Dead Man's Cache - Chapter 4 The Real Bucky and the False

"My name, seh."

The young man in the seat had slewed his head around sharply, and made
answer with a crisp, businesslike directness.

The new-comer smiled. "I'll have to introduce myself, lieutenant. My name
is Flatray. I've come to meet you."

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Flatray. I hope that together we can work this
thing out right. MacQueen has gathered a bunch that ought to be cleaned
out, and I reckon now's the time to do it. I've been reading about him for
a year. I've got a notion he's about the ablest thing in bad men this
Territory has seen for a good many years."

Flatray sat down on the seat opposite O'Connor. A smile flicked across his
face, and vanished. "I'm of that opinion myself, lieutenant."

"Tell me all about this affair of the West kidnapping," the ranger
suggested.

The other man told the story while O'Connor listened, alert to catch every
point of the narrative.

The face of the lieutenant of rangers was a boyish one--eager, genial, and
frank; yet, none the less, strength lay in the close-gripped jaw and in
the steady, watchful eye. His lithe, tense body was like a coiled spring;
and that, too, though he seemed to be very much at ease.

With every sentence that the other spoke, O'Connor was judging Flatray,
appraising him for a fine specimen of a hard-bitten breed--a vigilant
frontiersman, competent to the finger tips. Yet he was conscious that, in
spite of the man's graceful ease and friendly smile, he did not like
Flatray. He would not ask for a better man beside him in a tight pinch;
but he could not deny that something sinister which breathed from his
sardonic, devil-may-care face.