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that mean you think I'm not Bucky O'Connor?" He had pushed his pony forward so as to cut off her advance, and both had halted for the moment.

      She looked at him with level, fearless eyes. "I don't know who you are."

      "But you think I'm not Lieutenant O'Connor of the rangers?"

      "I don't know whether you are or not."

      "There is nothing like making sure. Just look over this letter, please."

      She did so. It was from the governor of the Territory to the ranger officer. While he was very complimentary as to past services, the governor made it plain that he thought O'Connor must at all hazards succeed in securing the release of Simon West. This would be necessary for the good name of the Territory. Otherwise, a widespread report would go out that Arizona was a lawless place in which to live.

      Melissy folded the letter and handed it back. "I beg your pardon, Lieutenant O'Connor. I see that I was wrong."

      "Forget it, my dear. We all make mistakes." He had that curious mocking smile which so often hovered about his lips. She felt as though he were deriding her--as though his words held some hidden irony which she could not understand.

      "The governor seems very anxious to have you succeed. It will be a black eye for Arizona if this band of outlaws is not apprehended. You don't think, do you, that they will do Mr. West any harm, if their price is not paid? They would never dare."

      He took this up almost as though he resented it. "They would dare anything. I reckon you'll have to get up early in the mornin' to find a gamer man than Black MacQueen."

      "I wouldn't call it game to hurt an old man whom he has in his power. But you mustn't let it come to that. You must save him. Are you making any progress? Have you run down any of the band? And while I think of it--have you seen to-day's paper?"

      "No--why?"

      "The biggest story on the front page is about the West case. It seems that this MacQueen wired to Chicago to Mr. Lucas, president of one of the lines on the Southwestern system, that they would release Mr. West for three hundred thousand dollars in gold. He told him a letter had been mailed to the agent at Mesa, telling under just what conditions the money was to be turned over; and he ended with a threat that, if steps were taken to capture the gang, or if the money were not handed over at the specified time, Mr. West would disappear forever."

      "Did the paper say whether the money would be turned over?"

      "It said that Mr. Lucas was going to get into touch with the outlaws at once, to effect the release of his chief."

      A gleam of triumph flashed in the eyes of the man. "That's sure the best way."

      "It won't help your reputation, will it?" she asked. "Won't people say that you failed on this case?"

      He laughed softly, as if at some hidden source of mirth. "I shouldn't wonder if they did say that Bucky O'Connor hadn't made good this time. They'll figure he tried to ride herd on a job too big for him."

      Her surprised eye brooded over this, too. Here he was defending the outlaw chief, and rejoicing at his own downfall. There seemed to be no end to the contradictions in this man. She was to run across another tangled thread of the puzzle a few minutes later.

      She had dismounted to let him tighten the saddle cinch. Owing to the heat, he had been carrying his coat in front of him. He tossed it on a boulder by the side of the trail, in such a way that the inside pocket hung down. From it slid some papers and a photograph. Melissy looked down at the picture, then instantly stooped and picked it up. For it was a photograph of a very charming woman and three children, and across the bottom of it was written a line.

      "To Bucky, from his loving wife and children."

      The girl handed it to the man without a word, and looked him full in the face.

      "Bowled out, by ginger!" he said, with a light laugh.

      But as she continued to look at him--a man of promise, who had plainly traveled far on the road to ruin--the conviction grew on her that the sweet-faced woman in the photograph was no loving wife of his. He was a man who might easily take a woman's fancy, but not one to hold her love for years through the stress of life. Moreover, Bucky O'Connor held the respect of all men. She had heard him spoken of, and always with a meed of affection that is given to few men. Whoever this graceless scamp was, he was not the lieutenant of rangers.

      The words slipped out before she could stop them: "You're not Lieutenant O'Connor at all."

      "Playing on that string again, are you?" he jeered.

      "I'm sure of it this time."

      "Since you know who I'm not, perhaps you can tell me, too, who I am."

      In that instant before she spoke, while her steady eyes rested on him, she put together many things which had puzzled her. All of them pointed to one conclusion. Even now her courage did not fail her. She put it into words quietly:

      "You are that villain Black MacQueen."

      He stared at her in surprise. "By God, girl--you're right. I'm MacQueen, though I don't know how you guessed it."

      "I don't know how I kept from guessing it so long. I can see it, now, as plain as day, in all that you have done."

      After that they measured strength silently with their eyes. If the situation had clarified itself, with the added knowledge of the girl had come new problems. Let her return to Mesa, and he could no longer pose as O'Connor; and it was just the audacity of this double play that delighted him. He was the most reckless man on earth; he loved to take chances. He wanted to fool the officers to his heart's content, and then jeer at them afterward. Hitherto everything had come his way.

      But if this girl should go home, he could not show his face at Mesa; and the spice of the thing would be gone. He was greatly taken with her beauty, her daring, and the charm of high spirits which radiated from her. Again and again he had found himself drawn back to her. He was not in love with her in any legitimate sense; but he knew now that, if he could see her no more, life would be a savorless thing, at least until his fancy had spent itself. Moreover, her presence at Dead Man's Cache would be a safeguard. With her in his power, Lee and Flatray, the most persistent of his hunters, would not dare to move against the outlaws.

      Inclination and interest worked together. He decided to take her back with him to the country of hidden pockets and gulches. There, in time, he would win her love--so his vanity insisted. After that they would slip away from the scene of his crimes, and go back to the world from which he had years since vanished.

      The dream grew on him. It got hold of his imagination. For a moment he saw himself as the man he had been meant for--the man he might have been, if he had been able to subdue his evil nature. He saw himself respected, a power in the community, going down to a serene old age, with this woman and their children by his side. Then he laughed derisively, and brushed aside the vision.

      "Why didn't the real Lieutenant O'Connor arrive to expose you?" she asked.

      "The real Bucky is handcuffed and guarded at Dead Man's Cache. I don't think he's enjoying himself to-day."

      "You're getting quite a collection of prisoners. You'll be starting a penitentiary on your own account soon," she told him sharply.

      "That's right. And I'm taking another one back with me to-night."

      "Who is he?"

      "It's a lady this time--Miss Melissy Lee."

      His words shook her. An icy hand seemed to clamp upon her heart. The blood ebbed even from her lips, but her brave eyes never faltered from his.

      "So you war on women, too!"

      He gave her his most ironic bow. "I don't war on you, my dear. You shall have half of my kingdom, if you ask it--and all my heart."

      "I can't use either," she told him quietly. "But I'm only a girl. If you have a spark of manliness in you, surely you won't take me a prisoner among those wild, bad men of yours."

      "Those

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