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 country. The youth carried with
him none of the earmarks of his trade, unless it might be that quiet,
steady gaze that seemed to search the soul. His voice was soft and
drawling, his manner almost apologetic. In the smile that came and went
was something sweet and sunny, in his bearing a gay charm that did
not advertise the recklessness that bubbled from his daredevil spirit.
Surely here was an easy victim upon whom to vent his spleen, thought the
other in his growing passion.

"You want to be my target, do you?" he demanded, tugging ferociously at
his long mustache.

"If you please, seh."

The fellow swore a vile oath. "Just as you say. Line up beside the other
kid."

With three strides Bucky reached the wall, and turned.

"Let 'er go," his gentle voice murmured.

He was leaning back easily against the wall, his thumb hitched
carelessly in the revolver pocket of his worn leather chaps. He looked
at ease, every jaunty inch of him, but a big bronzed cattleman who had
just pushed his way in noticed that the frosty blue eyes never released
for an instant those of the enemy.

The bully at the table passed an uncertain hand over his face to clear
his blurred vision, poised the cruel blade in his hand, and sent it
flashing forward with incredible swiftness. The steel buried itself two
inches deep in the soft p