Brand Blotters

"Have you ever seen this MacQueen, Miss Lee?" he asked.

"Not unless he was there when Mr. West was kidnapped."

"Did you know any of the men?"

She hesitated. "I thought one was Duncan Boone."

"What made you think so?"

"He was the leader, I think, moved the way he does." Her anger flashed for

an instant. "And acted like him--detestably."

"Was he violent to West? Injure him?"

"No--he didn't do him any physical injury that I saw. I wasn't thinking

about Mr. West."

"Surely he didn't lay hands on you!"

She looked up, in time to see the flicker of amusement sponged from his

face. It stirred vague anger in her. "He was insolent and ungentlemanly."

"As how?"

"It doesn't matter how." Her manner specifically declined to

particularize.

"Would you recognize him again if you met him? Describe him, if you can."

"Yes. I used to know him well--before he became known as an outlaw," she

added after a perceptible hesitation. "There's something ravenous about

him."

"You mean that he is fierce and bloodthirsty?"

"No--I don't mean that; though, for that matter, I don't think he would

stick at anything. What I mean is that he is pantherine in his

movements--more lithe and supple than most men are."

"Is he a big man?"

"No--medium size, and dark."

"There were four of them, you say?"

"Yes. Jack saw them, too, but at a distance."

"He reached you after they were out of sight?"

"They had been gone about five minutes when I saw him--five or ten. I

couldn't be sure."

"Boone offered no personal indignity to you?"

"Why are you so sure?" she flashed.

"The story is that he is quite the ladies' man."

Melissy laughed scornfully.

At his request, she went over again the story of the abduction, telling

everything save the matter of the ravished kisses. This she kept to

herself. She did not quite know why, except that there was something she

did not like about this Bucky O'Connor. He had a trick of narrowing his

eyes and gloating over her, as a cat gloats over its expected kill.

However, his confidence impressed her. Cocksure he was, and before long

she knew him boastful; but competence sat on him, none the less. She

thought she could see why he was held to be the most deadly bloodhound on

a trail that even Arizona could produce. That he was fearless she did not

need to be told, any more than she needed a certificate that on occasion

he could be merciless. On the other hand, he fitted very badly with the

character of the young lieutenant of rangers, as Jack Flatray had sketched

it for her. Her friend's description of his hero had been enthusiastic.

She decided that the young cattleman was a bad judge of men--though, of

course, he had never actually met O'Connor.