The lieutenant whirled like a streak of lightning, finger on trigger already. “I’ll trouble you for yore warrant, seh,” he retorted.
The man confronting him was the big cattleman who had entered the Silver Dollar in time to see O’Connor’s victory over the showman. Now he stood serenely under Bucky’s gun and laughed.
“Put up your .45, my friend. It’s a peaceable conference I want with you.”
The level eyes of the young man fastened on those of the cattleman, and, before he spoke again, were satisfied. For both of these men belonged to the old West whose word is as good as its bond, that West which will go the limit for a cause once under taken without any thought of retreat, regardless of the odds or the letter of the law. Though they had never met before, each knew at a glance the manner of man the other was.
“All right, seh. If you want me I reckon I’m here large as life,” the ranger said,
“We’ll adjourn to the poker room upstairs then, Mr. O’Connor.”
Bucky laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy. “This kid goes with me. I’m keeping an eye on him for the present.”
“My business is private, but I expect that can be arranged. We’ll take the inner room and let him have the outer.”
“Good enough. Break trail, seh. Come along, Frank.”
Having reached the poker room upstairs, that same private room which had seen many a big game in its day between the big cattle kings and mining men of the Southwest, Bucky’s host ordered refreshments and then unfolded his business.