fellow unless you want to. That's a cinch."

The boy's troubled eyes were filmed with reminiscent terror. "You don't
know him. He is terrible when he is angry," he murmured.

"I don't think it," returned Bucky contemptuously. "He's the worst
blowhard ever. Say the word and I'll run the piker out of town for you."

The boy whipped up the sleeve of the fancy Mexican jacket he wore and
showed a long scar on his arm. "He did that one day when he was angry at
me. He pretended to others that it was an accident, but I knew better.
This morning I begged him to let me leave him. He beat me, but he was
still mad; and when he took to drinking I was afraid he would work
himself up to stick me again with one of his knives."

Bucky looked at the scar in the soft, rounded arm and swept the boy with
a sudden puzzled glance that was not suspicion but wonder.

"How long have you been with him, kid?"

"Oh, for years. Ever since I was a little fellow. He took me after my
father and mother died of yellow fever in New Orleans. His wife hates me
too, but they have to have me in the show."

"Then I guess you had better quit their company. What's your name?"

"Frank Hardman. On the show bills I have all sorts of names."

"Well, Frank, how would you like to go to live on a ranch?"

"Where he wouldn't know I was?" whispered the boy eagerly.

"If you like. I know a ranch where you'd be right welcome."

"I would work. I would do anything I could. Really, I would try to pay
my way, and I don't eat much," Frank cried, his eyes as appealing as a
homeless puppy's.

Bucky smiled. "I expect they can stand all you eat without going to the
poorhouse. It's a bargain then. I'll take you out there to-morrow."

"You're so good to me. I never had anybody be so good before." Tears
stood in the big eyes and splashed over.

"Cut out the water works, kid. You want to take a brace and act like a
man," advised his new friend brusquely.

"I know. I know. If you knew what I have done maybe you wouldn't ask
me to go with you. I--I can't tell you anything more than that," the
youngster sobbed.

"Oh, well. What's the diff? You're making a new start to-day. Ain't that
right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Call me Bucky."

"Yes, sir. Bucky, I mean."

A hand fell on the ranger's shoulder and a voice in his ear. "Young man,
I want you."

The lieutenant whirled like a streak of lightning, finger on trigger
already. "I'll trouble you for yore warrant, seh," he retor