Frederick Robert Buckley

Frederick Robert Buckley

Summary

Portrait of Frederick Robert Buckley Frederick Robert Buckley The Red Book Magazine, Volume 38… (1922)

The lean man, unemotional as ever, sat perfectly still, looking alter nately at the cloud-dappled sky, and at the cabin, from which now came a murmur of voices which seemed to harmonize, with a strange effect of joy, to the half-heard bass of the night-wind.
It was a full ten minutes before Will Arblaster reappeared in the doorway Arblaster reappeared in the doorway the light, a quick movement of his hand the light, a quick movement of his hand through the darkness toward his horse. Still the lean man did not move.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Frederick Robert Buckley Frederick Robert Buckley The Red Book Magazine, Volume 38… (1922)

The lean man, sitting his horse, motionless, heard the rap of knuckles on the door —then a pause, the rattle of the latch. A moment later there came the heavy thud of a shoulder against wood—a cracking sound, and a crash as the door went down. The lean man’s lips tightened. From within the cabin came the noise of one stumbling over furniture; then the fitful fire of a match illumined the windows.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Frederick Robert Buckley Frederick Robert Buckley The Red Book Magazine, Volume 38… (1922)

The hard-faced man made, it seemed, a very slight movement— a mere flick of the hand at his low-slung belt: but it was a movement perfectly appraised by the man in the shadows.
“Wait a minute!” the voice pleaded.
A moment later, his hands upraised, his pony’s bridle-reins caught in the crook of one arm, a young man moved into the zone of light that shone bravely out through Tim Geogehan’s back window.
“Don’t shoot,” he said, trying to control his nervousness before the weapon unwaveringly trained on him. “I’m—a friend.”
Source: Wikisource

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