“Are you in this, Bucky?” asked Cullison evenly.
“You’re right I am. He’s my prisoner.”
“What for?”
“For robbing the W. & S.”
Luck’s face lit. “Have you evidence enough to cinch him?”
“Not enough yet. But I’ll take no chances on his getting away.”
The cattleman’s countenance reflected his thoughts as his decision hung in the balance. He longed to pay his debt on the spot. But on the other hand he had been a sheriff himself. As an outsider he had no right to interfere between an officer and his captive. Besides, if there was a chance to send Fendrick over the road that would be better than killing. It would clear up his own reputation, to some extent under a cloud.
“All right, Bucky. If the law wants him I’ll step aside for the time.”
The sheepman laughed in his ironic fashion. His amusement mocked them both. “Most as good as a play of the movies, ain’t it? But we’d ought all to have our guns out to make it realistic.”
But in his heart he did not jeer. For the situation had been nearer red tragedy than melodrama. The resource and firmness of Bucky O’Connor had alone made it possible to shave disaster by a hair’s breadth and no more.