Bucky O'Connor

William Macleod Raine

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• Publié par: zaed
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 49
• Langue: English

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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bucky O'Connor, by William MacLeod Raine This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Bucky O'Connor Author: William MacLeod Raine Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #1809] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BUCKY O'CONNOR *** Produced by Mary Starr, and David Widger BUCKY O'CONNOR A Tale of the Unfenced Border By William MacLeod Raine To My Brother EDGAR C. RAINE MY DEAR WANDERER: I write your name on this page that you may know we hold you not less in our thoughts because you have heard and answered again the call of the frozen North, have for the time disappeared, swallowed in some of its untrodden wilds. As in those old days of 59 Below On Bonanza, the long Winter night will be of interminable length. Armed with this note of introduction then, Bucky O'Connor offers himself, with the best bow of one Adventurer to another, as a companion to while away some few of those lonely hours. March, 1910, Denver. BUCKY O'CONNOR Contents BUCKY O'CONNOR CHAPTER 1. CHAPTER 2. CHAPTER 3. CHAPTER 4. CHAPTER 5. CHAPTER 6. CHAPTER 7. CHAPTER 8. CHAPTER 9. CHAPTER 10. CHAPTER 11. CHAPTER 12. CHAPTER 13. CHAPTER 14. CHAPTER 15. CHAPTER 16. CHAPTER 17. CHAPTER 18. CHAPTER 19. CHAPTER 20. CHAPTER 21. CHAPTER 22. ENTER "BEAR-TRAP" COLLINS TAXATION WITHOUT REPRESENTATION THE SHERIFF INTRODUCES HIMSELF A BLUFF IS CALLED BUCKY ENTERTAINS BUCKY MAKES A DISCOVERY IN THE LAND OF REVOLUTIONS FIRST BLOOD! "ADORE HAS ONLY ONE D." THE HOLD-UP OF THE M. C. P. FLYER "STONE WALLS DO NOT A PRISON MAKE." A CLEAN WHITE MAN'S OPTION BUCKY'S FIRST-RATE REASONS LE ROI EST MORT; VIVE LE ROI IN THE SECRET CHAMBER JUAN VALDEZ SCORES HIDDEN VALLEY A DINNER FOR THREE A VILLON OF THE DESERT BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY THE WOLF PACK FOR A GOOD REASON CHAPTER 1. ENTER "BEAR-TRAP" COLLINS She had been aware of him from the moment of his spectacular entrance, though no slightest sign of interest manifested itself in her indolent, incurious eyes. Indeed, his abundant and picturesque area was so vivid that it would have been difficult not to feel his presence anywhere, let alone on a journey so monotonous as this was proving to be. It had been at a water-tank, near Socorro, that the Limited, churning furiously through brown Arizona in pursuit of a lost half-hour, jarred to a sudden halt that shook sleep from the drowsy eyes of bored passengers. Through the window of her Pullman the young woman in Section 3 had glimpsed a bevy of angry train officials eddying around a sturdy figure in the center, whose strong, lean head rose confidently above the press. There was the momentary whirl of a scuffle, out of the tangle of which shot a brakeman as if propelled from a catapult. The circle parted, brushed aside by a pair of lean shoulders, muscular and broad. Yet a few moments and the owner of the shoulders led down the aisle to the vacant section opposite her a procession whose tail was composed of protesting trainmen. "You had no right to flag the train, Sheriff Collins, and you'll have to get off; that's all there is to it," the conductor was explaining testily. "Oh, that's all right," returned the offender with easy good nature, making himself at home in Section 4. "Tell the company to send in its bill. No use jawing about it." "You'll have to get off, sir." "That's right—at Tucson." "No, sir. You'll have to get off here. I have no authority to let you ride." "Didn't I hear you say the train was late? Don't you think you'd arrive earlier at the end of your run if your choo-choo got to puffing?" "You'll have to get off, sir." "I hate to disoblige," murmured the owner of the jingling spurs, the dusty corduroys, and the big, gray hat, putting his feet leisurely on the cushion in front of him. "But doesn't it occur to you that you are a man of one idea?" "This is the Coast Limited. It doesn't stop for anybody—not even for the president of the road." "You don't say! Well, I ce'tainly appreciate the honor you did me in stopping to take me on." His slight drawl was quite devoid of concern. "But you had no right to flag the train. Can't you understand ANYTHING?" groaned the conductor. "You explain it again to me, sonny. I'm surely thick in the haid," soothed the intruder, and listened with bland good-humor to the official's flow of protest. "Well—well! Disrupted the whole transcontinental traffic, didn't I? And me so innocent, too. Now, this is how I figured it out. Here's me in a hurry to get to Tucson. Here comes your train a-foggin'—also and likewise hittin' the high spots for Tucson. Seemed like we ought to travel in company, and I was some dubious she'd forget to stop unless I flagged her. Wherefore, I aired my bandanna in the summer breeze." "But you don't understand." The conductor began to explain anew as to a dull child. "It's against the law. You'll get into trouble." "Put me in the calaboose, will they?" "It's no joke." "Well, it does seem to be worrying you," Mr. Collins conceded. "Don't mind me. Free your mind proper." The conductor, glancing about nervously, noticed that passengers were smiling broadly. His official dignity was being chopped to mince-meat. Back came his harassed gaze to the imperturbable Collins with the brown, sun-baked face and the eyes blue and untroubled as an Arizona sky. Out of a holster attached to the sagging belt that circled the corduroy trousers above his hips gleamed the butt of a revolver. But in the last analysis the weapon of the occasion was purely a moral one. The situation was one not covered in the company's rule book, and in the absence of explicit orders the trainman felt himself unequal to that unwavering gaze and careless poise. Wherefore, he retreated, muttering threats of what the company would do. "Now, if I had only known it was against the law. My thick haid's always roping trouble for me," the plainsman confided to the Pullman conductor, with twinkling eyes. That official unbent. "Talking about thick heads, I'm glad my porter has one. If it weren't iron-plated and copper-riveted he'd be needing a doctor now, the way you stood him on it." "No, did I?