Bucky O'Connor: A Tale of the Unfenced Border. William MacLeod Raine
sure of himself, this was he.
“Not a thing in the Star to-day,” Pat's visitor commented, as he flung it away with a yawn. “I'll let a thousand dollars of the express company's money that there will be something more interesting in it to-morrow.”
“That's right,” agreed the agent.
“But I won't be here to read it. My engagements take me south. I'll make a present to the great Lieutenant O'Connor of the information. We're headed south, tell him. And tell Mr. Sheriff Collins, too—happy to entertain him if he happens our way. If it would rest your hands any there's no law against putting them in your trousers pockets, my friend.”
From outside there came a short sharp whistle. The man on the counter answered it, and slipped at once to the floor. The door opened, to let in another masked form, but one how different from the first! Here was no confidence almost insolent in its nonchalance. The figure was slight and boyish, the manner deprecating, the brown eyes shy and shrinking He was so obviously a novice at outlawry that fear sat heavy upon his shoulders. When he spoke, almost in a whisper, his teeth chattered.
“All ready, sir.”
“The wires are cut?” demanded his leader crisply.
“Yes, sir.”
“On both sides?”
“On both sides.”
His chief relieved the operator of the revolver in his desk, broke it, emptied out the shells, and flung them through the window, then tossed the weapon back to its owner.
“You'll not shoot yourself by accident now,” he explained, and with that he had followed his companion into the night.
There came to the station agent the sound of galloping horses, growing fainter, until a heavy silence seemed to fill the night. He stole to the door and locked it, pulled down the window blinds, and then reloaded his revolver with feverish haste. This done, he sat down before his keys with the weapon close at hand and frantically called for Tucson over and over again. No answer came to him, nor from the other direction when he tried that. The young bandit had told the truth. His companions had cut the wires and so isolated from the world for the time the scene of the hold-up. The agent understood now why the leader of the outlaws had honored him with so much of his valuable time. He had stayed to hold back the telegrams until he knew the wires were cut.
CHAPTER 3. THE SHERIFF INTRODUCES HIMSELF
Bear-trap Collins, presuming on the new intimacy born of an exciting experience shared in common, stepped across the aisle, flung aside Miss Wainwright's impedimenta, and calmly seated himself beside her. She was a young woman capable of a hauteur chillier than ice to undue familiarity, but she did not choose at this moment to resent his assumption of a footing that had not existed an hour ago. Picturesque and unconventional conduct excuses itself when it is garbed in picturesque and engaging manners. She had, besides, other reasons for wanting to meet him, and they had to do with a sudden suspicion that flamed like tow in her brain. She had something for which to thank him—much more than he would be likely to guess, she thought—and she was wondering, with a surge of triumph, whether the irony of fate had not made his pretended consideration for her the means of his undoing.
“I am sorry you lost so much, Miss Wainwright,” he told her.
“But, after all, I did not lose so much as you. Her dark, deep-pupiled eyes, long-lashed as Diana's, swept round to meet his coolly.
“That's a true word. My reputation has gone glimmering for fair, I guess.” He laughed ruefully. “I shouldn't wonder, ma'am, when election time comes round, if the boys ain't likely to elect to private life the sheriff that lay down before a bunch of miscreants.”
“Why did you do it?”
His humorous glance roamed round the car. “Now, I couldn't think it proper for me to shoot up this sumptuous palace on wheels. And wouldn't some casual passenger be likely to get his lights put out when the band began to play? Would you want that Boston church to be shy a preacher, ma'am?”
Her lips parted slightly in a curve of scorn. “I suppose you had your reasons for not interfering.”
“Surely, ma'am. I hated to have them make a sieve of me.”
“Were you afraid?”
“Most men are when Wolf Leroy's gang is on the war path.”
“Wolf Leroy?”
“That was Wolf who came in to see they were doing the job right. He's the worst desperado on the border—a sure enough bad proposition, I reckon. They say he's part Spanish and part Indian, but all pisen. Others say he's a college man of good family. I don't know about that, for nobody knows who he really is. But the name is a byword in the country. People lower their voices when they speak of him and his night-riders.”
“I see. And you were afraid of him?”
“Very much.”
Her narrowed eyes looked over the strong lines of his lean face and were unconvinced. “I expect you found a better reason than that for not opposing them.”
He turned to her with frank curiosity. “I'd like real well to have you put a name to it.”
But he was instantly aware that her interest had been side tracked. Major Mackenzie had entered the car and was coming down the aisle. Plainer than words his eyes asked a question, and hers answered it.
The sheriff stopped him with a smiling query: “Hit hard, major?”
Mackenzie frowned. “The scoundrels took thirty thousand from the express car, I understand. Twenty thousand of it belonged to our company. I was expecting to pay off the men next Tuesday.”
“Hope we'll be able to run them down for you,” returned Collins cheerfully. “I suppose you lay it to Wolf Leroy's gang?”
“Of course. The work was too well done to leave any doubt of that.” The major resumed his seat behind Miss Wainwright.
To that young woman the sheriff repeated his unanswered question in the form of a statement. “I'm waiting to learn that better reason, ma'am.”
She was possessed of that spice of effrontery more to be desired than beauty. “Shall we say that you had no wish to injure your friends?”
“My friends?”
Her untender eyes mocked his astonishment. “Do I choose the wrong word?” she asked, with an audacity of a courage that delighted him. “Perhaps they are not your friends—these train robbers? Perhaps they are mere casual acquaintances?”
His bold eyes studied with a new interest her superb, confident youth—the rolling waves of splendid Titian hair, the lovely, subtle eyes with the depths of shadowy pools in them, the alluring lines of long and supple loveliness. Certainly here was no sweet, ingenuous youth all prone to blushes, but the complex heir of that world-old wisdom the weaker sex has shaped to serve as a weapon against the strength that must be met with the wit of Mother Eve.
“You ce'tainly have a right vivid imagination, ma'am,” he said dryly.
“You are quite sure you have never seen them before?” her velvet voice asked.
He laughed. “Well, no—I can't say I am.”
“Aren't you quite sure you have seen them?”
Her eyes rested on him very steadily.
“You're smart as a whip, Miss Wainwright. I take off my hat to a young lady so clever. I guess you're right. About the identity of one of those masked gentlemen I'm pretty well satisfied.”
She