ine beside Bucky's head. So close had it shaved
him that a drop of blood gathered and dropped from his ear to the floor.

"Good shot," commented the ranger quietly, and on the instant his
revolver seemed to leap from its holster to his hand. Without raising or
moving his arm in the least, Bucky fired.

Again a murmur eddied through the crowd. The bullet had neatly bored
the bully's ear. He raised his hand in dazed fashion and brought it
away covered with blood. With staring eyes he looked at his moist red
fingers, then at his latest victim, who was proving such an unexpected
surprise.

The big cattleman, who by this time had pushed a way with his broad
shoulders to the front, observed the two men attentively with a derisive
smile on his frank face. He was seeing a bluff called, and he enjoyed
it.

"You'll be able to wear earrings, Mr. Champion of the Universe, after I
have ventilated the other," suggested the ranger affably. "Come again,
seh."

But his opponent had had enough, and more than enough. It was one thing
to browbeat a harmless boy, quite another to measure courage with a
young gamecock like this. He had all the advantage of the first move.
He was an expert and could drive his first throw into the youth's
heart. But at bottom he was a coward and lacked the nerve, if not the
inclination, to kill. If he took up that devil-may-care challenge he
must fight it out alone. Moreover, as his furtive glance went round the
ring of faces, he doubted whether a rope and the nearest telegraph pole
might not be his fate if he went the limit. Sourly he accepted defeat,
raging in his craven spirit at the necessity.

"Hell! I don't fight with boys," he snarled,

"So?"

Bucky moved forward with the curious lightness of a man spring-footed.
His gaze held the other's shifting eyes as he plucked the knife from his
opponent's hand.

"Unbuckle that belt," he ordered.

All said, the eye is a prince of weapons. It is a moral force more
potent than the physical, and by it men may measure strength to a
certainty. So now these two clinched and battled with it till the best
man won. The showman's look gave way before the stark courage of
the other. His was no match for the inscrutable, unwavering eye that
commanded him. His fingers began to twitch, edged slowly toward his
waist. For an instant they fumbled at the buckle of the belt, which
presently fell with a rattle to the floor.

"Now, roll yore trail to the wall. Face this