'm venturing a prediction,” he explained.

      She had nothing to say, and she said it competently.

      “Concerning an investment in futurities I'm making,” he continued.

      Her magazine article seemed to be beginning, well.

      “It's a little guess about how this train robbery is coming out. If you don't mind, I'll leave it with you.” He tore the page out, put it in an empty envelope, sealed the flap, and handed it to her.

      “Open it in a month, and see whether my guess is a good one.”

      The dusky lashes swept round indolently. “Suppose I were to open it to-night.”

      “I'll risk it,” smiled the blue eyes.

      “On honor, am I?”

      “That's it.” He held out a big, brown hand.

      “You're going to try to capture the robbers, are you?”

      “I've been thinking that way—with the help of Lieutenant Bucky O'Connor, I mean.”

      “And I suppose you've promised yourself success.”

      “It's on the knees of chance, ma'am. We may get them. They may get us.”

      “But this prediction of yours?” She held up the sealed envelope.

      “That's about another matter.”

      “But I don't understand. You said—” She gave him a chance to explain.

      “It ain't meant you should. You'll understand plenty at the proper time.”

      He offered her his hand again. “We're slowing down for Apache. Good-by—till next time.”

      The suede glove came forward, and was buried in his handshake.

      He understood it to be an unvoiced apology of its owner for her suspicions, and his instinct was correct. For how could her doubts hold their ground when he had showed himself a sharer in her secret and a guardian of it? And how could anything sinister lie behind those frank, unwavering eyes or consist with that long, clean stride that was carrying him so forcefully to the vestibule?

      At Apache no telegrams were found waiting for those who had been expecting them. Communication with the division superintendent at Tucson uncovered the fact that no message of the hold-up had yet reached him. It was an easy guess for Collins to find the reason.

      “We're in the infant class, major,” he told Mackenzie, with a sardonic laugh. “Leroy must have galloped down the line direct to the station after the hold-up. Likely enough he went into the depot just as we went out. That gives him the other hour or two he needs to make his getaway with the loot. Well, it can't be helped now. If I can only reach Bucky