O’Connor appeared to grope with this in amazement.
“One has to stretch the truth sometimes in my profession,” went on the outlaw smoothly. “It may interest you to know that yesterday I passed as Lieutenant O’Connor. When I was O’Connor I arrested Flatray; and now that I am Flatray I have arrested O’Connor. Turn about is fair play, you know.”
“Interesting, if true,” O’Connor retorted easily.
“You can bank on its truth, my friend.”
“And you’re actually going to kill me in cold blood.”
The black eyes narrowed. “Just as I would a dog,” said the outlaw, with savage emphasis.
“I don’t believe it. I’ve done you no harm.”
MacQueen glanced at him contemptuously. The famous Bucky O’Connor looked about as competent as a boy in the pimply age.
“I thought you had better sense. Do you think I would have brought you to Dead Man’s Cache if I had intended you to go away alive? I’m afraid, Lieutenant Bucky O’Connor, that you’re a much overrated man. Your reputation sure would have 241 blown up, if you had lived. You ought to thank me for preserving it.”
“Preserving it—how?”