with trying a brand new one drawled the ranger, his quiet,
unwavering eye fixed on the bloated, mottled face of the
imitation "bad man."

The bully, half seas over, leaned forward and gripped his knife.
He was sober enough to catch the jeer running through the other's
words without being sufficiently master of himself to appreciate
the menace that underlay them.

"Wha's that? Say that again!" he burst out, purple to the collar
line. He was not used to having beardless boys with long, soft
eyelashes interfering with his amusements, and a blind rage
flooded his heart.

"I allowed that a change of targets would vary the entertainment,
if you haven't any objections, seh," the blue-eyed stranger
explained mildly.

"Who is this kid?" demanded the bully, with a sweep of his arm
toward the intruder.

Nobody seemed to know, wherefore the ranger himself gave the
information mildly:

"Bucky O'Connor they call me."

A faint murmur of surprise soughed through the crowd, for Bucky
O'Connor of the Arizona Rangers was by way of being a public hero
just now on account of his capture of Fernendez, the stage
robber. But the knife thrower had but lately arrived in the