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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:35 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:34:35 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10473-0.txt b/10473-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72a7cdf --- /dev/null +++ b/10473-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12401 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10473 *** + +[Illustration: "They picked up our trail somehow ... they're about +three miles back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground"] + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + +BY WILLIAM PATTERSON WHITE + +AUTHOR OF + +"_The Rider of Golden Bar_," "_Hidden Trails_," "_Lynch Lawyers_," +"_The Owner of the Lazy D_," "_Paradise Bend_," _etc_. + + +1921 + + + + +TO RANGER + +A GOOD HORSE AND A BETTER FRIEND + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + +I. THE HORSE THIEF + +II. THE YELLOW DOG + +III. THE TALL STRANGER + +IV. THE OLD LADY + +V. McFLUKE's + +VI. CHANGE OF PLAN + +VII. THE RIDDLE + +VIII. THE STARLIGHT + +IX. THROWING SAND + +X. THE BACK PORCH + +XI. THE LOOKOUT + +XII. THE DISCOVERY + +XIII. A BOLD BAD MAN + +XIV. THE SURPRISE + +XV. FIRE! FIRE! + +XVI. THE BAR S + +XVII. SIGNED PAPER + +XVIII. THE SHOWDOWN + +XIX. THE SHOOTING + +XX. DRAWING THE COVER + +XXI. GONE AWAY + +XXII. A CHECK + +XXIII. TAKING FENCES + +XXIV. DIPLOMACY + +XXV. STRATEGY + +XXVI. THE QUARREL + +XXVII. BURGLARY + +XXVIII. THE LETTERS + +XXIX. HUE AND CRY + +XXX. THE REGISTER + +XXXI. THE LAST TRICK + +XXXII. THE END OF THE TRAIL + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE HORSE THIEF + + +It was a warm summer morning in the town of Farewell. Save a dozen +horses tied to the hitching-rail in front of various saloons and the +Blue Pigeon Store and Bill Lainey, the fat landlord of the hotel, who +sat snoring in a reinforced telegraph chair on the sidewalk in the +shade of his wooden awning, Main Street was a howling wilderness. + +Dust overlay everything. It had not rained in weeks. In the blacksmith +shop, diagonally across the street from the hotel, Piney Jackson was +shoeing a mule. The mule was invisible, but one knew it was a mule +because Piney Jackson has just come out and taken a two-by-four from +the woodpile behind the shop. And it was a well-known fact that Piney +never used a two-by-four on any animal other than a mule. But this by +the way. + +In the barroom of the Happy Heart Saloon there were only two customers +and the bartender. One of the former, a brown-haired, sunburnt young +man with ingenuous blue eyes, was singing: + + "_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + An' merrily jump the stile O! + Yore cheerful heart goes all the day, + Yore sad tires in a mile O_!" + +Mr. Racey Dawson, having successfully sung the first verse, rested +both elbows on the bar and grinned at the bartender. That worthy +grinned back, and, knowing Mr. Dawson, slid the bottle along the bar. + +"Have one yoreself, Bill," Mr. Dawson nodded to the bartender. +"Whu--where's Swing? Oh, yeah." + +Mr. Dawson, head up, chest out, stepping high, and walking very +stiffly as befitted a gentleman somewhat over-served with liquor, +crossed the barroom to where bristle-haired Swing Tunstall sat on a +chair and slumbered, his head on his arms and his arms on a table. + +Mr. Dawson stooped and blew into Mr. Tunstall's right ear. Mr. +Tunstall began to snore gently. Growing irritated by this continued +indifference on the part of Mr. Tunstall, Mr. Dawson seized the chair +by rung and back and incontinently dumped Mr. Tunstall all abroad on +the saloon floor. + +Mr. Tunstall promptly hitched himself into a corner and drifted deeper +into slumber. + +Mr. Dawson turned a perplexed face on the bartender. + +"Now what you gonna do with a feller like that?" Mr. Dawson asked, +plaintively. + +Mr. Jack Richie, manager of the Cross-in-a-box ranch, entering at the +moment, temporarily diverted Mr. Dawson's attention. For Mr. Dawson +had once ridden for the Cross-in-a-box outfit. Hence he was moved +literally to fall upon the neck of Mr. Richie. + +"Lean on yore own breakfast," urged Mr. Richie, studiously dissembling +his joy at sight of his old friend, and carefully steering Mr. Dawson +against the bar. "Here, I know what you need. Drink hearty, Racey." + +"'S'on me," declared Mr. Dawson. "Everythin's on me. I gug-got money, +I have, and I aim to spend it free an' plenty, 'cause there's more +where I'm goin'. An' I ain't gonna earn it punchin' cows, neither." + +"Don't do anything rash," Mr. Richie advised, and took advantage of a +friend's privilege to be insulting. "I helped lynch a road-agent only +last month." + +"Which the huh-holdup business is too easy for a live man," opined Mr. +Dawson. "We want somethin' mum-more diff-diff-diff'cult, me an' Swing +do, so we're goin' to Arizona where the gold grows. No more wrastlin' +cows. No more hard work for us. _We're_ gonna get rich quick, we are. +What you laughin' at?" + +"I never laugh," denied Mr. Richie. "When yo're stakin' out claims +don't forget me." + +"We won't," averred Mr. Dawson, solemnly. "Le's have another." + +They had another--several others. + +The upshot was that when Mr. Richie (who was the lucky possessor of +a head that liquor did not easily affect) departed homeward at four +P.M., he left behind him a sadly plastered Mr. Dawson. + +Mr. Tunstall, of course, was still sleeping deeply and noisily. +But Mr. Dawson had long since lost interest in Mr. Tunstall. It is +doubtful whether he remembered that Mr. Tunstall existed. The two +had begun their party immediately after breakfast. Mr. Tunstall had +succumbed early, but Mr. Dawson had not once halted his efforts to +make the celebration a huge success. So it is not a subject for +surprise that Mr. Dawson, some thirty minutes after bidding Mr. Richie +an affectionate farewell, should stagger out into the street and ride +away on the horse of someone else. + +The ensuing hours of the evening and the night were a merciful blank +to Mr. Dawson. His first conscious thought was when he awoke at dawn +on a side-hill, a sharp rock prodding him in the small of the back and +the bridle-reins of his dozing horse wound round one arm. Only it was +not his horse. His horse was a red roan. This horse was a bay. It +wasn't his saddle, either. + +"Where's my hoss?" he demanded of the world at large and sat up +suddenly. + +The sharp movement wrung a groan from the depths of his being. The +loss of his horse was drowned in the pains of his aching head. Never +was such all-pervading ache. He knew the top was coming off. He knew +it. He could feel it, and then did--with his fingers. He groaned +again. + +His tongue was dry as cotton, and it hurt him to swallow. He stood up, +but as promptly sat down. In a whisper--for speech was torture--he +began to revile himself for a fool. + +"I might have known it," was his plaint. "I had a feelin' when I took +that last glass it was one too many. I never did know when to stop. +I'd like to know how I got here, and where my hoss is, and who belongs +to this one?" + +He eyed the mount with disfavour. He had never cared for bays. + +"An' that ain't much of a saddle, either," he went on with his +soliloquy. "Cheap saddle--looks like a boy's saddle--an' a old +saddle--bet Noah used one just like it--try to rope with that saddle +an' you'd pull the horn to hellen gone. Wonder what's in that +saddle-pocket." + +He pulled himself erect slowly and tenderly. His knees were very +shaky. His head throbbed like a squeezed boil, but--he wanted to learn +what was in that saddle-pocket. Possibly he might obtain therein a +clue to the horse's owner. + +He slipped the strap of the pocket-flap, flipped it open, inserted his +fingers, and drew forth a small package wrapped in newspaper and tied +with the blue string affected by the Blue Pigeon Store in Farewell. + +Mr. Dawson balanced the package on two fingers for a reflective +instant, then he snapped the string and opened the package. + +"Socks an' a undershirt," he said, disgustedly, and started to say +more, but paused, for there was something queer about that undershirt. +His head was still spinning, and his eyes were sandy, but he perceived +quite plainly that there were narrow blue ribbons running round the +neck of that undershirt. He unrolled the socks and found them much +longer in the leg than the kind habitually worn by men. Mr. Dawson +agitatedly dived his hand once more into the saddle-pocket. And this +time he pulled out a tortoise-shell shuttle round which was wrapped +several inches of lingerie edging. But Mr. Dawson did not call it +lingerie edging. He called it tatting and swore again. + +"That settles it," he said, cheerlessly. "I've stole some woman's +cayuse." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE YELLOW DOG + + +It was a chastened Racey Dawson that returned to Farewell. He went +directly to the blacksmith shop. + +"'Lo, Hoss Thief," was Piney Jackson's cheerful greeting. + +"Whose is it?" demanded Racey Dawson, wiping his hot face. "Whose hoss +have I stole?" + +"Oh, you'll catch it," chuckled the humorous Piney. "Yep, you betcha. +You've got a gall, you have. Camly prancing out of a saloon an' +glooming onto a lady's hoss. What kind o' doin's is that, I'd like to +know?" + +"You blasted idjit!" cried the worried Racey. "Whose hoss is this?" + +"I kind o' guessed maybe something disgraceful like this here would +happen when I seen you and yore friend sashay into the Happy Heart. +And the barkeep said you had two snifters and a glass o' milk, too. +Honest, Racey, you'd oughta be more careful how you mix yore drinks." + +"Don't try to be a bigger jack than you are," Racey adjured him in +a tone that he strove to make contemptuous. "You think yo're awful +funny--just too awful funny, don't you? I'm askin' you, you fish-faced +ape, whose hoss this is I got here?" + +"Don't you know?" grinned Piney, elevating both eyebrows. "Lordy, I +wouldn't be in yore shoes for something. Nawsir. She'll snatch you +baldheaded, she will. The old lady was wild when she come out an' +found her good hoss missing. And she shore said what she thought of +you some more when she seen she had to ride home on that old crow's +dinner of a moth-eaten accordeen you left behind." + +Racey Dawson was too reduced in spirit to properly take umbrage at +this insult to his horse. He could only repeat his request that Piney +make not of himself a bigger fool than usual. And when Piney did +nothing but laugh immoderately, Racey grinned foolishly. + +"If my head didn't ache so hard," he assured the chortling blacksmith, +"I'd shore talk to you, but--Say, lookit here, Piney, quit yore +foolin', will you? Who owns this hoss, anyway?" + +"Here comes Kansas," said Piney. "Betcha five even he arrests you for +a hoss thief." + +"Gimme odds an' I'll go you," Racey returned, promptly. + +"Even," stuck out Piney. + +"Naw, he might do it. You Farewell jiggers hang together too hard for +me to take any chances. 'Lo, Kansas." + +"Howdy, Racey," nodded Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. "How long you +been rustlin' hosses?" + +"A damsight longer'n I like," Racey replied, frankly. "Who _does_ own +this hoss?" + +"Y' oughta asked that question yesterday," said Kansas, severely, but +with a twinkle in his black eyes that belied his tone. "This here +would be mighty serious business for you if the Sheriff was in town. +Jake's so particular about being legal an' all. Yessir, Racey, +old-timer, I expect you'd spend some time in the calaboose--if you +wasn't lynched previous." + +"Don't scare the poor feller," pleaded Piney in a tone of deepest +compassion. "He'll be cryin' in a minute." + +"In a minute I'll be doing somethin' besides cry if you fellers don't +stop yore funning. This here is past a joke, this is, and--" + +"Shore it's past a joke," Kansas concurred, warmly, "an' I ain't +funning, not for a minute. You go give that hoss back, Racey, or +you'll be sorry." + +"Well, for Gawd's sake tell me who to give it back to!" bawled Racey, +and immediately batted his eyes and gingerly patted the back of his +head. + +"Head ache?" queried Kansas. "I expect it might after last night. You +go give that hoss back like a good boy." + +So saying Kansas Casey turned his back and retreated rapidly in the +direction of the Starlight Saloon. + +Racey Dawson glared vindictively after the departing deputy. Then he +switched his angry blue eyes to the blacksmith's smiling countenance. + +"You can all," said Racey Dawson, distinctly, "go plumb to hell." + +He turned the purloined pony on a dime and loped up the street, +followed by the ribald laughter of Piney Jackson. + +"They think they're so terrible funny," Racey muttered, mournfully, +as he dismounted and tied at the hitching rail in front of the Happy +Heart. "Now if I can only find Swing--" + +But Swing Tunstall, it appeared on consulting the bartender, had gone +off hunting him (Racey). The latter did not appeal to the bartender to +divulge the name of the horse's owner. He had, he believed, furnished +the local populace sufficient amusement for one day. He had a small +drink, for he felt that he needed a bracer, and with the liquor he +imbibed inspiration. + +Miss Blythe, Mike Flynn's partner in the Blue Pigeon Store! She would +know whose horse it was, for certainly the horse's owner had bought +the undershirt and the stockings at the Blue Pigeon. Furthermore, +Miss Blythe looked like a right-minded individual. She would take no +pleasure in devilling a man. Not she. + +Racey Dawson set down his glass and hurried to the Blue Pigeon Store. +Miss Blythe, at his entrance, ceased checking tomato cans and came +forward. + +"Ma'am," said Racey, "will you come to the door a minute? No, no, +don't be scared!" he added as the lady drew back a step. "I'm kind +of in trouble, an' I want you to help me out. I'm--my name's Racey +Dawson, an' I used to ride for the Cross-in-a-box before I got a job +up at the Bend. Jack Richie knows me. I ain't crazy--honest." + +For Miss Blythe continued to look doubtful. "I--" she began. + +"Lookit," he interrupted, "yesterday I got a heap drunk an' I rode off +on somebody's hoss without meaning to--I mean I thought it was my hoss +and it wasn't. An' I thought maybe you'd tell me who the hoss belongs +to so's I can return him and get mine back. She took mine, they tell +me. Not that I blame her a mite," he added, hastily. + +Pretty Miss Blythe smiled suddenly. "I did hear something about a +switch in horses yesterday afternoon," she admitted. "But I thought +Mr. Flynn said Tom Dowling was the man's name. Certainly I remember +you now, Mr. Dawson, although at first your--your beard--" + +"Yeah, I know," he put in, hurriedly. "I ain't shaved since I left the +Bend, and I slept mostly on my face last night, but it's li'l ol' me +all right behind the whiskers and real estate. Yeah, that's the hoss +yonder--the one next the pinto." + +"I know the horse," said Miss Blythe, drawing back from the doorway. +"It belongs to the Dales over at Medicine Spring on Soogan Creek." + +"Oh, I know _them_," Racey declared, confidently (he had been at the +Dales' precisely once). "The girl married Chuck Morgan. Shore, Mis' +Dale's hoss, huh? I'll take it right back soon's I get shaved. I +s'pose I'll have a jomightyful time explaining it to the old lady." + +"It isn't the mother's horse. It's the daughter's. She was in town +yesterday." + +"You mean Chuck's wife, Mis' Morgan?" + +"I mean _Miss_ Molly Dale, the _other_ daughter." + +"I didn't know they had another daughter," puzzled Racey, thinking of +what Piney Jackson had said anent an "old lady." "They must 'a' kept +her in the background when I was there that time. What is she--a old +maid?" + +"Oh, middle-aged, perhaps," was the straight-faced reply. + +"Shucks, I might have known it," grumbled Racey; "middle-aged old +maid! I know what they're like. I had one once for a school-teacher. I +can feel her lickings yet. She was the contrariest female I ever met. +Shucks, I--Well, if I gotta, I gotta. Might's well get it over with +now as later. Thanks, ma'am, for helping me out." + +Racey Dawson shambled dejectedly forth to effect the feeding of Miss +Molly Dale's horse at the hotel corral. For his own breakfast he went +to Sing Luey's Canton Restaurant. Because while Bill Lainey offered +no objections to feeding the horse, Mrs. Lainey utterly refused to +provide snacks at odd hours for good-for-nothing, stick-a-bed punchers +who were too lazy to eat at the regular meal-time. So there, now. + +"But I ain't gonna shave," he told himself, as he disposed of fried +steak and potatoes sloshed down by several cups of coffee. "If she's a +old maid like they say it don't matter how tough I look." + +He was reflectively stirring the grounds in the bottom of his sixth +cup when a small and frightened yellow dog dashed into the restaurant +and fled underneath Racey's table, where he cowered next to Racey's +boots and cuddled a lop-eared head against Racey's knee. + +Racey had barely time to glance down and discover that the yellow +nondescript was no more than a pup when a burly youth charged into +the restaurant and demanded in no uncertain tones to know where that +adjective dog had hidden himself. + +Racey took an instant dislike to the burly youth, still--it was his +dog. And it is a custom of the country to let every man, as the saying +is, skin his own deer. He that takes exception to this custom and +horns in on what cannot rightfully be termed his particular business, +will find public opinion dead against him and his journey unseasonably +full of incident. + +Racey moved a leg. "This him, stranger?" + +The burly youth (it was evident that he was not wholly sober) glared +at Racey Dawson. "Shore it's him!" he declared. "Whatell you hidin' +him for? Get outa the way!" + +Whereupon the burly youth advanced upon Racey. + +This was different. Oh, quite. The burly youth had by his brusque +manner and rude remarks included Racey in his (the burly youth's) +business. + +Racey met the burly youth rather more than halfway. He hit him so hard +on the nose that the other flipped backward through the doorway and +landed on his ear on the sidewalk. + +Racey followed him out. The burly youth, bleeding copiously from the +nose, sat up and fumbled uncertainly for his gun. + +"No," said Racey with decision, aiming his sixshooter at the word. +"You leave that gun alone, and lemme tell you, stranger, while we're +together, that I want to buy that pup of yores. A gent like you ain't +fit company for a self-respecting dog to associate with. Nawsir." + +"You got the drop," grumbled the burly youth. + +"Which is one on you," Racey observed, good-humouredly. + +"Maybe I'll be seein' you again," suggested the other. + +"Don't lemme see you first," advised Racey. "Never mind getting up. +Just sit nice and quiet like a good boy, and keep the li'l hands +spread out all so pretty with the thumbs locked over yore head. 'At's +the boy. How much for yore dog, feller?" + +"What you done to my dog?" A woman's voice broke on Racey's ears. But +he did not remove his slightly narrowed eyes from the face of the +burly youth. + +"What you done to my dog?" The question was repeated, and the speaker +came close to the burly youth and looked down at him. Now that the +woman was within his range of vision Racey perceived that she was the +Happy Heart lookout, a good-looking creature with brown hair and a +lithe figure. + +The girl's fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed +whitely against the pink. Two red spots flared on the white skin of +her cheeks. + +"Dam yore soul!" swore the lady. "I want my dog! How many tunes I +gotta ask you, huh? Where is he? Say somethin', you dumb lump of slum +gullion!" + +"He ain't yore dog!" denied the burly youth. "He never was yores! He's +mine, you--!" + +Which last was putting it pretty strongly, even for the time, the +place, and the girl. She promptly swung a brisk right toe, kicked the +burly youth under the chin, and flattened him out. + +"That'll learn you to call me names!" she snarled. "So long as I act +like a lady, I'm a-gonna be treated like one, and I'll break the neck +of the man who acts different, and you can stick a pin in that, you +dirty-mouthed beast!" + +Muttering profanely true to form, the aforementioned beast essayed to +rise. But here again Racey and his ready gun held him to the ground in +a sitting position. + +"You leave her alone," commanded Racey. "You got what was coming to +yuh. Let it go at that. The lady says it's her dog, anyway." + +"It's my dog, I tell yuh! I--" + +"Yo're a liar!" averred the girl. "You kicked the dog out when he was +sick, and I took him in and tended him and got him well. If that don't +make him my dog what does?" + +"Correct," said Racey. "Call him." + +The girl put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Forth from +the Canton came the dog on the jump and bounced into the girl's arms +and began to lick her ear with despatch and enthusiasm. + +"You see how it is," Racey indicated to the man on the ground. "It's +the lady's dog. You can go now." + +The burly youth stared stupidly. + +"You heard what I said," Racey told him, impatiently. "G'on. Go +some'ers else. Get outa here." + +"Say," remarked the burly youth in what was intended to be a menacing +growl, "this party ain't over yet." + +"Ain't you been enough of a fool already to-day?" interrupted Racey. +"You ain't asking for it, are you?" + +"You can't run no blazer on me," denied the other, furiously. + +Racey promptly holstered his sixshooter. "Now's yore best time," he +said, quietly. + +When the smoke cleared away there was a rent in the sleeve of Racey's +shirt and the burly youth sat rocking his body to and fro and groaning +through gritted teeth. For there was a red-hot hole in his right +shoulder which hurt him considerably. + +Racey Dawson gazed dumbly down at the muzzle of his sixshooter from +which a slim curl of gray smoke spiralled lazily upward. Then his eyes +veered to the man he had shot and to the man's sixshooter lying on the +edge of the sidewalk. It, too, like his own gun, was thinly smoking at +the muzzle. The burly youth put a hand to his shoulder. The fingers +came away red. Racey was glad he had not killed him. He had not +intended to. But accidents will happen. + +He stepped forward and kicked the burly youth's discarded sixshooter +into the middle of the street. He looked about him. The girl and her +dog had vanished. + +Kansas Casey had taken her place apparently. From windows and doorways +along the street peered interested faces. One knew that they were +interested despite their careful lack of all expression. It is never +well to openly express approval of a shooting. The shooter undoubtedly +has friends, and little breaches of etiquette are always remembered. + +Racey Dawson looked at Kansas Casey and shoved his sixshooter down +into its holster. + +"It was an even break," announced Racey. + +"Shore," Kansas nodded. "I seen it. There'll be no trouble--from us," +he added, significantly. + +The deputy sheriff knelt beside the wounded man. Racey Dawson went +into the Happy Heart. He felt that he needed a drink. When he came out +five minutes later the burly youth had been carried away. Remained a +stain of dark red on the sidewalk where he had been sitting. Piggy +Wadsworth, the plump owner of the dance-hall, legs widespread and arms +akimbo, was inspecting the red stain thoughtfully. He was joined by +the storekeeper, Calloway, and two other men. None of them was aware +of Racey Dawson standing in front of the Happy Heart. + +"Was it there?" inquired Calloway. + +"Yeah," said Piggy. "Right there. I seen the whole fraycas. Racey +stood here an'--" + +At this point Racey Dawson went elsewhere. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE TALL STRANGER + + +"You'll have to manage it yoreself." Lanpher, the manager of the 88 +ranch, was speaking, and there was finality in his tone. + +"You mean you don't wanna appear in the deal a-tall," sneered his +companion. + +Racey Dawson, who had been kneeling on the ground engaged in bandaging +a cut from a kick on the near foreleg of the Dale pony when the two +men led their horses into the corral, craned his neck past the pony's +chest and glanced at Lanpher's tall companion. For the latter's words +provoked curiosity. What species of deal was toward? Having ridden for +Lanpher in the days preceding his employment by the Cross-in-a-box +and consequently provided with many opportunities for studying the +gentleman at arm's-length, Racey naturally assumed that the deal was a +shady one. Personally, he believed Lanpher capable of anything. +Which of course was unjust to the manager. His courage was not quite +sufficient to hold him abreast of the masters in wickedness. But he +was mean and cruel in a slimy way, and if left alone was prone to make +life miserable for someone. Invariably the someone was incapable of +proper defense. From Farewell to Marysville, throughout the length +and breadth of the great Lazy River country, Lanpher was known +unfavourably and disliked accordingly. + +To his companion's sneering remark Lanpher made no intelligible reply. +He merely grunted as he reached for the gate to pull it shut. His +companion half turned (his back had from the first been toward +Racey Dawson), and Racey perceived the cold and Roman profile of a +long-jawed head. Then the man turned full in his direction and behold, +the hard features vanished, and the man displayed a good-looking +countenance of singular charm. The chin was a thought too wide and +heavy, a trait it shared in common with the mouth, but otherwise the +stranger's full face would have found favour in the eyes of almost any +woman, however critical. + +Racey Dawson, at first minded to reveal his presence in the corral, +thought better of it almost immediately. While not by habit an +eavesdropper he felt no shame in fortuitously overhearing anything +Lanpher or the stranger might be moved to say. Lanpher merited no +consideration under any circumstances, and the stranger, in appearance +a similar breed of dog as far as morals went, certainly deserved no +better treatment. So Racey remained quietly where he was, and was glad +that besides the pony to whom he was ministering there were several +others between him and the men at the gate. + +"Why don't you wanna appear in this business?" persisted the stranger, +pivoting on one heel in order to keep face to face with Lanpher. + +"I gotta live here," was the Lanpher reply. + +"Well, ain't I gotta live here, too, and I don't see anything round +here to worry me. S'pose old Chin Whisker does go on the prod. What +can he do?" + +"'Tsall right," mumbled Lanpher, shutting the gate and shoving home +the bar. "You don't know this country as well as I do. I got trouble +enough running the 88 without borrowing any more." + +"Now I told you I was gonna get his li'l ranch peaceable if I could. I +got it all planned out. I don't do anything rough unless I gotto. But +I'm gonna get old Chin Whisker out o' there, and you can stick a pin +in that." + +"'Tsall right. 'Tsall right. You wanna remember ol' Chin Whisker ain't +the only hoss yo're trying to ride. If you think that other outfit +is gonna watch you pick daisies in their front yard without doing +anything, you got another guess. But I'll do what I said--and no +more." + +"I s'pose you think that by sticking away off yonder where the grass +is long nobody will suspicion you. If you do, yo're crazy. Folks ain't +so cross-brained as all that." + +"Not so dam loud!" Lanpher cautioned, excitedly. + +"Say, whatsa matter with you?" demanded the stranger, leaning back +against the gate and spreading his long arms along the top bar. "Which +yo're the most nervous gent I ever did see. The hotel ain't close +enough for anybody to hear a word, and there's only hosses in the +corral. Get a-hold of yoreself. Don't be so skittish." + +"I ain't skittish. I'm sensible. I know--" Lanpher broke off abruptly. + +"What do you know?" + +"What yo're due to find out." + +"Now lookit here, Mr. Lanpher," said the stranger in a low, cold tone, +"you said those last words a leetle too gayful to suit me. If yo're +planning any skulduggery--don't." + +"I ain't. Not a bit of it. But I got my duty to my company. I can't +get mixed up in any fraycas on yore account, because if I do my ranch +will lose money. That's the flat of it." + +"Oh, it is, huh? Yore ranch will lose money if you back me up, hey? +And you ain't thinkin' nothin' of yore precious skin, are yuh? Oh, +no, not a-tall. I wonder what yore company would say to the li'l deal +between you and me that started this business. I wonder what they'd +think of Mr. Lanpher and his sense of duty. Yeah, I would wonder a +whole lot." + +"Well--" began Lanpher, lamely. + +"Hell!" snarled the stranger. "You make me sick! Now you listen to me. +Yo're in this as deep as I am. If you think you ain't, try to pull +yore wagon out. Just try it, thassall." + +"I ain't doing none of the work, that's flat," Lanpher denied, +doggedly. + +"You gotta back me up alla same," declared the stranger. + +"That wasn't in the bargain," fenced Lanpher. + +"It is now," chuckled the stranger. "If I lose, you lose, too. +Lookit," he added in a more conciliatory tone, "can't you see how it +is? I need you, an' you need me. All I'm asking of you is to back +me up when I want you to. Outside of that you can sit on yore +shoulder-blades and enjoy life." + +"We didn't bargain on that," harked back Lanpher. + +"But that was then, and this is now. Which may not be logic, but it +_is_ necessity, an' Necessity, Mr. Lanpher, is the mother of all kinds +of funny things. So you and I we got to ride together." + +Lanpher pushed back his hat and looked over the hills and far away. +The well-known carking care was written large upon his countenance. + +Slowly his eyes slid round to meet for a brief moment the eyes of his +companion. + +"I can't answer for my men," said Lanpher, shortly. + +"Can you answer for yoreself?" inquired the stranger quickly. + +"I'll back you up." Grudgingly. + +"Then that's all right. You can keep the men from throwing in with the +other side, anyway, can't you?" + +"I can do that much." + +"Which is quite a lot for a ranch manager to be able to do," was the +stranger's blandly sarcastic observation. "C'mon. We've gassed so much +I'm dry as a covered bridge. I--What does Thompson want now? 'Lo, +Punch." + +"'Lo, Jack. Howdy, Lanpher." Racey could not see the newcomer, but +he recognized the voice. It was that of Punch-the-breeze Thompson, +a gentleman well known to make his living by the ingenious +capitalization of an utter lack of moral virtue. "Say, Jack," +continued Thompson, "Nebraska has been plugged." + +"Plugged?" Great amazement on the part of the stranger. + +"Plugged." + +"Who done it?" + +"Feller by the name of Dawson." + +"Racey Dawson?" nipped in Lanpher. + +"Yeah, him." + +Lanpher chuckled slightly. + +"Why the laugh?" asked Jack Harpe. + +"I'd always thought Nebraska could shoot." + +"Nebraska is supposed to be some swift," admitted the stranger. "How'd +it happen, Punch?" + +Thompson told him, and on the whole, gave a truthful account. + +"What kind of feller is this Dawson?" the stranger inquired after a +moment's silence following the close of the story. + +"A skipjack of a no-account cow-wrastler," promptly replied Lanpher. +"He thinks he's hell on the Wabash." + +"Allasame he must be old pie to put the kybosh on Nebraska thataway." + +"Luck," sneered Lanpher. "Just luck." + +"Is he square?" probed the stranger. + +"Square as a billiard-ball," said Lanpher. "Why, Jack, he's so crooked +he can't lay in bed straight." + +At which Racey Dawson was moved to rise and declare himself. Then the +humour of it struck him. He grinned and hunkered down, his ears on the +stretch. + +"Well," said the stranger, refraining from comment on Lanpher's +estimate of the Dawson qualities, "we'll have to get somebody in +Nebraska's place." + +"I'm as good as Nebraska," Punch-the-breeze Thompson stated, modestly. + +"No," the stranger said, decidedly. "Yo're all right, Punch. But even +if we can get old Chin Whisker drunk, the hand has gotta be quicker +than the eye. Y' understand?" + +Thompson, it appeared, did understand. He grunted sulkily. + +"We'll have to give Peaches Austin a show," resumed the stranger. +"Nemmine giving me a argument, Punch. I said I'd use Austin. C'mon, +le's go get a drink." + +The three men moved away. Racey Dawson cautiously eased his long body +up from behind the pony. With slightly narrowed eyes he stared at the +gate behind which Jack Harpe and his two friends had been standing. + +"Now I wonder," mused Racey Dawson, "I shore am wonderin' what kind of +skulduggery li'l Mr. Lanpher of the 88 is a-trying to crawl out of and +what Mr. Stranger is a-trying to drag him into. Nebraska, too, huh? I +was wondering what that feller's name was." + +He knelt down again and swiftly completed the bandaging of the cut on +the pony's near fore. + +As he rode round the corner of the hotel to reach Main Street he saw +Luke Tweezy single-footing into town from the south. The powdery dust +of the trail filled in and overlaid the lines and creases of Luke +Tweezy's foxy-nosed and leathery visage. Layers of dust almost +completely concealed the original colour of the caked and matted hide +of Luke Tweezy's well-conditioned horse. It was evident that Luke +Tweezy had come from afar. + +In common with most range riders Racey Dawson possessed an automatic +eye to detail. Quite without conscious effort his brain registered +and filed away in the card-index of his subconscious mind the picture +presented by the passing of Luke Tweezy, the impression made +thereby, and the inference drawn therefrom. The inference was almost +trivial--merely that Luke Tweezy had come from Marysville, the town +where he lived and had his being. But triviality is frequently +paradoxical and always relative. If Dundee had not raised an arm to +urge his troopers on at Killiekrankie the world would know a different +England. A single thread it was that solved for Theseus the mystery of +the Cretan labyrinth. + +Racey Dawson did not like Luke Tweezy. From the sparse and sandy +strands of the Tweezy hair to the long and varied lines of the Tweezy +business there was nothing about Mr. Tweezy that he did like. For Luke +Tweezy's business was ready money and its possibilities. He drove hard +bargains with his neighbours and harder ones with strangers. He bought +county scrip at a liberal discount and lent his profits to the needy +at the highest rate allowed by law. + +Luke Tweezy's knowledge of what was allowed by territorial law was not +limited to money-lending. He had been admitted to the bar, and no case +was too small, too large, or too filthy for him to handle. + +In his dislike of Luke Tweezy Racey Dawson was not solitary. Luke +Tweezy was as generally unpopular as Lanpher of the 88. But there +was a difference. Where Lanpher's list of acquaintances, nodding and +otherwise, was necessarily confined to the Lazy River country, Luke +Tweezy knew almost every man, woman, and child in the territory. +It was his business to know everybody, and Luke Tweezy was always +attending to his business. + +He had nodded and spoken to Racey Dawson as they two passed, and Racey +had returned the greeting gravely. + +"Slimy ol' he-buzzard," Racey Dawson observed to himself and reached +for his tobacco. + +But there was no tobacco. The sack that he knew he had put in his vest +pocket after breakfast had vanished. Lack of tobacco is a serious +matter. Racey wheeled his mount and spurred to the Blue Pigeon Store. + +Five minutes later, smoking a grateful cigarette, he again started +to ride out of town. As he curved his horse round a freight wagon in +front of the Blue Pigeon he saw three men issue from the doorway of +the Happy Heart Saloon. Two of the men were Lanpher and the stranger. +The third was Luke Tweezy. The latter stopped at the saloon +hitching-rail to untie his horse. "See yuh later, Luke," the stranger +flung over his shoulder to Luke Tweezy as he passed on. He and Lanpher +headed diagonally across the street toward the hotel. It seemed odd to +Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy by no word or sign made acknowledgment +of the stranger's remark. + +Racey tickled his mount with the rowels of one spur and stirred him +into a trot. Have to be moving along if he wanted to get there some +time that day. He wished he didn't have to go alone, so he did. The +old lady would surely lay him out, and he wished for company to share +his misery. Why couldn't Swing Tunstall have stayed reasonably in +Farewell instead of traipsing off over the range like a tomfool. Might +not be back for a week, Swing mightn't. Idiotic caper (with other +adjectives) of Swing's, anyway. Why hadn't he used his head? Oh, +Racey Dawson was an exceedingly irritable young man as he rode out of +Farewell. The aches and pains were still throbbingly alive in his own +particular head. The immediate future was not alluring. It was a hard +world. + +When he and his mount were breasting the first slight rise of the +northern slope of Indian Ridge--which ridge marks with its long, +broad-backed bulk the southern boundary of the flats south of Farewell +and forces the Marysville trail to travel five miles to go two--a +rider emerged from a small boulder-strewn draw wherein tamaracks grew +thinly. + +Racey stared--and forgot his irritation and his headache. The draw +was not more than a quarter-mile distant, and he perceived without +difficulty that the rider was a woman. She quirted her mount into +a gallop, and then seesawed her right arm vigorously. Above the +pattering drum of her horse's hoofs a shout came faintly to his ears. +He pulled up and waited. + +When the woman was close to him he saw that it was the good-looking, +brown-haired Happy Heart lookout, the girl whose dog he had protected. +She dragged her horse to a halt at his side and smiled. And, oddly +enough, it was an amazingly sweet smile. It had nothing in common with +the hard smile of her profession. + +"I'm sorry I had to leave without thanking you for what you done for +me back there," said she, with a jerk of her head toward distant +Farewell. + +"Why, that's all right," Racey told her, awkwardly. + +"It meant a lot to me," she went on, her smile fading. "You wouldn't +let that feller hurt me or my dog, and I think the world of that dog." + +"Yeah." Thus Racey, very much embarrassed by her gratitude and quite +at a loss as to the proper thing to say. + +"Yes, and I'm shore grateful, stranger. I--I won't forget it. That dog +he likes me, he does. And I'm teaching him tricks. He's awful cunnin'. +And company! Say, when I'm feeling rotten that there dog _knows_, and +he climbs up in my lap and licks my ear and tries his best to be a +comfort. I tell you that dog likes me, and that means a whole lot--to +me. I--I ain't forgetting it." + +Her face was dark red. She dropped her head and began to fumble with +her reins. + +"You needn't 'a' come riding alla way out here just for this," chided +Racey, feeling that he must say something to relieve the situation. + +"It wasn't only this," she denied, tiredly. "They was something else. +And I couldn't talk to you in Farewell without him and his friends +finding it out. That's why I borrowed one of Mike Flynn's hosses an' +followed you thisaway--so's we could be private. Le's ride along. I +expect you was going somewhere." + +They rode southward side by side a space of time in silence. Racey +had nothing to say. He was too busy speculating as to the true +significance of the girl's presence. What did she want--money? These +saloon floozies always did. He hoped she wouldn't want much. For he +ruefully knew himself to be a soft-hearted fool that was never able to +resist a woman's appeal. He glanced at her covertly. Her little chin +was trembling. Poor kid. That's all she was. Just a kid. Helluva life +for a kid. Shucks. + +"Lookit here," said Racey, suddenly, "you in hard luck, huh? Don't you +worry. Yore luck is bound to turn. It always does. How much you want?" + +So saying he slid a hand into a side-pocket of his trousers. The girl +shook her head without looking at him. + +"It ain't money," she said, dully. "I make enough to keep me going." +Then with a curious flash of temper she continued, "That's always the +way with a man, ain't it? If he thinks yo're in trouble--Give her some +money. If yo're sick--Give her money. If yo're dyin'--Give her money. +Money! Money! Money! I'm so sick of money I--Don't mind me, stranger. +I don't mean nothing. I'm a--a li'l upset to-day. I--it's hard for me +to begin." + +Begin! What was the girl driving at? + +"Yes," said she. "It's hard. I ain't no snitch. I never was even when +I hadn't no use for a man--like now. But--but you stuck up for me +and my dog, and I gotta pay you back. I gotta. Listen," she pursued, +swiftly, "do you know who that feller was you shot?" + +"No." Racey shook his head. "But you don't owe me anything. Forget it. +I dunno what yo're drivin' at, and I don't wanna know if it bothers +you to tell me. But if I can do anything--anything a-tall--to help +you, why, then tell me." + +"I know," she nodded. "You'd always help a feller. Yo're that kind. +But I'm all right. That jigger you plugged is Tom Jones." + +The girl looked at Racey Dawson as though the name of Tom Jones should +have been informative of much. But, Fieldings excluded, there are many +Tom Joneses. Racey did not react. + +"Dunno him," denied Racey Dawson. "I heard his name was Nebraska." + +"Nebraska is what the boys call him," she said. "He used to be foreman +of the Currycomb outfit south of Fort Seymour." + +"I've heard of Nebraska Jones and the Currycomb bunch all right," he +admitted, soberly. "And I'd shore like to know _what_ was the matter +with Nebraska to-day." + +"So would I. _You_ were lucky." + +Racey nodded absently. The Currycomb outfit! That charming aggregation +of gunfighters had borne the hardest reputation extant in a +neighbouring territory. Regarding the Currycomb men had been +accustomed to speak behind their hands and under their breaths. For +the Currycomb politically had been a power. Which perhaps was the +_reason_ why, although the rustling of many and many a cow and the +killing of more than one man were laid at their unfriendly door, +nothing had ever been proved against them. + +They had prospered exceedingly, these Currycomb boys, till the +election of an opposition sheriff. Which election had put heart into +the more decent set and a crimp in the Currycomb. It did not matter +that legally the Currycomb possessed a clean bill of health. The +community had decided that the Currycomb must be abolished. It +was--cow, cayuse, and cowboy. + +While some had remained on the premises at an approximate depth +beneath the grass of two feet (for the ground was hard), the other +Currycombers had scattered wide and far and their accustomed places +knew them no more. + +Now it seemed that at least one of the Currycomb boys, and that one +the most notorious character of the lot, had scattered as far as +Farewell and obtruded his personality upon that of Racey Dawson. +Nebraska Jones! A cold smile stretched the corners of Racey's mouth as +he thought on what he had done. He had beaten to the draw the foreman +of the Currycomb. Which undoubtedly must have been the first time +Nebraska had ever been shaded. + +The girl was watching his face. "Don't begin to get the notion you +beat him to it," she advised, divining his thought. "He was stunned +sort of that first time, an' the second time his gun caught a little. +Nebraska is slow lightnin' on the pull. Keep thinkin' you was lucky +like you done at first." + +Racey laughed shamefacedly. "Yo're too much of a mind reader for me. +But what you telling all this to me for? I ain't the sheriff with a +warrant for Nebraska Jones." + +"I'm telling you so you'll know what to expect. So you'll get out of +town and stay out. Because, shore as yo're a foot high, you won't live +a minute longer than is plumb necessary if you don't." + +"I beat Nebraska once, and he won't get well of that lead in the +shoulder so jo-awful soon." + +"Can you beat a shot in the dark? Can you dodge a knife in the night? +It ain't a question of Nebraska Jones himself. It's the gang he's +managed to pick up in this town. They are meaner than a nest of cross +rattlesnakes. I know 'em. I know what they'll do. Right this minute +they're fixing up some way to give you yore come-uppance." + +"Think so?" + +"Think so! Say, would I come traipsing out here just for my health--or +yores? Figure it out." + +"Seems like you know a lot about Nebraska and his gang," he cast at a +venture, glancing at her sharply. + +"I lived with Nebraska--for a while," she said, matter-of-factly, +giving him a calm stare. "Li'l Marie knows all they is to know about +Nebraska Jones--and a little bit more. Which goes double for his +gang." + +"Shucks," Racey grunted contemptuously. "Does he and his gang run +Farewell? I'd always thought Farewell was a man's size town." + +"They're careful," explained the girl. "They got sense enough not +to run any blazers they can't back to the limit. Yeah, they're +careful--now." + +"Now, huh? Later, when they've filled their hands and there's more of +'em playin' they might not be so careful, huh, Marie?" + +"Unless yo're a heap careful right now you won't have a thing to do +with 'later,'" she parried. "You do like I say, Mister Man. I ain't a +bit anxious to see you wiped out." + +"Wiping me out would shore cramp my style," he admitted. "I--" + +At this juncture hoofbeats sounded sharply on the trail behind them. +Racey turned in a flesh, his right hand dropping. But it was only +Lanpher and the stranger riding out of a belt of pines whose deep and +lusty soughing had drowned the noise of their approach. + +Lanpher and his comrade rode by at a trot. The former mumbled a +greeting to Racey but barely glanced at the girl. Women did not +interest Lanpher. He was too selfishly stingy. The stranger was more +appreciative. He gave the girl a stare of frank admiration before he +looked at Racey Dawson. The latter perceived that the stranger's eyes +were remarkably black and keen, perceived, too, that the man as he +rode past and on half turned in the saddle for a second look at the +girl. + +"Who's yore friend?" asked Marie, an insolent lift to her upper lip +and a slightly puzzled look in her brown eyes as her gaze followed the +stranger and Lanpher. + +"Friend?" said Racey. "Speaking personal, now, I ain't lost either of +'em." + +"I know who Lanpher is," she told him, impatiently. "I meant the +other." + +"I'll never tell yuh. I dunno him." + +"I think I've seen him somewhere--sometime. I can't remember where or +how--I see so many men. There! I almost had it. Gone again now. Don't +it make you sick when things get away from you like that? Makes you +think yo're a-losing yore mind almost." + +"He looked at you almighty strong," proffered Racey. "Maybe _he'll_ +remember. Why don't you ask him?" + +"Maybe I will at that," said she. + +"Didja know he was a friend of Nebraska's?" he asked, watching her +face keenly. + +She shook her head. "Nebraska knows a lot of folks," she said, +indifferently. + +"He knows Punch-the-breeze Thompson, too." + +"Likely he would, knowing Nebraska. He belongs to Nebraska's bunch." + +"What does Nebraska do for a living?" + +"Everybody and anything. Mostly he deals a game in the Starlight." + +"What does Peaches Austin work at?" he pursued, thinking that it might +be well to learn what he could of the enemy's habits. + +"He deals another game in the Happy Heart." + +"'The hand is quicker than the eye,'" he quoted, cynically, recalling +what the stranger had said to Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"Oh, Peaches is slick enough," said she, comprehending instantly. "But +Nebraska is slicker. Don't never sit into no game with Nebraska Jones. +Lookit here," she added, her expression turning suddenly anxious, "did +I take my ride for nothing?" + +"Huh?... Oh, that! Shore not. You bet I'm obliged to you, and I hope I +can do as much for you some day. But I wasn't figuring on staying here +any length of time. Swing--he's my friend--and I are going down to try +Arizona a spell. We'll be pulling out to-morrow, I expect." + +"Then all you got to look out for is to-night. But I'm telling you you +better drag it to-morrow shore." + +Racey smiled slowly. "If it wasn't I got business down south I'd +admire to stay. I ain't leaving a place just because I ain't popular, +not nohow. I'm over twenty-one. I got my growth." + +"It don't matter why you go. Yo're a-going. That's enough. It's a good +thing for you you got business, and you can stick a pin in that." + +"I'll have to do something about them friends of his alla same, before +I go," Racey said, thoughtfully. + +"Huh?" Perplexedly. + +"Yeah. If they're a-honing to bushwhack me for what I did to Nebraska, +it ain't fair for me to go sifting off thisaway and not give 'em +some kind of a run for their alley. Look at it close. You can see it +ain't." + +"I don't see nothing--" + +"Shore you do. It would give 'em too much of a chance to talk. They +might even get to saying they ran me out o' town. And the more I think +of it the more I'm shore they'll be saying just that." + +"But you said you was going away. You said you had business in +Arizona." + +"Shore I have, and shore I'm going. But first I gotta give Nebraska's +friends a chance to draw cards. A chance, y' understand." + +"You'll be killed," she told him, white-lipped. + +"Why, no," said he. "Not never a-tall. Drawing cards is one thing and +playing the hand out is a cat with another kind of tail. I got hopes +they won't get too rough with me." + +"Well, of all the stubborn damn fools I ever saw--" began the girl, +angrily. + +At which Racey Dawson laughed aloud. + +"That's all right," she snapped. "You can laugh. Might 'a' knowed you +would. A man is such a plumb idjit. A feller does all she can to show +him the right trail out, and does he take it? He does not. He laughs. +That's what he does. He laughs. He thinks it's funny. You gimme a +pain, you do!" + +On the instant she jerked her pony round, whirled her quirt +cross-handed, and tore down the back-trail at full gallop. + +"Aw, hell," said Racey, looking after the fleeing damsel regretfully. +"I clean forgot to ask her about the rest of Nebraska's friends." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE OLD LADY + + +"Hope Old Man Dale is home," said Racey to himself when he saw ahead of +him the grove of cottonwoods marking the location of Moccasin Spring. +"But he won't be," he added, lugubriously. "I never did have any +luck." + +He passed the grove of trees and opened up the prospect of house and +stable and corral with cottonwood and willow-bordered Soogan Creek in +the background. + +"Changed some since I was here last," he muttered in wonder. For +nesters as a rule do not go in for flowers and shrubs. And here, +besides a small truck garden, were both--all giving evidence of much +care and attention. + +Racey dismounted at the corral and approached the kitchen door. A +fresh young voice in the kitchen was singing a song to the brave +accompaniment of a twanging banjo: + + "_When I was a-goin' down the road + With a tired team an' a heavy load, + I cracked my whip an' the leader sprung, + An' he almost busted the wagon tongue. + Turkey in the straw, ha! ha! ha! + Turkey in_--" + +The singing stopped in the middle of a line. The banjo went silent +in the middle of a bar. Racey looked in at the kitchen door and saw, +sitting on a corner of the kitchen table, a very pretty girl. One knee +was crossed over the other, in her lap was the mute banjo, and she was +looking straight at him. + +Racey, heartily and internally cursing himself for having neglected to +shave, pulled off his hat and achieved a head-hob. + +"Good morning," said the pretty girl, putting up a slim tanned hand +and tucking in behind a well-set ear a strayed lock of black hair. + +"Mornin'," said Racey, and decided then and there that he had never +before seen eyes of such a deep, dark blue, or a mouth so alluringly +red. + +"What," said the pretty girl, laying the banjo on the table and +sliding down till her feet touched the floor, "what can I do for you?" + +"Nun-nothin'," stuttered the rattled Racey, clasping his hat to his +bosom, so that he could button unseen the top button of his shirt, +"except cuc-can you find Miss Dale for me. Is she home?" + +"Mother's out. So's Father, I'm the only one home." + +"It's yore sister I want, _Miss_ Dale--yore oldest sister." + +"You must mean Mrs. Morgan. She lives--" + +"No, I don't mean her. Yore _oldest_ sister, Miss. Her whose hoss was +taken by mistake in Farewell yesterday." + +"That was my horse." + +"Yores! But they said it was an _old_ lady's hoss! Are you shore it--" + +"Of course I'm sure. Did you bring him back?... Where?... The corral?" + +The girl walked swiftly to the window, took one glance at the bay +horse tied to the corral gate, and returned to the table. + +"Certainly that's _my_ horse," she reiterated with the slightest of +smiles. + +Racey Dawson stared at her in horror. Her horse! He had actually run +off with the horse of this beautiful being. He had thereby caused +inconvenience to this angel. If he could only crawl off somewhere and +pass away quietly. At the moment, by his own valuation, any one buying +him for a nickel would have been liberally overcharged. Her horse! +"I--I took yore hoss," he spoke up, desperately. "I'm Racey Dawson." + +"So you're the man--" she began, and stopped. + +He nodded miserably, his contrite eyes on the toes of her shoes. Small +shoes they were. Cheerfully would he have lain down right there on the +floor and let her wipe those selfsame shoes upon him. It would have +been a positive pleasure. He felt so worm-like he almost wriggled. +Slowly, oh, very slowly, he lifted his eyes to her face. + +"I--I was drunk," he confessed, hoping that an honest confession would +restrain her from casting him into outer darkness. + +"I heard you were," she admitted. + +"I thought it was yore oldest sister's pony," he bumbled on, feeling +it incumbent upon him to say something. "They told me something about +an old lady." + +"Jane Morgan's the only other sister I have. Who told you this wild +tale?" + +"Them," was his vague reply. He was not the man to give away the +jokers of Farewell. Old lady, indeed! Miss Blythe to the contrary +notwithstanding this girl was not within sight of middle-age. "Yeah," +he went on, "they shore fooled me. Told me I'd taken an old maid's +hoss, and--" + +"Oh, as far as that goes," said the girl, her long eyelashes demurely +drooping, "they told you the truth. I'm an old maid." + +"You? Shucks!" Hugely contemptuous. + +"Oh, but I am," she insisted, raising her eyes and tilting sidewise +her charming head. "I'm not married." + +"Thank--" he began, impulsively, but choked on the second word and +gulped hard. "I mean," he resumed, hastily, "I don't understand why I +never saw you before. I was here once, but you weren't around." + +"When were you here?... Why, that was two years ago. I was only a kid +then--all legs like a calf. No wonder you didn't notice me." + +She laughed at him frankly, with a bewildering flash of white teeth. + +"I shore must 'a' been blind," he said, truthfully. "They ain't any +two ways about _that_." + +Under his admiring gaze a slow blush overspread her smooth cheeks. She +laughed again--uncertainly, and burst into swift speech. "My manners! +What have I been thinking of? Mr. Dawson, please sit down, do. I know +you must be tired after your long ride. Take that chair under the +mirror. It's the strongest. You can tip it back against the wall if +you like. I'll get you a cup of coffee. I know you're thirsty. I'm +sorry Mother and Father aren't home, but Mother drove over to the Bar +S on business and I don't know where Father went!" + +"I ain't fit to stay," hesitated Racey, rasping the back of his hand +across his stubbly chin. + +"Nonsense. You sit right down while I grind the coffee. I'll have you +a potful in no time. I make pretty good coffee if I do say it myself." + +"I'll bet you do." + +"But my sister Jane makes better. You'll get some of hers at dinner." + +"Dinner?" He stared blankly. + +"Of course, dinner. When Mother and Father are away I always go down +there for my meals. It's only a quarter-mile down stream. Shorter if +you climb that ridge. But it's so stony I generally go along the creek +bank where I can gallop.... What? Why, of course you're going with +me. Jane would never forgive me if I didn't bring you. And what would +Chuck say if you came this far and then didn't go on down to his +house? Don't you suppose he enjoys seeing his old friends? It was only +last week I heard him wonder to Father if you were ever coming back to +this country. How did you like it up at the Bend?" + +"Right fine," he told her, settling himself comfortably in the chair +she had indicated. "But a feller gets tired of one place after a +while. I thought maybe I'd come back to the Lazy River and get a job +ridin' the range again." + +"Aren't there any ranches round the Bend?" she asked, poking up the +fire and setting on the coffee-pot. + +"Plenty, but I--I like the Lazy River country," he told her. "Fort +Creek country for yores truly, now and hereafter." + +In this fashion did the proposed journey to Arizona go glimmering. His +eye lingered on the banjo where it lay on the table. + +"Can you play it?" she asked, her eye following his. + +"Some," said he. "Want to hear a camp-meeting song?" + +She nodded. He rose and picked up the banjo. He placed a foot on the +chair seat, slid the banjo to rest on his thigh, swept the strings, +and broke into "Inchin' Along". Which ditty made her laugh. For it is +a funny song, and he sang it well. + +"That was fine," she told him when he had sung it through. "Your voice +sounds a lot like that of a man I heard singing in Farewell yesterday. +He was in the Happy Heart when I was going by, and he sang _Jog on, +jog on the footpath way_. If it hadn't been a saloon I'd have gone in. +I just _love_ the old songs." + +"You do?" said he, delightedly, with shining eyes. "Well, Miss Dale, +that feller in the saloon was me, and old songs is where I live. I +cut my teeth on 'The Barley Mow' and grew up with 'Barbara Allen'. My +mother she used to sing 'em all. She was a great hand to sing and she +taught me. Know 'The Keel Row?'" + +She didn't, so he sang it for her. And others he sang, too--"The Merry +Cuckoo" and "The Bailiff's Daughter". The last she liked so well that +he sang it three times over, and they quite forgot the coffee. + +Racey Dawson was starting the second verse of "Sourwood Mountain" when +someone without coughed apologetically. Racey stopped singing and +looked toward the doorway. Standing in the sunken half-round log that +served as a doorstep was the stranger he had seen with Lanpher. + +There was more than a hint of amusement in the black eyes with which +the stranger was regarding Racey. The latter felt that the stranger +was enjoying a hearty internal laugh at his expense. As probably he +was. Racey looked at him from beneath level brows. The lid of the +stranger's right eye dropped ever so little. It was the merest of +winks. Yet it was unmistakable. It recalled their morning's meeting. +More, it was the tolerant wink of a superior to an inferior. A wink +that merited a kick? Quite so. + +The keen black eyes veered from Racey to the girl. The man removed his +hat and bowed with, it must be said, not a little grace. Miss Dale +nodded coldly. The stranger smiled. It was marvellous how the magic of +that smile augmented the attractive good looks of the stranger's full +face. It was equally singular how that self-same smile rendered more +hawk-like than ever the hard and Roman profile of the fellow. It was +precisely as though he were two different men at one and the same +time. + +"Does Mr. Dale live here?" inquired the stranger. + +"He does." A breath from the Boreal Pole was in the two words uttered +by Miss Dale. + +The stranger's smile widened. The keen black eyes began to twinkle. He +made as if to enter, but went no farther than the placing of one foot +on the doorsill. + +"Is he home?" + +"He isn't." Clear and colder. + +"I'm shore sorry," grieved the stranger, the smile waning a trifle. "I +wanted to see him." + +"I supposed as much," sniffed Miss Dale, uncordially. + +"Yes, Miss," said the stranger, undisturbed. "When will he be back, if +I might ask?" + +"To-night--to-morrow. I'm not sure." + +"So I see," nodded the stranger. "Would it be worth while my waitin'?" + +"That depends on what you call worth while." + +"You're right. It does. Standards ain't always alike, are they." +He laughed silently, and pulled on his hat. "And it's a good thing +standards ain't all alike," he resumed, chattily. "Wouldn't it be a +funny old world if they were?" + +The smile of him recognized Racey briefly, but it rested upon and +caressed the girl. She shook her shoulders as if she were ridding +herself of the touch of hands. + +The stranger continued to smile--and to look as if he expected a +reply. But he did not get it. Miss Dale stared calmly at him, through +him. + +Slowly the stranger slid his foot from the doorsill to the doorstep; +slowly, very slowly, his keenly twinkling black gaze travelled over +the girl from her face to her feet and up again to finally fasten upon +and hold as with a tangible grip her angry blue eyes. + +"I'm sorry yore pa ain't here," he resumed in a drawl. "I had some +business. It can wait. I'll be back. So long." + +The stranger turned and left them. + +From the kitchen window they watched him mount his horse and ford the +creek and ride away westward. + +"I don't like that man," declared Miss Dale, and caught her lower lip +between her white teeth. "I wonder what he wanted?" + +"You'll find out when he comes back." Dryly. + +"I hope he never comes back. I never want to see him again. Do you +know him?" + +"Not me. First time I ever saw him was this morning in Farewell. He +was with Lanpher. When I was coming out here he and Lanpher caught up +with me and passed me." + +"He didn't bring Lanpher here with him anyhow." + +"He didn't for a fact," assented Racey Dawson, his eyes following the +dwindling figures of the rider and his horse. "I wonder why?" + +"I wonder, too." Thus Miss Dale with a gurgling chuckle. + +Both laughed. For Racey's sole visit to the Dale place had been made +in company with Lanpher. The cause of said visit had been the rustling +and butchering of an 88 cow, which Lanpher had ill-advisedly essayed +to fasten upon Mr. Dale. But, due to the interference of Chuck Morgan, +a Bar S rider, who later married Jane Dale, Lanpher's attempt had been +unavailing. It may be said in passing that Lanpher had suffered both +physically and mentally because of that visit. Of course he had +neither forgiven Chuck Morgan nor the Bar S for backing up its +puncher, which it had done to the limit. + +"I quit the 88 that day," Racey Dawson told the girl. + +"I know you did. Chuck told me. Look at the time, will you? Get your +hat. We mustn't keep Jane waiting." + +"No," he said, thoughtfully, his brows puckered, "we mustn't keep Jane +waitin'. Lookit, Miss Dale, as I remember yore pa he had a moustache. +Has he still got it?" + +Miss Dale puzzled, paused in the doorway. "Why, no," she told him. "He +wears a horrid chin whisker now." + +"He does, huh? A chin whisker. Let's be movin' right along. I think +I've got something interesting to tell you and yore sister and Chuck." + +But they did not move along. They halted in the doorway. Or, rather, +the girl halted in the doorway, and Racey looked over her shoulder. +What stopped them short in their tracks was a spectacle--the spectacle +of an elderly chin-whiskered man, very drunk and disorderly, riding in +on a paint pony. + +"Father!" breathed Miss Dale in a horror-stricken whisper. + +And as she spoke Father uttered a string of cheerful whoops and topped +off with a long pull at a bottle he had been brandishing in his right +hand. + +"Please go," said Miss Dale to Racey Dawson. + +He hesitated. He was in a quandary. He did not relish leaving her +with--At that instant Mr. Dale decided Racey's course for him. Mr. +Dale pulled a gun and, still whooping cheerily, shook five shots into +the atmosphere. Then Mr. Dale fumblingly threw out his cylinder and +began to reload. + +"I'd better get his gun away from him," Racey said, apologetically, +over his shoulder, as he ran forward. + +But the old man would have none of him. He cunningly discerned an +enemy in Racey and tried to shoot him. It was lucky for Racey that the +old fellow was as drunk as a fiddler, or certainly Racey would have +been buried the next day. As it was, the first bullet went wide by a +yard. The second went straight up into the blue, for by then Racey had +the old man's wrist. + +"There, there," soothed Racey, "you don't want that gun, Nawsir. Not +you. Le's have it, that's a good feller now." + +So speaking he twisted the sixshooter from the old man's grasp and +jammed it into the waistband of his own trousers. The old man burst +into frank tears. Incontinently he slid sidewise from the saddle and +clasped Racey round the neck. + + "_I'm wild an' woolly an' full o' fleas + I'm hard to curry below the knees_--" + +Thus he carolled loudly two lines of the justly popular song. + +"Luke," he bawled, switching from verse to prose, "why didja leave me, +Luke?" + +Strangely enough, he did not stutter. Without the slightest difficulty +he leaped that pitfall of the drunken, the letter L. + +"Luke," repeated Racey Dawson, struck by a sudden thought. "What's +this about Luke? You mean Luke Tweezy?" + +The old man rubbed his shaving-brush adown Racey's neck-muscles. "I +mean Luke Tweezy," he said. "Lots o' folks don't like Luke. They say +he's mean. But they ain't nothin' mean about Luke. He's frien' o' +mine, Luke is." + +"Mr. Dawson," said Molly Dale at Racey's elbow, "please go, I can get +him into the house. You can do no good here." + +"I can do lots o' good here," declared Racey, who felt sure that he +was on the verge of a discovery. "Somebody is a-trying to jump yore +ranch, and if you'll lemme talk to him I can find out who it is." + +"Who--how?" said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright +and embarrassment engendered by her father's condition the true +significance of Racey's remark was not immediately apparent. + +"Yore ranch," repeated Racey, sharply. "They're a-tryin' to steal it +from you. You lemme talk to him, ma'am. Look out! Grab his bridle!" + +Miss Dale seized the bridle of her father's horse in time to prevent +a runaway. She was not aware that the horse's attempt to run away had +been inspired by Racey surreptitiously and severely kicking it on +the fetlock. This he had done that Miss Dale's thoughts might be +temporarily diverted from her father. Anything to keep her from +shooing him away as she so plainly wished to do. + +Racey began to assist the now-crumpling Mr. Dale toward the house. +"What's this about Luke Tweezy?" prodded Racey. "Did you see him +to-day?" + +"Shore I seen him to-day," burbled the drunken one. "He left me at +McFluke's after buyin' me the bottle and asked me to stay there till +he got back. But I got tired waitin'. So I come along. I--hic--come +along." + +Limply the man's whole weight sagged down against Racey's supporting +arm, and he began to snore. + +"Shucks," muttered Racey, then stooping he picked up the limp body in +his arms and carried it to the house. + +"He's asleep," he called to Miss Dale. "Where'll I put him?" + +"I'll show you," she said, with a break in her voice. + +She hastily tied the now-quiet pony to a young cottonwood growing at +the corner of the house and preceded Racey into the kitchen. + +"Here," she said, her eyes meeting his a fleeting instant as she threw +open a door giving into an inner room. "On the bed." + +She turned back the counterpane and Racey laid her snoring parent on +the blanket. Expertly he pulled off the man's boots and stood them +side by side against the wall. + +"Had to take 'em off now, or his feet would swell so after you'd never +get 'em off," he said in justification of his conduct. + +She held the door open for him to leave the room. She did not look at +him. Nor did she speak. + +"I'm going now," he said, standing in the middle of the kitchen. "But +I wish you wouldn't shut that door just yet." + +"I--Oh, can't you see you're not wanted here?" Her voice was shaking. +The door was open but a crack. He could not see her. + +"I know," he said, gently. "But you don't understand how serious this +business is. I had good reason for believing that somebody is trying +to steal yore ranch. From several things yore dad said I'm shorer than +ever. If I could only talk to you a li'l while." + +At this she came forth. Her eyes were downcast. Her cheeks were red +with shamed blood. She leaned against the table. One closed fist +rested on the top of the table. The knuckles showed white. She was +trembling a little. + +"Where and what is McFluke's?" he asked. + +"Oh, that's where he got it!" she exclaimed, bitterly. + +"I guess. If you wouldn't mind telling me where McFluke's is, ma'am--" + +"It's a little saloon and store on the Marysville road at the Lazy +River ford." + +"It's new since my time then." + +"It's been in operation maybe a year and a half. What makes you think +someone is trying to steal our ranch?" + +"Lots o' things," he told her, briskly. "But they ain't gonna do it if +I can help it. Don't you fret. It will all come out right. Shore it +will. Can't help it." + +"But tell me how--what you know," she demanded. + +"I haven't time now, unless you're coming with me to see Chuck." + +"I can't--now." + +"Then you ask Chuck later. I'll tell him all about it. You ask him. So +long." + +Racey hurried out and caught up his own horse. He swung into the +saddle and spurred away down stream. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +McFLUKE'S + + +"They been after him to sell a long time," said Chuck Morgan, rolling a +cigarette as he and Racey Dawson jogged along toward McFluke's at the +ford of the Lazy. + +"Who?" asked Racey. + +"I dunno. Can't find out. Luke Tweezy is the agent and he won't give +the party's name." + +"Has Old Salt tried to buy him out?" + +"Not as I know of. Why should he? He knows he won't sell to anybody." + +"Have they been after you, too?" + +"Not yet. Dad Dale's the lad they want special. My ranch would be a +good thing, but it ain't noways necessary like Dale's is to anybody +startin' a big brand. Lookit the way Dale's lays right across the +valley between them two ridges like a cork in a bottle. A mile wide +here, twenty mile away between Funeral Slue and Cabin Hill she's a +good thirty mile wide--one cracking big triangle of the best grass +in the territory. All free range, but without Dale's section and his +water rights to begin with what good is it?" + +"Not much," conceded Racey. + +"And nobody would dast to start a brand between Funeral Slue and Cabin +Hill," pursued Chuck. "Free range or not, it as good as belongs to the +Bar S." + +"Old Salt used to run quite a bunch round Cabin Hill and another north +near the Slue." + +"He does yet--one or two thousand head in all, maybe. Oh, these +fellers ain't foolish enough to crowd Old Salt that close. They know +Dale's is their best chance." + +Racey's eyes travelled, from one ridge to the other. "How come they +allowed Dale to take up a six-forty?" he inquired. + +"They didn't," was the answer. "The section is made up of four claims, +his'n, Jane's, Molly's, an' Mis' Dale's. But they're proved up now, +and made over to him all regular. That's how come." + +"Haven't Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar got a claim some'ers over +yonder on Dale's land?" inquired Racey, looking toward the northerly +ridge. + +"They had, but they got discouraged and sold out to Dale the same time +Slippery Wilson and his wife traded in their claims on the other side +of the ridge to Old Salt and Tom Loudon. None of 'em's worth anything, +though." + +Racey nodded. "Dale ever drink much?" was his next question. + +"He used to before he come here. But he took the cure and quit. +To-day's the first bust-up he's had since he hit this country." + +"That's it, then. Luke gave him the redeye so's he'd be easy meat for +the butcher. Does he ever gamble any?" + +"Shore--before he came West. Jane done told me how back East in +McPherson, Kansas, he used to go the limit forty ways--liquor, cards, +the whole layout o' hellraising. But his habits rode him to a frazzle +final and he knuckled under to tooberclosis, and they only saved his +life by fetchin' him West. All of us thought he was cured for good." + +"Now Luke Tweezy has started him off so's Nebraska--Peaches Austin, I +mean, can get in his fine work. It's plain enough." + +"Shore," assented Chuck Morgan. "Yonder's McFluke's," he added, +nodding toward two gray-brown log and shake shacks and a stockaded +corral roosting on the high ground beyond the belt of cottonwoods +and willows marking the course of the Lazy. "Them's his stables and +corral," went on Chuck. "The house she's down near the river. Can't +see her on account of the cottonwoods." + +"And they can't see us count of the cottonwoods. So--" + +"Unless he's at the corral." + +"I'll take the chance, Chuck. You stay here--down that draw is a good +place. I'll go on alone. McFluke don't know me. Maybe I can find out +something, see. Bimeby you come along--half-hour, maybe. You don't +know me, either. I'll get into conversation with you. You follow my +lead. We'll pull McFluke in if we can. Between the two of us--Well, +anyhow, we'll see what he says." + +Chuck Morgan nodded, and turned his horse aside toward the draw. + +Ten minutes later the water of the Lazy River was sluicing the dust +from the legs and belly of Racey Dawson's horse. Racey spurred up the +bank and rode toward the long, low building that was McFluke's store +and saloon. + +There were no ponies standing at the hitching-rail in front of the +place. For this Racey was devoutly thankful. If he could only catch +McFluke by himself. + +As Racey dismounted at the rail a man came to the open doorway of the +house and looked at him. He was a heavy-set man, dewlapped like a +bloodhound, and his hard blue eyes were close-coupled. The reptilian +forehead did not signify a superior mentality, even as the slack, +retreating chin denoted a minimum of courage. It was a most +contradictory face. The features did not balance. Racey Dawson was not +a student of physiognomy, but he recognized a weak chin when he saw +it. If this man were indeed McFluke, then he, Racey Dawson, was in +luck. + +Without a word the man turned from the doorway. Racey heard him +walking across the floor. And for so heavy a man his step was +amazingly light. Racey went into the house. The room he entered was +a large one. In front of a side wall tiered to the low ceiling with +shelves bearing a sorry assortment of ranch supplies was the store +counter. Across the back of the room ran the long bar. Behind the bar, +flanking the door giving into another room, were two shelves heavily +stocked with rows of bottles. + +The man that had come to the door was behind the bar. His hands were +resting on top of it, and he was staring fixedly and fishily at +Racey Dawson. There was no welcome in his face. Nor was there any +unfriendliness. It was simply exceedingly expressionless. + +Racey draped himself against the bar. "Liquor," said he. + +Having absorbed a short one, he poured himself a second. "Have one +with me," he nodded to the man. + +"All right." The man's tone was as expressionless as his face. "Here's +hell." He filled and drank. + +Racey looked about the room. + +"Where's Old Man Dale?" he asked, casually. + +"He got away on me," replied the man. "He--Say!"--with sudden +suspicion--"who are you?" + +"Are you McFluke?" shot back Racey. + +The man nodded slowly, suspicion continuing to brighten his hard blue +eyes. + +"Then what didja let him get away for?" persisted Racey. "Luke Tweezy +said he left him here, and he said he'd stay here. That was yore +job--to see he _stayed_ here." + +"Who are--" began the suspicious McFluke. + +"Nemmine who I am," rapped out Racey, who believed he had formed a +correct estimate of McFluke. "I'm somebody who knows more about this +deal than you do, and that's enough for you to know. Why didn't you +hold Old Man Dale?" + +"I--He got away on me," knuckled down McFluke. "I was in the kitchen +gettin' me some coffee, and when I come back he had dragged it." + +"Luke Tweezy will be tickled to death with you," said Racey Dawson. +"What do you s'pose he went to all that trouble for?" + +"I couldn't help it, could I? I ain't got eyes in the back of my head +so's I can see round corners an' through doors. How'd I know Old Man +Dale was gonna slide off? When I left him he was all so happy with +his bottle you'd 'a' thought he'd took root for life. Anyway, Peaches +Austin oughta come before the old man left. He was supposed to come, +and he didn't. If anything slips up account o' this it's gotta be +blamed on Peaches." + +"Yeah, I guess so. And Peaches ain't been here yet?" + +"Not yet, and I wish to Gawd he was never comin'." + +The man's tone was so earnest that Racey looked at him, startled. + +"Why not?" he asked, coldly. + +"Because I don't wanna get my head blowed off, that's why." + +"Aw, maybe it won't come to that. Maybe Luke will win out." + +"It ain't only Luke Tweezy who's gotta win out, and you know it. And +they's an 'if' the size of Pike's Peak between us and winning out. I +tell you, I don't like it. It's too damn dangerous." + +"Shore, it's dangerous," assented Racey, slowly revolving his glass +between his thumb and fingers, and wondering how far he dared go with +this McFluke person. "But a gent has to live." + +"He don't have to get himself killed doin' it," snarled McFluke, +swabbing down the bar. "Who's that a-comin'?" + +He went to the doorway to see for himself who it was that rode so +briskly on the Marysville trail. "Peaches Austin!" he sneered. "He's +only about three hours late." + +It was now or never. Racey risked all on a single cast. + +"What did the boss say when him and Lanpher got here and found old +Dale gone?" he asked, carelessly. + +"He raised hell," replied McFluke. "But Lanpher wasn't with him. Yuh +know old Dale hates Lanpher like poison. Well, I told Jack, like I +tell you, that if anything slips up account o' this, Peaches Austin +can take the blame." + +Racey nodded indifferently and slouched sidewise so that he could +watch the doorway without dislocating his neck. McFluke, his back +turned, still stood in the doorway. Racey lowered a cautious hand and +loosened his sixshooter in its holster. He wished that he had taken +the precaution to tie it down. It was impossible to foresee what the +next few minutes might bring forth. Certainly the coming of Peaches +Austin was most inopportune. + +Peaches Austin galloped up. He dismounted. He tied his horse. He +greeted cheerily the glowering McFluke. The latter did not reply in +kind. + +"This is a fine time for you to get here," he growled. "A fi-ine +time." + +"Shut up, you fool!" cautioned Peaches in a low voice. "Ain't you got +no better sense, with the old man--" + +"Don't let the old man worry you," yapped McFluke. "The old man has +done flitted. And Jack's been here and _he's_ done flitted." + +"Whose hoss is that?" demanded Peaches, evidently referring to Racey's +mount. + +"One of the boys," replied McFluke. "One o' Jack's friends. C'mon in." + +Entered then Peaches Austin, a lithe, muscular person with pale +eyes and a face the colour of a dead fish's belly. He stared +non-committally at Racey Dawson. It was evident that Peaches Austin +was taking no one on trust. He nodded briefly to Racey, and strode to +the bar. McFluke went behind the bar. + +"Ain't I seen you in Farewell, stranger?" Peaches Austin asked, +shortly. + +"You might have," returned Racey. "I'm mighty careless where I +travel." + +"Known Jack long?" Peaches was becoming nothing if not personal. + +"Long enough," smiled Racey. + +"Lookit here, who are you?" + +"That's what's worryin' McFluke," dodged Racey, wishing that he could +see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands. + +But McFluke was employing his hands in nothing more dangerous than the +fetching of a bottle from some recess under and behind the bar. Now he +laughed. + +"He ain't tellin' all he knows," he said to Peaches Austin. "Don't be +so damn suspiciony, Peaches. He's a friend of Jack's, I tell you. He +knows all about the deal." + +"That don't make him no friend of Jack's," declared Peaches, +stubbornly. "I--" + +At which juncture Peaches' flow of language was interrupted by the +sudden entrance of Chuck Morgan. Chuck, after a sweeping glance round +the room, headed straight for the bar. + +"McFluke," said Chuck, halting a yard from the bar, "did you sell any +redeye to Old Man Dale to-day?" + +"What's that to you?" demanded McFluke, truculently. + +"Why, this," replied Chuck, producing a sixshooter so swiftly that +McFluke blinked. "You listen to me," he resumed, harshly. "It don't +matter whether you sold it to him or not. He _got_ it here, and that's +the main thing. I'm telling you if he gets any more I'm gonna make you +hard to find." + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" inquired McFluke. + +"Don't do that," Racey said, suddenly, as his hand shot out and pinned +fast the right wrist of Peaches Austin. "C'mon outside now, where we +can talk. Right through the door. To yore left. Aw right, now they +can't hear us. Lookit, they ain't any call for a gunplay, none +whatever. This gent is only laying down the law to Mac. And here you +have to get serious right away. See how easy Mac takes it. He ain't +doing a thing, not a thing. Good as gold, Mac is. Can't you see how +a killing thisaway, and a fellah like Morgan, too, would maybe put +a crimp in this place for good? Have some sense, man. We need +McFluke's." + +"He hadn't oughta drawed on Mac," said Peaches, his pale eyes, shifty +as a cat's, darting incessantly between Racey and the doorway. + +"He didn't shoot him. And he ain't. You lemme attend to this, will +you? I'll get him away quiet and peaceable--if I can. But you keep out +of it. Y'understand?" + +Peaches Austin gnawed his lower lip. "I never did like Chuck Morgan," +he grumbled. "It was a good chance." + +"A good chance to get yoreself lynched. Shore. It was all that." + +"Say, I'd like to know where you come in, stranger. Jack never said +anything to me about any feller yore size." + +"Jack is like me. He ain't tellin' all he knows. And while we're +talking about Jack, I'll tell you something. And that's to keep away +from Farewell for three-four days." + +"Why for?" + +"So's to give Jack a chance to cool off. He's hotter than a wet wolf +'cause you didn't turn up here on time." + +"I ain't afraid of Jack." + +"'Course you ain't. But you know how Jack is. Even if it don't come to +a showdown, there'll be words passed. And I don't wanna run any risk +of you quitting the outfit. Every man is needed. You be sensible and +stick here with McFluke three-four days like I say, and after that +c'mon in to Farewell. In the meantime, I'll see Jack and tell him +how it happened you didn't get here on time. And how did it happen, +anyway?" + +Peaches Austin looked this way and that before replying. + +"I shore don't like to tell how it happened," he said. "Sounds so +babyish like. But my hat blowed off over this side of Injun Ridge a +ways and when I leaned down to pick her up, my hoss started, my hand +slipped, and I went off on my head kerblam. And do you know, I'll bet +I was three hours a-running from hell to breakfast before I caught +that hoss where he was feedin' in a narrow draw. I'm all tired out +yet. They ain't no strength in my legs." + +"I'll fix it up with Jack," Racey lied with a wonderfully straight +face. "Don't you worry." + +"I ain't worryin'," Peaches denied, irritably. "I ain't afraid of +Jack, I tell you." + +"Shore," soothed Racey, who, having formed an estimate of Peaches, +ranked him scarcely higher than McFluke and treated him accordingly. +"Shore, I know you ain't. But alla same you need considerable of a +coolin' off yoreself. Just you stay out here now and watch me get +Morgan away." + +Racey nodded blithely to Peaches Austin, and turned to go into the +house. He saw that Chuck Morgan had come outside, that he had brought +McFluke with him, and was observing events with a cold and calculating +eye. + +"I tell you I couldn't help his getting the whiskey," McFluke was +whining. "It ain't my fault if somebody gives it to him, is it?" + +"Of course not," chimed in Racey, briskly. "Mac means all right. +He didn't know there was any law against providing old Dale with +whiskey." + +"They is a law," insisted Chuck Morgan, belligerently, his gun trained +unswervingly on McFluke's broad stomach. "They is a law. I made it. +And it goes. Peaches," he added, raising his voice, "don't you slide +round the house now. If you move so much as a yard from where yo're +standing I ventilate McFluke immediate." + +"I wouldn't do that," said Racey, mildly. + +"I got my eye on you, too," declared Chuck. "What I said to Peaches +goes for you, and don't you forget it." + +"I ain't likely to, not me. All I want you to do is go some'ers else +peaceful. You ain't figuring on living here, are you?" + +Chuck uttered a short, hard laugh. McFluke's back was toward Racey. +Peaches Austin was behind him, thirty feet away. Racey's left eyelid +drooped. His head moved almost imperceptibly toward his horse. + +"I'm going now," said Chuck. + +"I'll go with you just to see you on yore way sort of," said Racey. + +"You was going with me anyway sort of," Chuck told him. "Yo're the +only _man_ round here so far's I can see, and I ain't taking any +chances on you, not a chance. Yo're going down the trail a spell with +me. Later you can come back. Keep yore hands where they are." + +Quickly Chuck shoved McFluke to one side, rushed forward, and +possessed himself of Racey's gun. "Crawl yore hoss," he commanded. + +Racey obeyed without a word. Chuck climbed into his own saddle without +losing the magic of the drop and without losing sight for an instant +of McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Take the trail south," said Chuck Morgan, and backed his horse in a +wide half-circle. + +Racey did as he was ordered. Three minutes later he was joined by his +friend. Until the trail took them down into a draw grown up in spruce +Chuck's gun remained very much in evidence. Any unbiased spectator +without a knowledge of the facts would have said that he was keeping a +close watch on Racey Dawson. + +Once out of sight of the house of McFluke, Chuck sheathed his +sixshooter with a jerk and returned Racey's gun. + +"You did fine at the last," Racey said, admiringly, as he bolstered +his weapon. "But what did you jump McFluke for thataway at first? That +come almighty near kicking the kettle over, that play did." + +"I know," said Chuck, shamefacedly, "and when I rode up to the shack +I hadn't intended anything like that. But when I saw that slickery +juniper McFluke standing there behind the bar so fat and sassy, it +come over me all of a sudden what he'd done to the Dale family by +letting old Dale have whiskey, that I couldn't help myself. Gawd, I +wanted to knock him down and tromp his face flat as a floor. It ain't +as if McFluke ain't been told about old Dale's failing. I warned him +when he first came here last year not to let old Dale have redeye on +any account." + +"I know," nodded Racey, soberly, "but you want to remember his giving +old Dale whiskey ain't the particular cow we're after. There's more to +it than that, a whole lot more. We've got to be a li'l careful, +Chuck, and go a li'l slow. If we go having a fraycas now they'll get +suspicious and go fussbudgettin' round like a hound-dog after quail." + +"Just as if they won't suspicion something's up soon as Peaches Austin +gets back to Farewell." + +"Peaches Austin ain't going back to Farewell right away. I've fixed +Peaches for a few days. And a few days is all I need to find out what +I want to. And even after Peaches does float in will he know me after +I've changed my shirt, dirtied my hat, and got me a clean shave twice +over? He ain't got no idea what I look like under the whiskers. He +wasn't living in Farewell before I went north, so all he knows about +me is my voice and my hoss. It will shore be the worst kind of luck if +I can't keep Peaches from hearing the one and seeing the other until +after I'm ready. You leave it to yore uncle, Chuck. He knows." + +"He's a great man, my uncle," assented Chuck, and struck a derisive +tongue in his cheek. "What did you find out from McFluke--anything?" + +"Anything? Gimme a match and I'll tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CHANGE OF PLAN + + +"It's a long way to Arizona," offered Racey Dawson, casually--too +casually. + +Swing Tunstall's bristle-haired head jerked round. Swing bent two +suspicious eyes upon his friend. "You just find it out?" he queried. + +"No, oh, no," denied Racey. "I've been thinking about it some time." + +"Thinking!" sneered Swing. "That's a new one--for you." + +"Nemmine," countered Racey. "It ain't catchin'--to _you_." + +"_Is_ that so?" yammered Swing, now over his head as far as repartee +was concerned. "Is _that_ so? What you gassing about Arizona for +thisaway? You gonna renig on the trip?" + +"I'll bet there's plenty of good jobs we can find right here in +Farewell," dodged Racey. "_And_ vicinity," he amended. "Yep, Swing, +old-timer, I'll bet the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box would hire us just +too quick. Shore they would. It ain't every day they get a chance at a +jo-darter of a buster like--" + +"Like the damndest liar in four states meaning you," cut in Swing. + +"You're right," admitted Racey, promptly. "When I was speaking of a +jo-darter I meant you, so I was a liar. I admit it. I might 'a' known +you wouldn't appreciate my kind words. Besides being several other +things, you're an ungrateful cuss. Gimme the makin's." + +"Smoke yore own, you hunk of misery. You had four extra sacks in yore +warbags this morning." + +"_Had_? So you been skirmishin' round my warbags, have you? How many +of those sacks did you rustle?" + +"I left two." + +"Two! Two! Say, I bought that tobacco myself for my own personal use, +and not for a lazy, loafing, cow-faced lump of slumgullion to glom and +smoke. Why don't you spend something besides the evening now and then? +Gawda-mighty, you sit on yore coin closer than a hen with one egg! +I'll gamble that Robinson Crusoe spent more money in a week than you +spend in four years. Two sacks of my smoking. You got a gall like a +hoss. There was my extra undershirt under those sacks. It's a wonder +you didn't smouch that, too." + +"It didn't fit," replied Swing Tunstall, placidly constructing a +cigarette. "Too big. Besides, all the buttons was off, and if they's +anything I despise it's a undershirt without any buttons. Sort of +wandering off the main trail though, ain't we, Racey? We was talking +about Arizona, wasn't we?" + +"We was not," Racey contradicted, quickly. "We was talking about a job +here in Fort Creek County. T'ell with Arizona." + +"T'ell with Arizona, huh? You're serious? You mean it?" + +"I'm serious as lead in yore inwards. 'Course I mean it. Ain't I been +saying so plain as can be the last half-hour?" + +"You're saying so is plain enough. And so is the whyfor." + +"The whyfor?" + +"Shore, the whyfor. Say, do you take me for a damfool? Here you use up +the best part of two days on a trip I could make in ten hours going +slow and eating regular. Who is she, cowboy, who is she?" + +"What you talking about?" + +"What am I talking about, huh? I'd ask that, I would. Yeah, I would +so. Is she pretty?" + +"Poor feller's got a hangover," Racey murmured in pity. "I kind o' +thought it must be something like that when he began to talk so funny. +Now I'm shore of it. You tie a wet towel round yore head, Swing, and +take a good pull of cold water. You'll feel better in the morning." + +"So'll I feel better in the morning if you jiggers will close yore +traps and lemme sleep," growled a peevish voice in the next room--on +the Main Street side. + +"As I live," said Racey in a tone of vast surprise, "there's somebody +in the next room." + +"Sounds like the owner of the Starlight," hazarded Swing Tunstall. + +"It is the owner of the Starlight," corroborated the voice, "and I +wanna sleep, and I wanna sleep _now_." + +"We ain't got any objections," Racey told him. "She's a fine, free +country. And every gent is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit +of happiness, three things no home should be without." + +"Shut up, will you?" squalled the goaded proprietor of the Starlight +Saloon. "If you wanna make a speech go out to the corral and don't +bother regular folks." + +"Hear that, Swing?" grinned Racey, and twiddled his bare toes +delightedly. "Gentleman says you gotta shut up. Says he's regular +folks, too. You be good boy now and go by-by." + +"_Shut up_!" + +"Here, here, Swing!" cried Racey, struck by a brilliant idea. "What +you doing with that gun?" + +"I--" began the bewildered Swing who had not even thought of his gun +but was peacefully sitting on his cot pulling off his boots. + +"Leave it alone!" Racey interrupted in a hearty bawl. "Don't you go +holding it at the wall even in fun. It might go off. You can't tell. +You're so all-fired careless with a sixshooter, Swing. Like enough +you're aiming right where the feller's bed is, too," he added, +craftily. + +Ensued then sounds of rapid departure from the bed next door. A door +flew open and slammed. The parting guest padded down the stairs in his +socks, invoking his Maker as he went. + +"And that's the last of him," chuckled Racey. + +"Oh, you needn't think I'm forgetting," grumbled Swing Tunstall, +sliding out of his trousers and folding them tidily beside his boots. +"You soft-headed yap, have you gotta let a woman spoil everything?" + +"Spoil everything?" + +"You don't think I'm going alla way to Arizona by myself, nobody to +talk to nor nothing, do you? Well, I ain't. You can stick a pin in +that." + +Racey immediately sprang up, seized his friend's limp hand, and pumped +it vigorously. "Bless you for them kind words," he said. "I knew you'd +stick by me. I knew I could depend on old Swing to do the right thing. +To-morrow you and I will traipse out and locate us a couple of jobs." + +Swing doubled a leg, flattened one bare foot against Racey's chest, +straightened the leg, and deposited Racey upon his own proper cot with +force and precision. + +"Don't you come honey-fuglin' round me," warned Swing. "And I didn't +say anything about sticking by you, neither. And when it comes to the +right thing you and me don't think alike a-tall. I--" + +"I wish you'd pull yore kicks a few," interrupted Racey, rubbing his +chest. "You like to busted a rib." + +"Not the way you landed," countered the unfeeling Swing. "You're +tryin' to get off the trail again. Here you and me plan her all out to +go to--" + +"You bet," burst in Racey, enthusiastically. "We planned to go to +either the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box and get that job. Shore we did. +You got a memory like all outdoors. Swing. It plumb amazes me how +clear and straight you keep everything in that head of yores. Yep, it +shore does." + +Hereupon, in the most unconcerned manner, Racey Dawson began to blow +smoke rings toward the ceiling. + +Swing Tunstall sank sulkily down upon an elbow. "Whatsa use?" said +Swing Tunstall. "Whatsa use?" + +It was then that someone knocked upon their chamber door. + +"Come in," said Racey Dawson. + +The door opened and Lanpher's comrade of the attractive smile and the +ruthless profile walked into the room. He closed the door without +noise, spread his legs, and looked upon the two friends silently. + +"I heard you talking through the wall," he said in a studiedly low +tone, a tone that, heard through a partition, would have been but an +indistinguishable murmur. + +"Hearing us talk through walls seems to be a habit in this hotel," +commented Racey, tactfully following the other's lead in lowness of +tone. + +"I couldn't help hearing," apologized the stranger--he was vestless +and bootless. Evidently he had been on the point of retiring when the +spirit moved him to visit his fellow-guests. "I'd like to talk to +you." + +"You're welcome," said Racey, hospitably yanking his trousers from the +only chair the room possessed. "Sit down." + +The stranger sat. Racey Dawson, sitting on the bed, his knees on a +level with his chin, clasped his hands round his bare ankles and +accorded the stranger his closest attention. To the casual observer, +however, Racey looked uncommonly dull and sleepy, even stupid. But not +too stupid. Racey possessed too much native finesse to overdo it. + +It was apparent that the stranger did not recognize him. Which was not +surprising. For, at the Dale ranch, Racey had been wearing all his +clothes and a beard of weeks. Now he was clean-shaven and attired in +nothing but a flannel shirt. True, the stranger must have heard him +singing to Miss Dale. But a singing voice is far different from a +speaking voice, and Racey had not uttered a single conversational word +in the stranger's presence. Now he had occasion to bless this happy +chance. + +Swing Tunstall, slow to take a cue, and still suffering with the +sulks, continued to lie quietly, his head supported on a bent arm, and +smoke. But he watched the stranger narrowly. + +The stranger tilted back his chair, and levering with his toes, +teetered to and fro in silence. + +"I heard you say you were looking for a job in the morning," the +stranger said suddenly to Racey. + +"You heard right," nodded Racey. + +"Are you dead set on working for the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box?" + +"I ain't dead set on working for anybody. Work ain't a habit with +either of us, but so long as we got to work the ranches with good +cooks have the call, and the Bar S and Richie's outfit have special +good cooks." + +The stranger nodded and began to smooth down, hand over hand, +his tousled hair. It was very thick hair, oily and coarse. When +sufficiently smoothed it presented that shiny, slick appearance so +much admired in the copper-toed, black walnut era. + +Not till each and every lock lay in perfect adjustment with its +neighbour did the stranger speak. + +"Cooks mean a whole lot," was his opening remark. "A good one can come +mighty nigh holding a outfit together. Money ain't to be sneezed at, +neither. Good wages paid on the nail run the cook a close second. How +would you boys like to work for me?" + +The stranger, as he asked the question, fixed Racey with his black +eyes. The puncher felt as if a steel drill were boring into his brain. +But he returned the stare without appreciable effort. Racey Dawson was +not of those that lower their eyes to any man. + +"I take it," drawled Racey, "that you're fixing to install all the +comforts of home you were just now talking about--a good cook and +better wages for the honest working-man?" + +"Naturally I am." The stranger's eyes shifted to Swing Tunstall's +face. + +"Yeah--naturally." Thus Racey Dawson. The stranger's eyes returned +quickly to Racey. There had been a barely perceptible pause between +the two words uttered by Racey Dawson. Pauses signify a great deal at +times. This might be one of those times and it might not. The stranger +couldn't be sure. From that moment the stranger watched Racey Dawson +even as the proverbial cat watches the mouse hole. + +Racey knew that the stranger was watching him. And he knew why. So he +smiled with bland stupidity and nodded a foolish head. + +"What wages?" he inquired. + +"Fifty per," was the reply. + +"Where?" + +"Southeast of Dogville--the Rafter H ranch." + +"The Rafter H, huh? I thought that was Haley's outfit." + +"I expect to buy out Haley," explained the stranger, smoothly. "My +name's Harpe, Jack Harpe. What may I call you gents?... Dawson _and_ +Tunstall, eh? I--" + +"Haley ain't much better than a nester," interrupted Racey. "He don't +own more'n forty cows. What you want with two punchers for a small +bunch like that--and at fifty per?" + +"I know she ain't much of a ranch now," admitted Jack Harpe. "But +everything has to have a beginning. I'm figuring on a right smart +growth for the Rafter H within the next year or two." + +"Figuring on opposition maybe?" probed Racey Dawson. + +"You never can tell." + +"You can if you go to cutting any of Baldy Barbee's corners. Haley's +little bunch never bothers Baldy none, but a man-size outfit so close +to the south thataway would shore give him something to think about. +Then there's the Anvil ranch east of the B bar B. They'll begin to +scratch their heads, you bet. Hall, too, maybe, although he is a good +ways to the east." + +"She's all free range," said Jack Harpe. "I guess I got as good a +right here as the next gent." + +"Providing you can make the next gent see yore side of the case," +suggested Racey. + +"Most folks are willing to listen to reason," stated Jack Harpe. + +"I ain't so shore," doubted Racey. "You ain't looked at the whole of +the layout yet. How about the 88 ranch?" + +"'The 88?'" repeated Jack Harpe in a tone of surprise. "What'll I have +to do with the 88, I'd like to know?" + +"I dunno," said Racey, his eyes more stupid than ever. "I was just +a-wonderin'." + +Jack Harpe laughed without a sound. It seemed to be a habit of his to +laugh silently. + +"You saw me with Lanpher, didn't you? Well, Lanpher and I are just +friends, thassall. My cattle won't graze far enough south to overlap +on the 88 anywheres." + +"Nor the Bar S?" suggested Racey. + +"Nor the Bar S." + +"That's sensible." Thus Racey, watching closely Jack Harpe from under +lowered lids. + +Did his last remark strike a glint from the other man's eyes? He +thought it did. Certainly Jack Harpe's eyes had narrowed suddenly and +slightly. + +"Yeah," Jack Harpe said, "I ain't counting on having any fussing with +either the 88 or the Bar S. Of course Baldy Barbee and the Anvil are +different. Dunno how they'll take it. Dunno that I care--much." + +"Which is why you're payin' fifty per." + +Jack Harpe nodded. "Yep. Gotta be prepared for them fellers--Baldy +Barbee and the Anvil outfit." + +"You're right," assented Racey Dawson. "Mustn't let 'em catch you +napping. You would look foolish then, wouldn't you?" He broke off with +a sounding laugh and slapped a silly leg. + +"How about it, gents?" inquired Jack Harpe. "Are you riding for me or +not?" + +"You wanting to know right now this minute?" + +"I don't have to know right now, because I won't be ready for you to +begin for two or three weeks, but knowing would help my plans a few. I +gotta figure things out ahead." + +"Shore, shore. Let you know day after to-morrow, or sooner, maybe. +How's that?" + +"Good enough. Remember yore wages start the day you say when, even if +you don't begin work for a month yet. All I'd ask is for you to stay +round town where I can get hold of you easy. G'night." + +With this the stranger slid from the chair, opened the door part +way, and oozed into the hall. He closed the door without a sound. +He regained his own room in equal silence. Racey did not hear the +shutting of the other's door, but he heard the springs of the cot +squeak under Jack Harpe's weight as he lay down. + +Swing Tunstall framed a remark with his lips only. Racey Dawson shook +his head. The partition was too thin and Jack Harpe's ears were too +long and sharp for him to risk even the tiniest of whispers. With his +hand he made the Indian sign for "to-morrow," stretched out his long +legs, yawned--and fell almost instantly asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RIDDLE + + +"We'd oughta closed with Jack Harpe last night," said Swing Tunstall, +easing his muscular body down on a broken packing-case that sat +drunkenly beside the posts of the hotel corral. "What's the sense of +putting things off thataway, Racey? Now we'll lose two days' wages for +nothing." + +"I had a reason," declared Racey Dawson, threading a new rawhide +string through one of the silver conchas on his split-ear bridle. "I +wanted to talk it over good with you first." + +"Why for? What's there to talk over, I'd like to know? Why--" + +"Because," interrupted Racey, "there's something up, if you ask me." + +"What for a reason is that?" demanded the irritated Swing. "That ain't +a reason, no good reason, anyway. I'm telling you flat, y' understand, +that so long as we gotta take root here instead of going to Arizona +like we'd planned it out--so long's yo're gonna renig on the play +like I say, the best thing we can do is string our chips with Jack +Harpe's." + +"That yore idea of a bright thing to do, huh?" questioned Racey, his +nimble fingers busy with the rawhide. + +"I done told you," said Swing with dignity. + +"Poor, poor Swing," murmured Racey as though to the bridle's address. +"The Gawd-forsaken young feller. It must be the devil and all to go +through life in such shape as he's in. All right in lots of ways, too. +He eats like a hawg, drinks like a fish, and snores like a ripsaw, so +you can see there's something almost human about him. But he hasn't +any brains, not a brain. He never has anything on his mind but his +hair and a hat. Yep, she's a sad, sad case. Lordy, Swing, old-timer, I +feel sorry for you. You got my sympathy. I'll always stick up for you +though. I won't let--" + +"This here," cut in Swing, "has gone far enough. If you got anything +to say, say it." + +"I been saying it. Ain't it sunk in yet? Hand me that axe, and I'll +make another try." + +"Stop yore fool lallygaggin'," Swing exclaimed, impatiently. "Let's +have the whole sermon. Gawd, yo're worse'n a woman. Gab, gab, gab! +Nothing but. C'mon, tie the string to the latch, and slam the door. +This tooth has been aching a long, long while." + +"It's thisaway, Swing," Racey said, soberly. "There ain't any manner +of use going into something we ain't got the whole straight of." + +"What you talking about--the straight of?" + +"Yep, the straight of. Don't you see anything funny about this +jigger's offer?" + +"Looks like a fair proposition to me. Fifty per shore listens well." + +"As if that's all of it." + +"Well, what's a li'l fussin' round with Baldy Barbee and the Anvil +folks?" + +"Nothin a-tall, _that_ ain't. But the li'l green pea ain't under +_that_ shell. Listen here, Swing, old-timer, I got a long and gashly +tale of wickedness to pour into those lily-white mule ears of yores. +Yep, if it wasn't me a-telling it I'll bet you'd think it was a fairy +tale." + +"I might even so," said the sceptical Swing. "But I don't mind. I'm +good-natured to-day. I feel just like being lied to. Turn yore wolf +loose." + + * * * * * + +"What do you feed it on?" inquired solemn-faced Swing when he had +heard Racey to the bitter end. + +"Feed which on what?" demanded the unsuspicious Racey. + +"Yore imagination." + +"Say, lookit here--" + +"Yeah, I know. Oh, aw right, aw right, I didn't go for to make you +mad. I believe it. Every word. You're getting so dam touchy nowadays, +Racey, they's no living with you. I swear they ain't. Why, if a feller +so much as doubts one of yore reg'lar fish stories you gotta crawl his +hump. Aw right, I believe you. How big was he again? Ugh-h-h! Uncle! +Uncle! Get off my stummick! I said 'Uncle,' didn't I? Damitall, that +left ear of mine will never be the same again. You rammed it into a +rock with more points than a barb-wire fence. Nemmine no more foolin' +now. Are you shore you got Peaches fixed for three-four days? 'Cause +if you ain't--pop goes the weasel." + +"This weasel ain't gonna pop. Not this trip. Peaches will stay put. +Don't you fret. By the time he does drift in we'll know all we need to +know, I guess." + +"We," sniffed Swing. "Did I hear you say 'we'? Ain't you taking a +awful lot for granted?" + +"Shut up. I couldn't keep you out of this with a ten-foot pole. Yo're +like Tom Kane thataway--always wantin' in where it's warm. Aw right, +that's settled. Lookit, we know there's some crooked work on the +towpath going on, and that Lanpher and Harpe are in it up to their +hocks. We know that Nebraska is one of Harpe's friends, and we know +that _after_ my fuss with Nebraska, Harpe comes to you and me and +offers us jobs--jobs at fifty per, wages to start when we say when, +and no work for a while, yet we're to stay round town till he wants us +to start in. And he talks of maybe a li'l trouble in the future with +Baldy Barbee and the Anvil boys, and he mentions Baldy and the Anvil +several times, and the last time wasn't necessary. And, furthermore, +he don't say anything a-tall about this Chin Whisker gent, who's old +Dale or I'm Dutch. So there y'are, and plain enough," added Racey, +holding up the bridle and turning it about. "From what Harpe said to +Lanpher, we know he's bound to get old Dale's ranch come hell or high +water. But he don't say anything about that to us. No, not him. It's +all Barbee and the Anvil, and he's as friendly as a dog with fleas. +His actions don't fit with the facts, and when a man's actions don't +do that they'll stand watchin', him and them both." + +"Fifty per ain't to be sneezed at." Swing, whose heart had been set on +Arizona, was not prepared to give in without an argument. Besides, he +invariably objected on principle to anything Racey might see fit to +propose. Which was humanly natural, but more than maddening--to Racey. + +"Shore not--unless it sets us against our friends." + +"What you talkin' about?" persisted the wilfully blinded Swing. +"Neither Baldy Barbee nor the Anvil outfit are any friends of mine. I +don't even know 'em to speak to." + +"But I tell you it ain't Baldy Barbee and the Anvil, you wooden-headed +floop. If it was them, why would Lanpher be in it? And Nebraska? And +Thompson? And Peaches Austin? I dunno exactly what it all means. But +whatever it is, it's gotta do with the country round Farewell--with +the ranches on the Lazy. Aw right. Besides Dale's and Morgan's there's +three ranches, ain't they, on the Lazy near Farewell?" + +Racey Dawson held up three fingers, doubling a thumb and forefinger +behind them. + +"Three ranches," he continued, "and the manager of one is in cahoots +with this Harpe of many strings." Here he doubled down his pinky +and waved the remaining two fingers in the face of his friend. "Two +ranches are left, the Cross-in-a-box and the Bar S. Jack Richie is +manager of the Cross-in-a-box. I used to ride for Jack, and he's my +friend. You dunno him, but you can take my word he's the pure quill +forty ways. Then there's the Bar S. Who's foreman of that? Tom Loudon. +You worked with him up at Scotty MacKenzie's Flyin' M ranch on the +Dogsoldier, and I've knowed him ever since I come to this country. +I ain't doing anything to make me bad friends with Tom Loudon. Then +there's Dale, this Chin Whisker party. He's a good feller, and had +a heap of hard luck, too. I ain't working against him, you betcha. +Nawsir. And if I don't miss my guess you don't, either." + +"Aw, hell! They ain't no rat in that hole. Yo're seem' a heap o' smoke +where they ain't even a lighted match. I don't wanna do anything +against either Richie's outfit nor the Bar S, nor old Dale, but I +ain't satisfied--" + +"You ain't! Good Gawdamighty! Ain't I been tellin' you? Ain't I been +explaining of it all in words of one syllable? Can't you see Harpe's +trying to pull us in with him is just a trick to get us shot by our +friends? Because his jumping old Dale's ranch will shore start a war +and you can gamble it's just as dangerous to be shot by yore friends +as it is by the enemy. Here I'm telling you over and over and you +ain't satisfied yet! I've heard of fellers like you, but I never +believed it was possible. Like the whiffle-tit, they were just a damn +lie. But it's all true. Swing, old settler, if you had a quarter-ounce +more sense you'd be half-witted." + +"If I had a quarter-ounce more sense I'd quit you cold like that." So +saying Swing Tunstall rose to his feet and shuffled a guileful step or +two closer to Racey. The movement of his right arm passed unnoticed by +Racey. But the lighted cigarette that, following his movement, slipped +down Racey's back between his shirt collar and his neck did not pass +unnoticed. + +Racey hopped up with a sharp exclamation and shucked himself out of +his shirt with the utmost despatch. He did not stop at the shirt, but +tore off his undershirt likewise. + +"Better luck than I hoped for," Swing remarked from a safe distance. +"I didn't think it would slide down inside yore undershirt, too. Burn +you much, Racey, dear? You look awful cute standin' there with nothing +on but yore pants. All you need now is a pair of wings and a bow +n'arrer and you'd be a dead ringer for Cupid growed up. And there's +Mis' Lainey and Mis' Galloway looking at you from their kitchen +windows. They can hear what yo're saying, too. Fie, for shame." + +But Racey Dawson had gathered up his clothing and fled to the back +of the corral. Muttering to himself he was pulling on his shirt when +Swing joined him--at a safe distance. + +"Helluva trick to play on a feller," grumbled Racey. + +"Served you right," was the return. "You hadn't oughta called me +half-witted. Do you know you look just like a turtle in his shell with +yore shirt half on half off thataway?" + +"Aw, go sit on yoreself!" + +At this juncture fat Bill Lainey wheezed round the corner of the +corral. + +"What you been doin', Racey?" inquired the hotel-keeper. "Taking a +bath?" + +"Naw, I ain't been taking a bath!" Racey denied ungraciously. "I do +this for fun and my health twice a day--once on Sundays." + +"Well, it must 'a' been a heap funny whatever it was, or Swing +wouldn't be laughin' so hard. Yeah. Lookit, Racey--I meant to catch +you at breakfast, but you was through before I got back from Mike +Flynn's--lookit, I wish you'd go a li'l slow when yo're roughhousin' +round in my place. Rack Slimson, my most payin' customer, hadda sleep +on the dinin' room table all night because you druv him out of his +room." + +"Bill, that was a joke," Racey intoned, solemnly. "I didn't like the +way the feller snored. Likewise he had too much to say. So naturally I +had to make him take it on the run. What else could I do? I ask you, +what else could I do?" + +"Don't you believe him, Bill," cut in Swing, fearful that Racey would +get credit for an effort at humour where, in his own estimation, none +was due. "Racey hasn't got the guts to pick a fuss with a pack rat. It +was me that chased Rack Slimson downstairs." + +"That's right," Racey assented, smoothly, suddenly mindful both of a +peculiar gleam in Bill Lainey's eye and a chance sentence uttered by +the hasher in his hearing at breakfast. "That's right. It was Swing +Tunstall what made so free and outrageous with Rack Slimson. You +go and crawl Swing's hump, Bill. Lord knows he needs it. He's been +getting awful brash and uppity lately. No living with him. Give him +hell, Bill." + +"I don't wanna give nobody hell. Live at peace is my motto. All I +wanna know is who's gonna settle for six cups, eleven sassers, ten +plates, and a middle-size pitcher Rack Slimson busted when he rolled +off the table with 'em durin' the night. I don't think Rack oughta +hafta pay, because he wouldn't 'a' had to sleep there on the table +only bein' druv out thataway he couldn't help it like." + +"Huh--how much, Bill?" inquired Swing in a still small voice, and +thrust his hand within his pocket. + +"Well, seein' as it's you, Swing," was the prompt reply, "I'll only +say ten dollars and six bits. And that's dirt cheap. Honest, I'll bet +it'll cost me fifteen dollars and a half to replace 'em, what with the +scandalous prices we got now." + +"And I hope that'll make you a better boy, Swing," said Racey, +observing with relish the transfer of real money from Swing's hand to +the landlord's palm. "There's such a thing, Swing, old settler, as +being too quick, as whirling too wide a loop as the man said when he +roped the locomotive. And it all costs money. Yep, sometimes as much +as ten dollars and six bits." + +"... and one and one and two makes ten and six bits makes +ten-seventy-five," totalled Swing Tunstall, "and that makes all +square." + +"Correct," said Bill Lainey, stuffing the money into a wide trousers +pocket. "'Bliged to you, Swing. I wish all the gents paid up as prompt +as you do." + +"Oh, you needn't be surprised," chipped in the ready Racey. "Swing's a +fair-minded boy. He'll do what's right every time, once you show him +where he's wrong. Yeah. Say, Bill, has Nebraska Jones many friends in +this town?" + +"More than enough," was the enigmatic reply. + +"'Enough,' huh? Enough for what?" + +"For whatever's necessary, Racey. But I ain't talking about Nebraska +and his friends. Not me. I got a wife and family to support, and +they's enough trouble running a hotel without picking up any more by +letting yore tongue waggle too much." + +"Yo're right, Bill. Yore views do you credit. Is it against the law to +tell a feller where Nebraska's friends hang out when they're in town?" + +"The dance hall and the Starlight," replied Bill Lainey, promptly. + +"Might you happen to know any of their names, Bill?" + +"What you wanna do, Racey, is look out for a jigger named Coffin," +declared Lainey, coming flatly to the point. "Doc Coffin. Yop. Then +they's Punch-the-Breeze Thompson, Honey Hoke, and Peaches Austin. +They's a few more, but they ain't the kind to take the lead in +anything. They always follow. But Coffin, Thompson, Hoke, and Austin +are the gents to keep yore eye peeled for. I ain't talking about 'em, +y' understand. I ain't got a word to say against 'em, not a word. If I +was you, though, and I wanted to live longer and healthier Doc Coffin +is the one you wanna watch special--a heap special." + +"Thanks, Bill, I--" + +"No thanks needed," fended off the hotel-keeper, hastily. "I ain't +said nothin', and don't you forget it." + +"I won't. Is the Starlight's owner, Rack Slimson, any friend of +Nebraska's, too?" + +"We-ell, I dunno as he's a boom companion exactly, but Nebraska and +his bunch spend a pile of money in the Starlight, a pile of money. A +feller would be safe in saying that Rack Slimson's sympathy is with +Nebraska." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE STARLIGHT + + +"Where you going?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"Over the hills and far away to pick the wild violets," chanted Racey. +"You wanna come along? Better not. Them violets are just too awful +wild. Dangerous. Yeah. Catch yore death." + +"You idjit! You plumb fool! Can't you let well enough alone? Ain't you +satisfied till yo're ticklin' the mule's hind leg? If yo're crowded, +hop to it. Make 'em hard to find. But why go a-huntin' trouble? Whatsa +sense? What--" + +"Always get the jump on trouble, Swing. Always. Then you'll find +trouble don't wear so many guns after all and is a heap slower about +pulling 'em than you thought likely." + +"But if they're all four of 'em together now, and you--" + +"I ain't said I was going to do anything, have I? Gawda-mighty, Swing, +I only want to go and ask how Nebraska's gettin' along. Only tryin' to +be neighbourly. Yeah. Neighbourly." + +Racey Dawson nodded his head as one does when a subject is closed, +hitched up his chaps, and started blithely round the hotel. Swing +Tunstall followed in haste, caught up with his friend and fell into +step at his side. + +"This ain't any of yore muss, Swing," Racey said, mildly. + +"It's gonna be," was the determined reply. "You shut up." + +Racey grinned at nothing and stuck his tongue in his cheek. A warmly +pleasant glow permeated his being. It was good to have a friend like +Swing Tunstall--one who would not interfere but who would be in alert +readiness for any contingency. And Racey was well aware that in his +impending visit to the Starlight the contingencies were apt to be many +and varied. + +"It's so early in the day I don't guess none of 'em will be in the +dance hall yet," murmured Swing Tunstall. + +"I'm gonna drop in on the Starlight first, anyway," said Racey. "It's +nearer." + +Through a side window they inspected the Starlight and the customers +thereof. Only two customers were visible. These, a long man and a +short man, stood at the bar, their backs to the window and their hands +cupped lovingly round glasses of refreshment. The tall man was talking +to the bartender. + +"This getting up so early in the mornin' is a fright," they heard +him complain. "But bunking with a invalid shore does keep you on the +jump." + +He and his companion drank. Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall glided +rapidly along the wall to a side entrance. When the tall man and the +short man set down their glasses Racey Dawson was leaning against the +bar at a range of approximately six feet. Swing Tunstall stood at his +back and slightly to the right. Thus that, should necessity warrant a +resort to lethal weapons, Racey might not mask the latter's fire. + +"Liquor," said Racey to the bartender. + +The latter, an expert at his trade, with a jerk of both wrists slid +two glasses and a bottle down the bar so that a glass stopped in front +of each man and the bottle came to a standstill between them. Racey +spun a dollar on the bar. The bartender nonchalantly swept the dollar +into the cash drawer and resumed his chit-chat with the tall man. At +which Racey's eyes narrowed slightly. But he made no comment. + +Pouring out a short drink, he passed the bottle to his comrade. When +Swing had filled Racey took the bottle, drove home the cork with the +heel of his hand, and carefully tucked away the bottle in the inner +pocket of his vest. + +"It won't ride any too well," he observed to Swing, "but it ain't +gonna be there a great while, I guess." + +"You bet it ain't gonna be there a great while!" horned in the +outraged bartender. "You put that bottle back on the bar!" + +"Why, I gave you a dollar," said Racey, nervously, hesitantly, "and +you kept the change. I supposed, of course, you was selling me the +bottle." + +"You supposed wrong!" As he spoke the bartender's right hand moved +toward the shelf that Racey knew must be under the top of the bar. +"That dollar was for yore two drinks." + +"You mean to say yo're charging four bits apiece for those drinks!" + +"Shore I am." As yet the bartender's hand had remained beneath the bar +top. + +"But two bits is the regular price," objected Racey, weakly. + +"Four bits is the price to you," was the truculent statement, sticking +out his chin. "_Put that bottle back on the bar_!" + +As he gave the order his right shoulder hunched upward, and his +face set like iron. He had what is known as a "fighting" face, this +Starlight bartender. It was evident that he banked largely on that +face. It had served him well in the past. + +"One dollar is my regular price for a bottle," Racey said gently +as the bartender's hand suddenly nipped into sight clutching a +sixshooter, "but if you want it back, take it." + +Racey's fingers gripped the bottle-neck and fetched it forth. But +instead of placing it on the top of the bar as requested, he continued +the motion, as it were, and smote the bartender across the head +with it. Being a quart bottle and reasonably full of liquid, the +bartender's chin came down with a chug on the bar. Then he slumped +quietly to the floor behind the bar. The sixshooter relinquished by +his nerveless fingers remained on top of the bar between the whiskey +glasses. + +Racey stared speculatively at the long man and the short man. They in +turn regarded him with something like respect. The long man wore a +drooping, streaky-yellow horseshoe of a moustache dominated by a long +and melancholy nose. Flanking the base of this sorrowful nose was a +pair of eyes hard and bright and the palest of blue. + +The short man was a blobby-nosed creature, who sported a three days' +growth of red beard and a quid of chewing in the angle of a heavy jaw. +Now he revolved the tobacco with a furtive tongue and spat thickly +upon the floor. + +Without removing his eyes from the two aforementioned gentlemen Racey +reached for the bartender's gun. "Hadn't oughta be trusted with +firearms," he observed, pleasantly, referring to what lay behind the +bar. "Too venturesome. Yeah." + +He thoughtfully lowered the hammer of the sixshooter and rammed it +down to the trigger-guard behind the waistband of his trousers. + +"Do you gents know anybody named Doc Coffin?" inquired Racey. + +"I'm him," nodded the tall man, the pale eyes beginning to glitter. + +"Then maybe you can tell me how Nebraska Jones is gettin' along?" + +"You worrying about his health?" put in the short man. + +"I dunno as I'd say 'worrying' exactly," disclaimed Racey, easily. +"You can take it I'm just askin', that's all." + +"Nebraska had oughta be as well as ever he was in about a month," +supplied Doc Coffin. "And," he added, significantly, "I dunno but what +he'd oughta be able to shoot as well as ever." + +"I don't doubt it a mite," said Racey with a smile. "Question is, will +he?" + +The short man gave a short, harsh laugh. "He will, you can gamble on +that," he averred, and spat again. + +"That's good hearing," Racey said, looking quite pleased. "Of course I +was only judging by past performances." + +"His gun caught," Doc Coffin explained, kindly. + +"Why don't he try filing off his foresight?" inquired Racey, chattily. +"Or else he could shoot through his holster. Lots of folks do business +that way. I suppose now you'll be seeing Nebraska in a day or two +maybe." + +"I might," admitted Doc Coffin. + +"Friend of his?" purred Racey. + +"I might be." Doc Coffin's spare frame grew somewhat rigid. + +"Well," Racey drawled softly, "I heard Nebraska's friends are looking +for me. I'm here to save 'em the trouble of strainin' their eyes." + +"So that's it, huh?" Doc Coffin grinned, as he spoke, like a grieving +wolf. "They ain't no hurry, is they?" + +"I expect I'll be round Farewell a spell," said Racey. + +"Then they ain't no hurry," Doc Coffin told him smoothly. + +"None a-tall," contributed the short man. + +"That's the way to look at it," laughed Racey. "I shore don't care +anything about bein' pushed. Have a drink on me." + +He slid in their direction the bottle with which he had knocked down +the bartender, and, accompanied and imitated by Swing Tunstall, +departed from that place crabwise. + +When they were gone Doc Coffin looked at his companion. + +"Asking for it, Honey," said Doc Coffin. "Just asking for it." + +Then he went behind the bar, seized the senseless bartender by the +ankles and skidded him out on the barroom floor. The man whom Doc +Coffin had addressed as Honey (his other name was Hoke) spread his +legs and whistled when he glimpsed the three-inch cut running fore and +aft along the top of the bartender's skull. Blood from that cut had +dribbled and oozed over the major portion of the bartender's face and +shirt. For it had been the bartender's luck to hook his chin on the +edge of the lowest shelf when he dropped and he had perforce remained +crown upward. + +Doc Coffin stood back and stared at the stertorously breathing lump on +the floor with a cold eye. + +"Ain't he a mess?" he observed. "Ain't he a mess? I expect he'll be +right down peevish about it when he comes to." + +"Think so?" Honey Hoke was not quite sure of the point of Doc's +remark. + +"Yeah, I think so. I'm shore he will when I tell him how he was +kicked." + +"Kicked?" + +"Shore kicked. Kicked after he was down." + +"How?" + +"Didn't you see that feller Dawson kick Bull when he was down? Where +was yore eyes?" + +"That's the way of it, huh? Well, it _might_ save trouble if Bull was +to go on the prod real vicious." + +"Yo're whistlin'. They ain't no manner of reason for doin' a job +yoreself if you can get somebody else to do it for you." + +When Bull came to he was lying on his cot in his little cubby hole +adjoining the back room of the Starlight. Over across from the bed Doc +Coffin was looking out of the grimy window. Behind the closed door +giving egress to the back room certain folk were busy at faro. "King +win, ten lose," the dealer was saying. + +Doc Coffin turned at the rustle of Bull's slight movement. Doc nodded +grimly. + +"How's the head?" he inquired. + +Bull put up a hand to the bandage encircling his bullet head and swore +feelingly. + +"Guess it does hurt some," was Doc's comment. "Doc Alton took +three stitches. Lucky you was still senseless. He had to use a +harness-needle." + +Bull heartily damned Doc Alton, his methods, the faro players in the +next room, himself, and wound up with a blistering curse directed +against mankind in general and Racey Dawson in particular. + +"Tha's right, Bull," Doc Coffin applauded dryly. "Cuss him out. Give +him hell. Must do you a lot of good." + +Bull was understood to consign Doc Coffin to the region of lost souls. + +"I'd go a leetle slow," advised Doc Coffin, gently. "Just a leetle +slow if I was you. Yo're on yore back now, but you'll be getting all +right in a li'l while, and it's just possible, Bull, I might take it +into my head to ask you what you meant by all them cuss words yo're +throwin' at me." + +There was an icy glint in the pale blue eyes of Doc Coffin. Bull shut +up and subsided. + +"What," queried Doc Coffin after a momentary silence, "was the matter +with you?" + +"With me?" + +"Shore, with you. Who'm I talking to? What was the matter with you, +anyway? Don't you know any better'n to go up against a jigger like +that Dawson man? Yo're too cripplin' slow with a gun, feller." + +"Well, I--" + +"Y'oughta had him twice while he was swinging that bottle.... Yeah, +twice, I'm tellin' you. You had time enough. But not you. You just +stood there like a bump on a log and let him hit you. Yo're a +fine-lookin' example of a two-legged man, you are. If you ain't +careful, Bull, some two-year-old infant is gonna come along and spit +in yore eye." + +"He was so damn quick," alibied Bull. "I wasn't expectin' it." + +"A whole lot of folks are underground because they didn't expect to +get what they got. Yo're lucky to be lyin' there with only a headache. +Still, alla same, he needn't 'a' kicked you." + +"Huh? Kicked me? You mean to say he kicked me? Dawson kicked me?" + +"Shore I mean to say Dawson kicked you. Kicked you when you was lyin' +there down and out and senseless." + +A moment Bull lay quietly. Then when the full import of Doc Coffin's +words had percolated through and through his brain he pulled himself +to a sitting posture and swung a leg to the floor. Doc Coffin was +beside him instantly. + +"Lie down, you idjit!" commanded Doc Coffin, and with no gentle hand +shoved Bull down upon his pillow. "Whadda you think yo're gonna do?" + +"I'm goin' out and fill that ---- full of lead." + +"Oh, you are, huh? Yo're gonna do all that? Tha's fine. Do you want a +quiet burial or a regular funeral?" + +"Say--" + +"Say yoreself, and say something sensible while yo're about it." + +"Nobody can kick me and get away with it!" Bull declared, +passionately. "I'll--" + +"Maybe you will, but not in a hurry. You start out after him now, and +you wouldn't last as long as a short drink in a roomful of drunkards. +Didn't you hear about Dawson's li'l run-in with Nebraska?" + +"Hell, I _seen_ it!" + +"You seen it, huh? And you _know_ what he done to you to-day, and +still you wanna paint for war now and immediate? No, Bully, not +a-tall. You listen to me. I got a better plan. A whole lot better +plan. Lookit...." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THROWING SAND + + +After leaving the Starlight, on their way back to the hotel, Racey +said to Swing Tunstall: "Might as well tell Jack Harpe now we ain't +gonna ride for him, huh?" + +"Oh, shore," Swing sighed resignedly. "Have it yore own way! Have it +yore own way! I never seen such a feller as you for gettin' his own +way in all my life." + +"Yo're young yet--maybe you will," said Racey, consolingly. "So don't +get discouraged." + +They did not find Jack Harpe at the hotel, nor was he at the Happy +Heart. But in the saloon Luke Tweezy was drinking by himself at one +end of the bar. Perhaps the money-lender would know the whereabouts of +Jack Harpe. + +"'Lo, Luke," was Racey's greeting. "Seen Jack Harpe around anywheres?" + +Luke Tweezy's thin and sandy eyebrows lifted up in what would pass +with almost any one for surprise. "Who?" + +"Jack Harpe." + +"Dunno him." Indifferently--too indifferently. + +"You dunno him--long, slim feller, black hair and eyes, and a hawky +kind of nose? Jack Harpe. Shore you know him. Why, I seen--" Racey +broke off abruptly. + +"Yeah," prompted Luke Tweezy after an interval. "You seen--what?" + +"I don't see why you dunno him," parried Racey (it was a weak parry, +but the best he could encompass at the moment). "I thought you knowed +him. Somebody told me you did. My mistake. No harm done. Have a drink, +Luke." + +"Who told you I knowed this here now Jack Harpe?" probed Luke Tweezy, +when he had smacked his lips over a second drink. + +"I don't remember now," evaded Racey Dawson. "What does it matter?" + +"It don't matter," was the answer--the miffed answer it seemed to +Racey. "It don't matter a-tall. Have one on me, boys. Don't be afraid +to fill 'em up. They's plenty more on the back shelf when this one's +empty." + +They filled and drank, filled and drank. Swing thought that he had +never seen Racey overtaken by liquor so quickly. In no time he was +telling Luke Tweezy the most intimate details of his private life. +Swing knew that these details were a string of lies. But Luke Tweezy +could not know that. He put an affectionate hand on Racey's shoulder +and begged for more. He got it. + +When Racey ran down and reverted to the bottle, Luke Tweezy generously +purchased a second and invited him and his friend to a vacant table +in the corner of the room. It was an amazing sight. Luke Tweezy the +money-lender, the man who was supposed to still possess the first +dollar he ever earned, had actually bought three eighths of one bottle +of whiskey and the whole of another. + +Racey Dawson greatly desired to laugh. But he didn't dare. He was too +busy being drunk and getting drunker. Swing Tunstall, slow in the +uptake as usual, perceived nothing beyond the fact that Luke Tweezy +had suddenly become a careless spendthrift till halfway down the +second bottle when Luke said: + +"Shore is funny how you thought I knowed this Jack Harpe." + +"Yuh-yeah," assented Racey, and overset a glass in such a way that +four fingers of raw liquor splashed into Luke Tweezy's lap. "S'funny +all right--an' that's fuf-funnier," he added as Luke and his chair +scraped backward to avoid the drip. "D'I wet yuh all up, Lul-luke? +Mum-my min-mis-take. I'm makin' lul-lots of mistakes to-day." + +Luke Tweezy twisted his leathery features into his best smile. "It +don't matter," he told Racey. "Not a-tall. I--uh--who was it told you +I knowed this Jack Harpe?" + +"Dud-don't remember," denied Racey. + +"Think," urged Luke Tweezy. + +"Am thu-thinkin'," Racey said, crossly. "What you wanna know for?" + +"I don't like to have folks talkin' so loose and free about me," was +the Tweezy explanation. + +"Duh-hic-quite right," hiccuped Racey Dawson. "An' you are, too, y'old +catawampus. You a friend o' mim-mine, Lul-luke?" + +"Shore," said Luke, with an eye out for another upset glass. + +"Then lend me huh-hundred dollars, Lul-Luke." + +"Lend you a hundred dollars! On what security?" + +"My wuh-word," Racey strove to say with dignity. "Ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--but I ain't got a hundred dollars with me to-day." + +"Bub-but you can gug-get it," Racey insisted, weaving his head from +side to side in a snake-like manner. + +"We-ell, I dunno. You see, Racey--" + +"I nun-need the money," interrupted Racey. "I'm broke--bub-broke +bad. Swing's broke, too. That's too bad--I mean that's two bub-boke +brad--whistle twice for the crossing--I mean--Aw, hell, I know +whu-what I mean if-fif you don't. You lul-lend me that mum-money, +Lul-Luke, like a good feller." + +Luke Tweezy shook a regretful head. "I'm shore sorry you and Swing are +busted, Racey, I'd do anything for you I could in reason. You know +damwell I would, but money's tight with me just now. I ain't really +got a cent I can lend. Got a mortgage comin' due next month, but that +ain't now, of course." + +"Of course not. Huh-how could you think it was now? Huh-how could you, +Lul-Luke? Dud-do you know the child ain't a year old yet?" + +"Child? What child?" Luke Tweezy began to look alarmed. + +"What child?" frowned Racey Dawson, sitting up very straight and +throwing a chest. "That child over there by the doorway--there in the +streak o' sush-shine. Aw, the cute li'l feller! See him playin' with +Windy Taylor's spurs. Ain't he cunnin'?" + +"With most of 'em it's elephants and snakes an' such," proffered Luke +Tweezy. + +"Yeah," assented Swing Tunstall. "A kid is something new." + +"Thu-then you can't lend me that money?" Racey inquired, querulously. + +"No, Racey, I can't. Honest, I'd like to. Nothin' I'd like better. +Only the way I'm fixed just now it's plain flat impossible." + +"Then I s'puh-s'puh-s'pose I'll have to touch the Bar S folks or the +Cross-in-a-box. I gotta have money. Gug-gotta. They're my friends. +They'll give it to mum-me. Shore they will gimme all I want. They're +all my _friends_, I tell you!" + +As Racey uttered the word "friends" his toe pressed Swing Tunstall's +instep. + +"They're Swing's friends, too," continued Racey. "Ain't they, +Sus-Swing?" Again the Dawson toe bore down upon the Tunstall foot. + +"Shore they are," chimed in Swing, watching his friend closely--so +closely that he was able to catch the extremely slight nod of +approbation given by Racey. + +"Thu-there's Tom Loudon an' Tim Pup-pup-page of the Bub-bar S," +stuttered Racey, gazing blearily at Luke Tweezy. "Bub-best fuf-friends +I ever had, them tut-two fellers. An' Old Man Sus-Saltoun. There's a +pup-prince for you. Gug-give you the shirt off his bub-back." + +Which last was stretching it rather. For Old Man Saltoun, while not +precisely stingy, was certainly not the most generous person in the +territory. Nor did it escape Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy eyed him +sharply as he made the remark. At once Racey began to roll his head +from side to side and rock his body to and fro, and laugh crazily. + +"The Bub-bub-bar S is the bub-best ranch in the worl'." Again Racey +took up the thread of his discourse. "I tell you that outfit is great +friends o' mine. Juh-juh-just tut-to shuh-show yuh, Lul-luke. Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun let three punchers go lul-last week an' then turned +round an' gives us both jobs. That's huh-how we stand with Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun." + +"That's fine," complimented Luke Tweezy. + +"An' that ain't all," Racey galloped on, one toe pressing Swing's +instep. "I'm gonna tell him, Swing. He ain't no friend o' Jack +Harpe's. If I tell you you won't tell nobody, Lul-Luke, wuh-will yuh?" + +Luke was understood to state that no clam could be tighter-mouthed. + +"I knowed you wouldn't tell, Lul-luke," Racey declared, solemnly, +reaching across the table and affectionately pawing the Tweezy sleeve. +"I mum-maybe dud-drunk, but I know a friend when I see him. Yuh +bub-bet I do. Lul-lookit, Luke, lean over--" Here Racey pressed +heavily on Swing's instep. Then, when Luke leaned forward, Racey did +the same and possessed himself of the money-lender's ear by the simple +method of gripping it tightly between fingers and thumb. "Lul-luke," +resumed Racey, "Jack Harpe's offered us a job, too, an' we're gonna +take him up instead of the Bar S. Huh-how's that?" + +Racey released the Tweezy ear, leaned back in his chair, and breathed +triumphantly through his nose. + +Luke Tweezy likewise leaned back as far as his chair would permit, +and fingered tenderly a tingling ear. "Whatcha gonna take Harpe's job +for?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you liked the Bar S such a lot." + +"We do," chirped Racey, laying a long finger beside his nose and +pressing again the Tunstall instep. "That's why we're gonna ride for +Jack Harpe." Grinning at the mystification of Luke Tweezy, he leaned +forward and whispered, "We got a idea we can help the Bar S most by +bein' where we can watch Jack--and his outfit." + +Luke Tweezy sat up very suddenly. Swing clapped a hand over Racey's +mouth and shoved him backward. + +"Shut up!" commanded Swing. "He dunno what he's talkin' about, the +poor drunk." + +Thus did Swing Tunstall come up to the scratch right nobly. Racey +could have hugged him. Instead he bit him. This in order that Swing +should pull his hand away in a natural manner. Having achieved his +purpose, Racey smiled sottishly at Luke Tweezy. + +"But what's Jack Harpe done?" Luke Tweezy inquired swiftly. + +"It ain't what he's done," Racey replied. "It's what he's gug-gonna +do. He's out to cuc-colddeck the Bub-bar S, an' they nun-know it." + +Whereupon Swing began to shake him severely. "Stop yore ravin!" he +commanded, and contrived to bang Racey's head against the wall with a +bump that went a long way toward curing the pain of Racey's bite. + +Racey, with real tears in his eyes, looked up at Swing and guggled, +"I'm sho shleepy!" Then he laid his head upon his arms and slept. Luke +Tweezy did not attempt to awaken him. Swing Tunstall advised against +it. Luke Tweezy and he had a parting drink together. Then the +money-lender took what was left of the second bottle of whiskey--the +first was but a memory--to the bar and endeavoured to chivvy a rebate +out of the bartender. But such a procedure was decidedly not the Happy +Heart's method of doing business. Luke Tweezy, much to his disgust, +for he never drank except in the way of trade, was forced to carry his +bottle with him when he went. + +Swing, sapient young person, walked casually to the window and watched +Luke Tweezy cross the street to Calloway's store. Then he returned to +Racey's table. Racey turned his tousled head sidewise and whispered +from a corner of his mouth, "Help me out to Tom Kane's stable. He's +out o' town, and there won't anybody bother us." + +"C'mon, Racey, come alive," urged Swing Tunstall, making a great +business of shaking awake his drunken friend. "You don't wanna stay +here no longer. I know a fine place where you can sleep it off." + +Ten minutes later Racey and Swing were sitting comfortably on a pile +of hay in Tom Kane's new stable. Racey pulled off his boots, flopped +down on the hay, and clasped his hands behind his head. He wiggled his +toes luxuriously and laughed. + +"Gawd," said he. "Think o' that old skinflint buying nearly two +bottles of whiskey! Bet that'll lay heavy on his mind for as much as a +month. What you lookin' at me like that for?" + +"Yeah, I'd ask if I was you. I shore would. What was yore bright idea +of tellin' Luke Tweezy we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe so's to watch +him?" + +"So he'd know it." + +"So he'd know it! So he'd know it! The man sits there and says '_so +he'd know it_'! And you call me a thickskull! Which yore head has got +mine snowed under thataway. Can't you see, you droolin' fool, that now +they'll know as much as we do?" + +"No, oh, no," Racey denied with a superior smile. "Not never a-tall. I +ain't saying they mightn't know as much as you do by yoreself. But not +while you got the benefit of my brains they won't know as much as we +do. 'Tain't possibil." + +"And what did you bite me for?" pursued Swing, disregarding the slur. +"Hell's bells, if you'd bit Luke I wouldn't have a word to say, but +why pick on me?" + +"Well, you bumped my head so hard I saw sparks, so we're even. Say, +stop squallin' about yore hand! I didn't bite you half as hard as I +might have. Not half. You can still use the hand all right, can't you? +Yeah. Well, then, you ain't got anything to cry about, not a thing." + +"Talk sense, will you? You got us into a fine mess, you have. A fi-ine +mess." + +"Guess I fooled him, all right," Racey said with irritating +complacency. + +"What was you trying to do, anyway?" Swing snarled, glaring at his +friend. "What was the notion of tearin' off all them confidences about +bein' busted and yore dear friends at the Bar S and how you and me +was gonna play detective? And to think Providence lets a +what-you-may-call-it like you go on living! It ain't reasonable." + +"That business of telling Luke we was busted," grinned Racey, "and +asking him for a loan was just so I could work up roundabout and +natural like to how the Bar S bunch was my personal friends and how +we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe and watch him on their account. I +wanted him to know those things, and I couldn't slam out and tell him +dry so, could I? It wouldn't sound natural. It would make him think +the wrong way, you bet. Luke Tweezy ain't a plumb fool, for all he +made the mistake of denying he knowed Jack Harpe. That was a bad one." + +"Yeah, but--" + +"Lookit, Swing, we know that when Lanpher spoke of a front yard there +in the hotel corral he meant the Bar S range. Aw right. While we're +shore Jack Harpe wants to hire us to do his dirty work--which means +being rubbed out by our own friends likely--would he let us ride for +him if he thought the Bar S was paying us to watch him?" + +"Not if he knowed what he was doing," admitted Swing. + +"That's why I got so greasy and confidential with Mister Luke Tweezy. +So Jack Harpe will know." + +"And Luke will tell him?" + +"Will Luke tell him? Luke will run to him a-pantin'. I'll gamble Jack +Harpe knows the awful worst already. So we'll be safe enough to go to +Jack to-morrow morning bright and early and tell him we've decided to +give him the benefit of our services." + +"But I thought we figured not to ride for him," said the now +thoroughly bewildered Swing. + +"Of course we ain't. In words of one syllable, Swing, I want to find +out if it is the Bar S Jack Harpe's going against. Well, then, we +knowing what we know, and Jack Harpe knowing what we know he knows, if +he turns us down to-morrow after offering us the job yesterday, it'll +not only give us the absolute proof we want, but it'll make him turn +his wolf loose P D Q. And that last will be good medicine, because +if I'm any judge he ain't ready to start anything yet awhile, and I +notice when a gent ain't ready and has to jump anyhow he's a heap +likely to fall down and smear himself all over the landscape." + +"The man's right," said Swing. "But it's the oddest number alla same I +ever did see. All kinds of clues to a crime, and no crime yet." + +"It'll come," said Racey Dawson, grimly. "Jack Harpe is one bad +actor." + +"What you got against him--I mean, anything particular besides yore +natural dislike?" Swing Tunstall at times was blessed with flashes of +penetrating shrewdness. + +"I ain't got any use for him, thassall." Much emphasis on the part of +Racey Dawson. + +Swing nodded. "See him at Moccasin Spring?" was his drawled question. + +"I didn't say so." Stiffly. + +"You didn't have to. And you don't--not now. I see it all. And you +yawpin' out real loud how interested you are in seeing how the Bar S +gets a square deal, and letting out only a small peep about old Dale, +and thinking yo're foolin' Swing to a fare-you-well. Oh, yeah. It's +the Dale's li'l ranch that's been worrying you alla time. I know. +Racey's actually got a girl at last. I kind of suspicioned it, but +I didn't think it was so heap big serious. Don't you fret, Racey, +old-timer, I'll keep yore secret. Till death does--Ouch! Leggo me, you +poor hickory! Yo're supposed to be sleeping off a drunk, remember! +G'wan now! Lie down, Fido! Charge, you bad dog!" + +"But lookit," resumed Swing Tunstall, when the dust of conflict was +beginning to settle and he was poking about in the hay in search of +three shirt-buttons and his pocket knife, "lookit, Racey, you didn't +say anything to Luke about yore being friendly with this Dale party. +Guess you forgot that, huh?" + +"Guess I didn't forget it," returned Racey Dawson, placidly. "It ain't +good euchre to lead all yore trumps before you have to. I'm saving +that about Dale to tell to Jack Harpe after he turns us down. I'm a +heap anxious to see what he says then." + +"Maybe he won't say anything." + +"Maybe he won't turn us down. But will you bet he won't? Give you +odds. Any money up to a hundred." + +"I will not," said Swing Tunstall, shaking a decided head. "Yo're too +lucky. Oh, lookit, lookit!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BACK PORCH + + +Racey's gaze casually and uninterestedly followed Swing's pointing +finger. Immediately his eye brightened and he sat up with a jerk. + +"I'll shove the door a li'l farther open," said Swing, making as if to +rise. + +"Sit still," hissed Racey, pulling down his friend with one hand and +endeavouring to smooth his own hair with the other. "Yo're all right, +and the door's all right. I'm going over there in a minute and if +yo're good I'll take you with me." + +"Over there" was the back porch of the Blue Pigeon Store. Swing's +exclamations and laudable desire to see better were called forth by +the sudden appearance on the back porch of two girls. One was Miss +Blythe. The other was Miss Molly Dale. + +There were two barrel chairs on the porch. Miss Blythe picked up a +piece of embroidery on a frame from the seat of one of the chairs and +sat down. Molly Dale seated herself in the other chair, crossed her +knees, and swung a slim, booted leg. From the breast pocket of her +boy's gray flannel shirt she produced a long, narrow strip of white to +which appeared to be fastened a small dark object. She held the strip +of white in her left hand. Her right hand held the dark object and +with it began to make a succession of quick, wavy, hooky dabs at one +end of the strip of white. + +"First time I ever seen anybody trying to knit without needles," said +the perplexed Swing. + +"That ain't knitting," said the superior Racey. "That's tatting." + +"Tatting?" + +"Tatting." + +"What's it for?" + +"Lingery." Racey pronounced the word to rhyme with "clingery." + +"Lingery?" + +"Lingery." + +"What's lingery?" + +"Lingery is clo'es." + +"Clo'es, huh. Helluva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'es +then instead of this here now lingery?" + +"Because lingery is a certain _kind_ of clo'es, you ignorant Jack. +Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?" + +"I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear me +whistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell me +petticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inch +wide. I've seen too many washin's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah. +And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an apron +round my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me to +fly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yards +and yards like a balloon." + +"Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't _make_ petticoats +of this tatting stuff. They use it for trimming like." + +"Trimming on the petticoats?" + +"_And_ the lingery." + +"But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing." + +"Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand? +Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats. +See?" + +"I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I +think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say _lingery_ at me again I won't let +you introduce me to yore girl." + +"She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening. + +"But you'd like her to be, huh? Shore. What does she think about it? +Which one of 'em is she?" + +"I didn't say neither of 'em was. You always did take too much for +granted, Swing." + +"I ain't taking too much for granted with you blushing thataway. Which +one? Tell a feller. C'mon, stingy." + +"Shucks," said Racey, "I should think you could tell. The best-looking +one, of course." + +"But they's two of 'em, feller, and they both look mighty fine to me. +Take that one with the white shirt and the slick brown hair. She's as +pretty as a li'l red wagon. A reg'lar doll baby, you bet you." + +"Doll baby! Ain't you got any eyes? That brown-haired girl--and I want +to say right here I never did like brown hair--is Joy Blythe, Bill +Derr's girl. Of course, Bill's a good feller and all that, and if he +likes that style of beauty it ain't anything against him. But that +other girl now. Swing, you purblind bat, when it comes to looks, she +lays all over Joy Blythe like four aces over a bobtailed flush." + +"She does, huh? You got it bad. Here's hoping it ain't catchin'. I've +liked girls now and then my own self, but I never like one so hard +I couldn't see nothing good in another one. Now, humanly speaking, +either of them two on the porch would suit me." + +"And neither of 'em ain't gonna suit you, and you can gamble on that, +Swing Tunstall." + +"Oh, ain't they? We'll see about that. You act like I never seen a +girl before. Lemme tell you I know how to act all right in company. I +ain't any hilltop Reuben." + +"If you ain't, then pin up yore shirt where I tore the buttons off. +You look like the wrath o' Gawd." + +"You ain't something to write home about yore own self. I can button +up my vest and look respectable, but they's hayseeds and shuttlin's +all over you, and besides I got a necktie, and _yore_ handkerchief is +so sloshed up you can't tie it round yore neck. Yo're a fine-lookin' +specimen to go a-visitin'. A fi-ine-lookin' specimen. And anyway yo're +drunk. You can't go." + +"Hell I can't," snapped Racey, brushing industriously. "They never +seen me." + +"But Luke Tweezy did," chuckled Swing. + +"What's Luke got to do with it?" Racey inquired without looking up. + +"If you'd slant yore eyes out through the door you'd see what Luke +Tweezy's gotta do with it." + +Racey Dawson looked up and immediately sat down on the hay and spoke +in a low tone. + +Swing nodded with delight. "You'll cuss worse'n that when I go over +and make Luke introduce me," he said. "He's been out there on the +porch with 'em the last five minutes, and you was so busy argufyin' +with me you never looked up to see him. And you talk of going over and +doing the polite. Yah, you make me laugh. This is shore one on you, +Racey. Don't you wish now you hadn't made out to be so drunk? Lookit, +Luke. He's a-offerin' 'em something in a paper poke. They're a-eatin' +it. He musta bought some candy. I'll bet they's all of a dime's worth +in that bag. The spendthrift. How he must like them girls. It's yore +girl he's shining up to special, Racey. Ain't he the lady-killer? Look +out, Racey. You won't have a chance alongside of Luke Tweezy." + +"Swing," said Racey, in a voice ominously calm and level, "if you +don't shut yore trap I'll shore wrastle you down and tromp on yore +stummick." + +So saying he reached for Swing Tunstall. But the latter, watchful +person that he was, eluded the clutching hands and hurried through the +doorway. + +Racey, seething with rage, could only sit and hug his knees while +Swing went up on the porch and was introduced to the two girls. It was +some balm to his tortured soul to see how ill Luke Tweezy took Swing's +advent. Did Luke really like Molly Dale? The old goat! Why, the man +was old enough to be her father. + +And did she like him? Lordy man alive, how could she? But Luke Tweezy +had money. Girls liked money, Racey knew that. He had known a girl to +marry a more undesirable human being than Luke Tweezy simply because +the man was rich. Personally, he, Racey Dawson, were he a girl, would +prefer the well-known honest heart to all the wealth in the territory. +But girls were queer, and sometimes did queer things. Molly, was +she queer? He didn't know. She looked sensible, yet why was she so +infernally polite to Luke Tweezy? She didn't have to smile at him when +he spoke to her. It wasn't necessary. Racey's spirit groaned within +him. Finally, the spectacle of the chattering group on the back porch +of the Blue Pigeon proved more than Racey could stand. He retreated +into a dark corner of the barn and lay down on the hay. But he did not +go to sleep. Far from it. Later he removed his boots, stuffed them +full of hay, and hunkered down behind a dismounted wagon-seat over +which a wagon-cover had been flung. With a short length of rope and +several handfuls of hay he propped the boots in such a position that +they stuck out beyond the wagon-box ten or twelve inches and gave +every evidence of human occupation. + +Boosting up with a bushel basket the stiff canvas at the end opposite +the boots he made the wagon-cover stretch long enough and high enough +to conceal the important fact that there were no legs or body attached +to the boots. + +Which being done Racey took up a strategic position behind an upended +crate near the doorway. + +He proceeded to wait. He waited quite a while. The afternoon drained +away. The sun set. In the dusk of the evening Racey heard footsteps. +Swing Tunstall. He'd know his step anywhere. The individual making the +footsteps came to the doorway of the barn, halted an instant, then +walked in. Almost at once he stumbled over the boots. Then Racey +sprang upon his back with a joyous shout and slammed him headforemost +over the wagon-seat into the pile of hay. + +The man swore--and the voice was not that of Swing Tunstall. On the +heels of this unwelcome discovery Racey made another. The man had +dragged out a knife from under his armpit, and was squirmingly +endeavouring to make play with it. Racey's intended practical joke on +Swing Tunstall was in a fair way to become a tragedy on himself. + +There was no time to make explanations, even had Racey been so +inclined. The man was strong and the knife was long--and presumably +sharp. Racey, pinioning his opponent's knife arm with one hand and his +teeth, flashed out his gun and smartly clipped the man over the head +with the barrel. + +Instantly, so far as an active participation in the affair of the +moment, the man ceased to function. He lay limp as a sodden moccasin, +and breathed stertorously. Racey knelt at his side and laid his hand +on the top of the man's head. The palm came away warmly wet. Racey +replaced his gun in its holster and pulled the senseless one out on +the barn floor near the doorway where he could see him better. + +The man was Luke Tweezy. + +Racey sat down and began to pull on his boots. There was nothing to be +gained by remaining in the barn. Tweezy was not badly hurt. The blow +on the head had resulted, so far as Racey could discover (later he was +to learn that his diagnosis had been correct), in a mere scalp wound. + +Racey, when his boots were on, picked up his hat. At least he thought +it was his hat. When he put it on, however, it proved a poor fit. He +had taken Tweezy's hat by mistake. He dropped it on the floor and +turned to pick up his own where it lay behind the wagon-seat. + +But, as we wheeled, a flicker of white showed inside the crown of +Tweezy's hat where it lay on the floor. Racey swung back, stooped +down, and turned out the leather sweatband of Tweezy's hat, at the +edge of which had been revealed the bit of white. + +The latter proved to be one corner of a folded letter. Without the +least compunction Racey tucked this letter into the breast pocket of +his flannel shirt. Then he set about searching Tweezy's clothing with +thoroughness. But other than the odds and odds usually to be found in +a man's pockets there was nothing to interest the searcher. + +Racey carefully turned back the sweatband of the hat, placed the +headpiece on top of the wagon-seat, and departed. He went as far as +the Happy Heart corral. Behind the corral he sat down on his heels, +and took out the letter he had purloined from Luke Tweezy. He opened +the envelope and read the finger-marked enclosure by the light of +matches shielded behind his hat. The letter ran: + +DEAR FRIEND LUKE: + +I don't think much of your plan. Too dangerous. The Land Office is +getting stricter every day. This thing must be absolutely legal in +every way. You can't bull ahead and trust to luck there aren't any +holes. There mustn't be any holes, not a damn hole. Try my plan, the +one I discussed so thoroughly with you last week. It will take longer, +perhaps, but it is absolutely safe. You must learn to be more careful +with the law from now on, Luke. I know what I'm talking about. + +I tell you plainly if you don't accept my scheme and work to it +religiously I'm out of the deal absolutely. I'm not going to risk my +liberty because of other people's foolhardiness. + +Show this letter to Jack Harpe, and let me know your decision. + +Another thing, impress upon Jack the necessity of you two keeping +publicly apart until after the deal is sprung. When you talk to him go +off somewheres where no one will see you. I heard he spoke to you on +the street. Lampher told me. This must not happen again while we are +partners. Don't tell Doc Coffin's outfit more than they need to know. + +Yours truly, + +JACOB POOLEY. + +Racey blew out the fourth match and folded the letter with care and +replaced it in the envelope. He sat back on his heels and looked up +into the darkening sky. Jacob Pooley. Well, well, _well_. If Fat Jakey +Pooley, the register of the district, was mixed up in the business, +the opposition would have its work cut out in advance. Yes, indeedy. +For no man could walk more convincingly the tight rope of the law than +Fat Jakey. Racey Dawson did not know Fat Jakey, except by sight, but +he had heard most of the tales told of the gentleman. And they were +_tales_. Many of them were accepted by the countryside as gospel +truth. Perhaps half of them were true. A good-natured, cunning, +dishonest, and indefatigable featherer of a lucrative political +nest--that was Fat Jakey. + +Racey Dawson sat and thought hard through two cigarettes. Then he +thumbed out the butt, got to his feet, and started to return to the +hotel. For it had suddenly come upon him that he was hungry. + +But halfway round the corral an idea impinged upon his consciousness +with the force of a bullet. "Gawdamighty," he muttered, "I am a Jack!" + +He turned and retraced his steps to the corner of the corral. Here he +stopped and removed his spurs. He stuffed a spur into each hip pocket, +and moved cautiously and on tiptoe toward Tom Kane's barn. + +It was almost full night by now. But in the west still glowed the +faintly red streak of the dying embers of the day. Racey suddenly +bethought him that the red streak was at his back, therefore he +dropped on all fours and proceeded catwise. + +He was too late. Before he reached the back of the barn he heard the +feet of two people crunching the hard ground in front of it. The sound +of the footsteps died out on the grass between the barn and the houses +fronting on Main Street. + +Racey, hurrying after and still on all fours, suddenly saw the dark +shape of a tall man loom in front of him. He halted perforce. His +own special brand of bull luck was with him. The dark shape, walking +almost without a sound, shaved his body so closely as it passed that +he felt the stir of the air against his face. + +When the men had gone on a few yards Racey looked over his shoulder. +Silhouetted against the streak of dying red was the upper half of Jack +Harpe's torso. There was no mistaking the set of that head and those +shoulders. Both it and them were unmistakable. Jack Harpe. Racey swore +behind his teeth. If only he could have reached the barn in time to +hear what the two men had said to each other. + +After a decent interval Racey went on. The Happy Heart was the nearest +saloon. He felt reasonably certain that Luke Tweezy would go there to +have his cut head dressed. He had. Racey, his back against the bar, +looked on with interest at the bandaging of Luke Tweezy by the +proprietor. + +"Yep," said Luke, sitting sidewise in the chair, "stubbed my toe +against a cordwood stick in front of Tom Kane's barn and hit my head +on a rock. Knocked me silly." + +"Sh'd think it might," grunted the proprietor, attending to his job +with difficulty because Luke _would_ squirm. "Hold still, will you, +Luke?" + +"Yo're taking twice as many stitches as necessary," grumbled Luke. + +"I ain't," denied the proprietor. "And I got two more to take. HOLD +STILL!" + +"Don't need to deafen me!" squalled Luke, indignantly. + +"Shut up!" ordered the proprietor, who, for that he did not owe any +money to Luke, was not prepared to pay much attention to his fussing. +"If you think I'm enjoying this, you got another guess coming. And if +you don't like the way I'm doing it, you can do it yoreself." + +Luke stood up at last, a white bandage encircling his head, said that +he was much obliged, and would like to borrow a lantern for a few +moments. + +"Aw, you don't need any lantern," objected the proprietor. "I forgot +to fill mine to-day, anyway. Can't you find yore way to the hotel in +the dark? That crack on the topknot didn't blind you, did it?" + +"I lost something," explained Luke Tweezy. "When I fell down most all +my money slipped out of my pocket." + +"I'll get you a lantern then," grumbled the proprietor. + +Ten minutes later Luke Tweezy, frantically quartering the floor of Tom +Kane's barn, heard a slight sound and looked up to see Racey Dawson +and Swing Tunstall standing in the doorway. + +"I didn't know you fell down _inside_ the barn," Racey observed. + +"There's lots you dunno," said Luke, ungraciously. + +"So there is," assented Racey. "But don't rub it in, Luke. Rubbing it +in hurts my feelings. And my feelings are tender to-day--most awful +tender, Luke. Don't you go for to lacerate 'em. I ain't owing you a +dime, you know." + +To this Luke Tweezy made no comment. But he resumed his squattering +about the floor and his poking and delving in the piles of hay. He +raised a dust that flew up in clouds. He coughed and snorted and +snuffed. Racey and Swing Tunstall laughed. + +"Makes you think of a hay-tedder, don't he?" grinned Racey. "How much +did you lose, Luke--two bits?" + +At this Luke looked up sharply. "Seems to me you got over yore drunk +pretty quick," said he. + +"Oh, my liquor never stays by me a great while," Racey told him +easily. "That's the beauty of being young. When you get old and +toothless an' deecrepit like some people, not to mention no names of +course, why then she's a cat with another tail entirely." + +"What'ell's goin' on in here?" It was Red Kane speaking. Red was Tom +Kane's brother. + +Racey and Swing moved apart to let him through. Red Kane entered, +stared at the spectacle of Luke Tweezy and his bobbing lantern, stared +and stared again. + +"What you doing, Luke?" he demanded. + +"Luke's lost a nickel, Red." Racey answered for the lawyer. "And a +nickel, you know yoreself, is worth all of five cents." + +"I lost some money," grumbled Luke. + +"But you _said_ you lost it when you tripped and fell," said Racey. +"And you fell outside." + +"I lost it here," Luke said, shortly. + +"I don't giveadamn where you lost it or what you lost," declared Red +Kane. "You can't go flirtin' round with any lantern in Tom's barn. +First thing you know you'll set it afire. C'mon, Luke, pull yore +freight." + +"But lookit here," protested Luke, "I lost something valuable, Red. I +gotta find it." + +"It wasn't money then?" put in Racey. + +"Of course it was money," averred Luke. + +"You said 'it' this time, Luke." + +"It don't matter what I said. I lost some money, and I want to find +it." + +"You can want all you like," said Red Kane, "but not in this barn. +C'mon back to-morrow morning, and you can hunt the barn to pieces, but +you can't do any more skirmishing round in here to-night. I'll lock +the barn door so's nobody else will go fussbudgettin' round in here. +C'mon, Luke, get a move on you." + +So Luke was driven out much against his will, and Racey and Swing +roamed around to the dance hall. Here at a table in the ell where the +bar stretched its length they could sit and talk--unheard under cover +of the music. + +"But how come you had yore boots off?" Swing desired to know when a +table, a bottle and two glasses were between them. "Don't try to tell +me you stuck 'em behind that wagon-seat on purpose to trip him. You +never knowed he was comin'." + +"Well, no, I didn't exactly," admitted Racey, with a sly smile. "Those +boots were laid out all special for you." + +"For me?" + +"For you." + +"But why for me?" Perplexedly. + +"Because, Swing, old settler, I didn't like you this afternoon. The +more I saw you over there on that porch the less I liked you. So I +took off my boots and hid 'em careful like behind the wagon-seat so +they'd stick out some, and you'd see 'em and think I was there asleep, +and naturally you'd go for to wake me up and wouldn't think of looking +behind the crate where I was laying for you all ready to hop on yore +neck the second you stooped over the wagon-seat and give you the Dutch +rub for glommin' all the fun this afternoon." + +"And what didja think I'd be doin' alla time?" grinned Swing Tunstall. + +"You wouldn't 'a' tried to knife me, anyway." + +"G'on. He didn't." + +"Oh, didn't he? You better believe he did. If I hadn't got a holt of +his wrist and whanged him over the head with my Colt for all I was +worth he'd 'a' had me laid out cold. Yep, li'l Mr. Luke Tweezy +himself. The rat that don't care nothing about fighting with anything +but a law book." + +"A rat will fight when it's cornered," said Swing. + +Racey nodded. "I've seen 'em. It's something to know Luke carries a +knife and where." + +"Where?" + +"Under his left arm. Fill up, and shove the bottle over." + +Swing filled abstractedly and slopped the table. He pushed the bottle +toward Racey. The latter caught it just in time to prevent a smash on +the floor. + +"Say, look what yo're doing!" cried Racey. "Y' almost wasted a whole +bottle of redeye. I ain't got money to throw away if you have." + +"I was just wonderin' what Fat Jakey's plan is," said Swing, +scratching his head. + +"No use wonderin'," Racey told him. "It's their move." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE LOOKOUT + + +"Tell you, gents, somethin's come up to change my plans." It was Jack +Harpe speaking. Racey and Swing had met him on the sidewalk in front +of Lainey's hotel shortly after breakfast the following morning, and +Racey had told him of their ultimate decision. As he spoke Mr. Harpe +braced an arm against the side of the building, crossed his feet, and +scratched the back of his head. "I'm shore sorry," he went on, "but +I'd like to call off that proposition about you riding for me. Coupla +men used to ride for me one time are coming back unexpected. You know. +Naturally--you know how it is yoreself--I'd like to have these fellers +riding for me, so if it's alla same to you two gents we'll call it +off. But I wanna be fair. You expected a job on my ranch. I told you +you could have it. I owe you somethin'. What say to a month's wages +apiece?" + +Racey shook a slow head, and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "You don't +owe us a nickel," he told Jack Harpe. "Take back yore gold. We're +honest workin'-girls ourselves. Of course we may starve, but what's +that between friends? In words of one syllable what do we care for +poverty or precious stones?" + +Jack Harpe followed this flight of fancy with an uncertain smile. +"Alla same," he said, "I wish you'd lemme give you that month's wages. +I'd feel better about it. Like I was paying my bets sort of." + +"'Tsall right," nodded Racey Dawson. "We still don't want any money. +We're satisfied if you are. Yep, we're a heap satisfied--now. _But_ I +ain't contented--much." + +"That's tough," commiserated Jack Harpe, and dropped at his side the +arm he had braced against the wall of the hotel. Also he straightened +his crossed leg. His air and manner, even to the most casual of eyes, +took on a sudden brisk watchfulness. "That's tough," repeated Jack +Harpe, and added a headshake for good measure. + +"Ain't it?" Racey Dawson said, brightly. "But maybe you can help me +out. Lookit, I ain't trying to pry, y' understand. I'm the least +prying feller in four states, but this here ranch of yores which ain't +got anything to do with the 88 and won't cut any corners off the Bar S +might it by any chance overlap on Mr. Dale's li'l ranch?" + +"Overlap the Dale ranch! What you talkin' about?" + +"I dunno," Racey replied, simply. "I'm trying to find out." + +Jack Harpe laughed his soundless laugh. "I dunno what it is to you," +he said, "but if my ranch don't come near the Bar S how can it hit the +Dale place?" + +"Stranger things than that have happened. But still, alla same, I'd +shore not admire to see any hardship come to old Chin Whisker--Dale, I +mean." + +If Racey had hoped to gain any effect by mentioning "Chin Whisker" he +was disappointed. Jack Harpe was wearing his poker face at the moment. + +"I wouldn't like that any myself," concurred Jack Harpe. "Old Dale +seems like a good feller, sort of shackles along a mite too shiftless +maybe, but his daughter takes the curse off, don't she?" + +"We weren't talking about the daughter," Racey pointed out. + +Swing Tunstall immediately stepped to one side. There was a something +in Racey's tone. + +But Jack Harpe did not press the point. He smiled widely instead. + +"We weren't talking about her, for a fact," he assented. "Coming right +down to cases, we'd oughta be about done talking, oughtn't we?" + +"Depends," said Racey. "It all depends. I'd just like folks to know +that I'd take it a heap personal if any tough luck came to old Dale +and his ranch." + +"Meanin'?" + +"What I said. No more. No less." + +"What you said can be took more ways than one." + +"What do you care?" flashed Racey. "What I said concerns only the gent +or gents who are fixing to colddeck old Dale. Nobody else a-tall. So +what do you care?" + +"I don't. Not a care, not a care. Only--only one thing. Mister Man, if +you're aiming to drynurse old Dale you're gonna have yore paws most +awful full of man's size work. Leastaways, that's the way she looks +to a man up a tree. Me, I'm a great hand for mindin' my own business, +but--" + +"Yo're like Luke Tweezy thataway," cut in Racey. "That's what he's +always doing." + +"Who's Luke Tweezy?" + +"So you've learned yore lesson," chuckled Racey. "It was about time. +Guess you must 'a' bothered Luke Tweezy some when you spoke to him +that day in front of the Happy Heart just before you and Lanpher +crawled yore cayuses and rode to Dale's on Soogan Creek.... Don't +remember, huh? I do. You said, 'See you later, Luke,' and he didn't +speak back. Just kept on untying his hoss and keeping his head bent +down like he hadn't heard a word you said. 'S'funny, huh?" + +"Damfunny," assented Jack Harpe with an odd smoothness. + +"Yeah, you fellers that don't know each other are all of that. Tell me +something, do you meet in the cemetery by a dead nigger's grave in the +dark of the moon at midnight or what? I'm free to admit I'm puzzled. +She's all a heap too mysterious for me." + +"Crazy talk," commented Jack Harpe. "You been wallowing in the +nosepaint and letting yore imagination run on the range too much." + +"Maybe," Racey said, equably. "Maybe. You can't tell. As a young one I +had a powerful imagination. I might have it yet." + +Jack Harpe gazed long and silently at Racey Dawson. The latter +returned the stare with interest. With the sixth sense possessed by +most men who live in a country where the law and the sixshooter are +practically synonymous terms, Racey was conscious that Marie, the +Happy Heart Lookout, had suddenly drifted up to his left flank and now +stood with arms akimbo on the inner edge of the sidewalk. Her body +was turned partly toward him but her head was turned wholly away. +Evidently there was something of interest farther up the street. + +Racey moved slightly to the left. He wished to have a little more +light on Jack Harpe's right side. The Harpe right hand--it was in the +shadow. Jack Harpe pivoted to face Racey. The light from the hotel +window fell on the right hand. The member was near the gun butt, but +not suggestively near. + +"Listen here," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, in a snarling whisper +designed solely for the ears of Racey Dawson, "I dunno what you been +a-drivin' at, but just for yore better information I'm telling you +that I always get what I go after. Whether it's land, cows, horses, +or--women, I get what I want. Nothing ever has stopped me. Nothing +ever will stop me. Don't forget." + +"Thanks," smiled Racey. "I'll try not to." + +"And here's somethin' else: What I take I keep--always." + +"Always is a long word." + +"There's a longer." + +"What?" + +"Death." + +"Meanin'?" + +"That folks who ain't for me are against me. Looks like yore friend +there wanted to talk to you. So long." + +Abruptly Jack Harpe faced about and went into the hotel. Racey felt a +touch on his arm. He turned to find that Marie had almost bumped into +him. Her head was still turned away. One of her hands was groping for +his arm. Her fingers clutched his wrist, then slid upward to the crook +of his elbow. + +"Le's go across the street," she said in a breathless voice, and +pulled him forward. + +Her body as she pulled was pressed tightly against him. She seemed to +hang upon him. And all to the discomfort and mental anguish of Racey +Dawson. He was no prude. His moral sense had never oppressed him. But +this calm appropriation of him was too much. But he accompanied her. +For there was Swing Tunstall, a nothing if not interested observer. +Other folk as well were spectators. To shake loose Marie's grip, +to run away from her, would make him ridiculous. He continued to +accompany the young woman quite as if her kidnapping of him was a +matter of course. + +In the middle of the street they were halted by the headlong approach +of a rapidly driven buckboard. As it swept past in front of them the +light of the lantern clamped on the dashboard flashed on their faces. + +"'Lo, Mr. Dawson," cried the driver, her fresh young voice lifting +to be heard above the drum of the hoofs and the grind of the rolling +wheels. And the voice was the voice of Miss Molly Dale. + +Racey did not reply to the greeting. He was too dumb-foundedly aghast +at the mischance that had presented him, while arm in arm with a +person of Marie's stamp, to the eyes of one upon whom he was striving +to make an impression. What would Molly Dale think? The worst, of +course. How could she help it? Appearances were all against him. Then +he recalled that she had been the sole occupant of the buckboard--that +she had called him by name _after_ the light had fallen on the face of +the lookout. It was possible that she might not know who Marie +was. Although it was no more than just possible, he cuddled the +potentiality to him as if it had been a purring kitten. + +He allowed Marie to lead him across the sidewalk and into the +pot-black shadow between Tom Kane's house and an empty shack. But here +in the thick darkness he paused and looked back to see whether Swing +Tunstall were following. Swing was not. He was entering the hotel in +company with Windy Taylor. + +Marie jerked at his arm. "C'mon," she urged, impatiently. "Gonna take +root, or what?" + +Willy-nilly he accompanied his captor to the extremely private and +secluded rear of Tom Kane's new barn. Here were the remains of a +broken wagon, several wheels, and the major portion of a venerable and +useless stove. Marie released his arm and Racey sat down on the stove. +But it was a very useless stove, and it collapsed crashingly under his +weight (later he learned that even when it had been a working member +of Tom Kane's menage the stove had been held together mainly by trust +in the Lord and a good deal of baling wire). + +"Clumsy!" Marie hissed as he arose hurriedly. "All thumbs and left +feet! Why don't you make a li'l more noise? I'll bet you could if you +tried." + +"Say," Racey snapped, temperishly, for a sharp corner of the stove +door had totally obscured his sense of proportion, "say, I didn't ask +to come over here with you! What do you want, anyway?" + +"Want you to shut up and pay attention to me!" she flung back. "I +thought you was gonna leave town. Why ain't you?" + +"Changed my mind," was his answer. + +"Why can't you do what you said you'd do?" She was quite vehement +about it. + +"I got a right to change my mind, ain't I?" + +"Go, dammit! Why can't you go? You gave them a chance to even up +when you ran that blazer on Doc Coffin an' Honey Hoke there in the +Starlight. Let it go at that. Whadda you want to hang round here for? +Don't you know that every hour you stay here makes it more dangerous +for you?... Oh, you can laugh! That's all you do when a feller does +her level best to see you don't come to any harm. Gawd! I could shake +you for a fool!" + +"Was that what you pulled me alla way over here to tell me?" he +inquired, somewhat miffed at her acerbity. + +"I pulled you across the street because if I'd left you where I found +you you wouldn't 'a' lived a minute." The starlight was bright enough +to reveal to him the set and earnest tenseness of her features. + +"I wouldn't 'a' lived a minute, huh?" was his comment. "I didn't see +anybody round there fit and able to put in a period." + +"It wasn't anybody you could _see_. Don't you remember what I said +about a knife in the night, or a shot in the dark? Man, do you have to +be killed before you're convinced?" + +"Well--uh--I--" + +"Whadda you guess I was standin' alongside of you for while you was +talkin' to that other feller, huh? Tryin' to listen to what you was +sayin'? Think so, huh?" + +"You shore had yore nerve," he said, admiringly--and helplessly. + +"Nerve nothin'!" she denied. "He wouldn't shoot through me. I know +that well enough." + +"Why wouldn't he? And how do you know?" + +"Because, and I do. That's enough." + +"Which particular _one_ is he?" + +"I ain't sayin'." + +"Do you like him as much as that?" Shrewdly. + +"Not the way you mean." Dispassionately. + +"Then who is he?" + +"I ain't sayin', I tell you!" + +"You snitched on Nebraska." Persuasively. + +"This feller's different." + +"How different?" + +"None of yore business. Lookit, I'm doin' my best for you, but I won't +have the luck every time that I had to-night--nor you won't, neither. +Gawd! if I hadn't just happened to strike for a night off this evenin' +I dunno where you'd be!" + +"Say, I thought you didn't dare let them see you have anythin' to do +with me?" + +"I didn't, and I don't. But I had to. I couldn't set by an' let you be +plugged, could I? Hardly." + +"But--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. Don't you worry any about me. I got a ace +in the hole if the weather gets wet. But I wanna tell you this: If +yo're bound to go on playin' the fool, keep a-movin' and walk round a +lighted window like it's a swamp." + +She dodged past him and was gone. He made no move to follow. He pushed +back his hat and scratched his head. + +"Helluva town this is," he muttered. "Can't stand still any more +without having some sport draw a fine sight where you'll feel it +most." + +After she left Racey Dawson Marie diagonalled across Main Street, +passed between the dance hall and Dolan's warehouse, and made her way +to the most outlying of the half-dozen two-room shacks scattered +at the back of the dance hall. She entered the shack, felt for the +matches in the tin tobacco-box nailed against the wall, and struck one +to light the lamp. Like the provident miss she was she turned the wick +down after lighting in order that the chimney might heat slowly. + +It may have been the dimness of the lighted lamp. It may have been +that she was not as observing as usual. But certainly she had no +inkling of another's presence in the same room with her till she had +slipped out of her waist. Then a man in the corner of the room swore +harshly. + +"---- yore soul to ----!" were his remarks in part. "What did you horn +in for to-night?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DISCOVERY + + +Racey Dawson did not remain long idle after Marie's departure. The +girl had barely entered the narrow passage between the warehouse and +the dance hall before he was crossing the street at a point beyond +the jail, where there were no shafts of light from open windows and +doorways to betray him. + +Racey Dawson circled the sheriff's house and tippytoed past the +outermost of the six two-room shacks at the rear of the dance hall. +His objective was the Starlight Saloon, his purpose to discover the +bushwhacker who had tried to shoot him. + +As he passed the outermost shack a light flashed up within it. He +saw Marie's head and shoulder silhouetted against the curtain. He +recognized her immediately by the heavy mass of her hair. No other +woman in Farewell possessed such a mop. + +Racey resolved to speak with Marie again. His hand was lifted in +readiness to knock when Marie's visitor spoke. Racey's hand promptly +dropped at his side. He had recognized the voice. It was that of Bull, +the Starlight bartender. + +The shack door was fairly well constructed. At least there were no +cracks in it. But a log wall has oftentimes an open chink. This wall +had one between the third and fourth tiers of logs not more than a +yard from the door. Racey crouched till his eyes were on a level with +the narrow crack. + +He could not see Bull. But he could see Marie. Apparently she was +not according her visitor the slightest attention. She daintily and +unhurriedly hung her waist over the back of a chair. Then she turned +up the lamp, removed the pins from her abundant hair, shook it down, +and began to brush it calmly and carefully. + +"---- you!" snarled Bull, advancing to the table where he was within +range of Racey's eyesight. "I spoke to you! What didja do it for?" + +She raised her head and looked at him, the brush poised in one hand. +"---- you, Bull," she drawled at him. "I'm tellin' you, because I felt +like it." + +Bull shot forth a hand and grabbed her right wrist. Marie, as a whole, +did not move. But her left hand dropped languidly and nestled in the +overhang of her bodice. + +"Bull," she said, softly, staring straight into the evil eyes +glowering upon her. "Bull, bad as you are, you ain't never laid a hand +on me yet. You ain't gonna begin now, are you?" + +Bull's great fingers began to tighten on her wrist, slowly, +inexorably. + +"I'm sorry, Bull," she resumed, when he made no reply, "but I got a +derringer pointin' straight at yore stomach. Now you ain't gonna lemme +make a mess on my clean carpet, are you?" + +Bull released her wrist as though it burnt him. + +"You devil!" he exclaimed. "I believe you'd do it." + +"Shore I would," she affirmed, serenely, dragging a small and ugly +derringer from its place of concealment and balancing it on a pink +palm. "I'll drill you in one blessed minute if you don't keep yore +paws to home. They's some things, Bull, you can't do to me. An' one +of them things is hurting me. I don't believe in corporal punishment, +Bull." + +"I wanna know what you horned in for," he demanded, pounding the table +till the lamp danced again. + +"If you only knowed what a silly fool you looked," she commented, +"you'd sit down and take it easy.... That's right, tell the +neighbours, do! Squawk out good and loud how yore bushwhackin' li'l +killing turned out a misdeal. Shore, I'd do that, if I was you. Whadda +you guess they pay Jake Rule an' Kansas Casey for, huh?" + +"What did you get in front of him for?" Bull persisted in a lower +tone. "I pretty near had him, but you--Gawd, I could wring yore neck!" + +"But you won't," she reminded him, sweetly. "Lookit here, Bull, if you +hadn't locked the door leading up the stairs to the Starlight's loft, +I'd 'a' come after you there and done my persuadin' of you right in +the loft. As it was when I heard what you were up to--nemmine how I +heard. I heard, that's enough--I had to go out in the street and +do what I could there. I don't believe the feller liked it much, +neither." + +"But what's he to you? You ain't soft on him, are you, account of what +he done for that yellow mutt of yores?" + +"I owe him something," she evaded. "That dog--I like that dog. And +then that man treats me like a lady. It ain't every man treats me like +a lady." + +"I should hope not," guffawed the amiable Bull. + +"Now that's a right funny joke," she assured him. "It almost makes me +laugh. Still, alla same, I got feelin's. I'm a human being. And you'll +notice molasses catches a heap more flies than vinegar does. I like +that Dawson man, and I ain't gonna see him hurt." + +"Did you tell him it was me up there with a rifle?" There was a hint +of unease in the blustery tone. + +"I didn't tell him nothin'," said Marie. "I ain't no snitch." + +"Ah-h, you _are_ soft on him," Bull sneered in disgust. + +"What if I am?" she flared. "What business is it of yores?" + +"What'll Nebraska say?" he proffered. + +"Nebraska hell!" she sneered. "Nebraska and me are through!" + +"I know you've split, but that ain't saying Nebraska will let you go +with another gent." + +"I'll go with anybody I please, and neither Nebraska nor you nore any +other damn man is gonna stop me. If you think different, _try_ it, +just _try_ it! Thassall I ask. _This_ for you and Nebraska!" With +which she snapped her fingers under his nose once, twice, and again. + +"I wish Pap was still alive. He could always handle you. Remember the +time you sassed him there in ..." Here Marie accidentally dropped her +brush into an empty pail, and the clatter drowned out the name of the +town so far as Racey was concerned. But Marie caught the name, for she +straightened with a start and stared at Bull. "Yeah," continued Bull, +"you remember it, huh? I guess you do. That was where Pap slapped yore +chops and throwed you down the stairs. Like to broke yore neck that +time. I wish you had." + +"'Pap,'" she repeated. "'Pap,' and that town. What made you think of +them two names together?" + +"Because that was the town where he throwed you down the stairs," Bull +told her matter-of-factly. + +"It was the town where we met up with Bill Smith." + +"What about it?" + +"Nothing--only Bill Smith is here in town." + +"In Farewell?" + +"In Farewell." + +"Why ain't I seen him if he's in Farewell?" + +"Because he's shaved off all of that beard and part of his +eyebrows--they used to meet plumb in the middle, remember--till a body +would hardly know him. I didn't. I knowed they was somethin' familiar +about him, but I couldn't tell what till you mentioned Pap and the +town together. Then I knowed. Yeah, Bull, this gent's the same Bill +Smith Pap picked up on the trail. He's a respectable member of society +now, I guess. Calls himself Jack Harpe and spends most of his time +runnin' round Lanpher." + +"Then he ain't too respectable, the lousy pup. Calls himself Jack +Harpe, huh? Shore, he come in the Starlight with Lanpher and gimme +the eye without a quiver. Didn't know me, he didn't! And I ain't done +nothin' to _my_ looks to change 'em." + +"Huh, y' oughta seen the way he looked me up and down when he passed +us on the Marysville trail. You'd 'a' thought he just seen me. Oh, +he's got his nerve." + +"Who is _us_?" Suspiciously. + +"What it won't do you no good to know. I guess I can go riding with a +friend if I like. You seem to keep forgettin' you ain't got any ropes +on me--nary a rope. Stop botherin' yore fool head about me and my +doings, and think of something worth while--for instance, Jack Harpe." + +"Then what?" + +"No wonder they call you Bull. That's all you are, beef to the heels +and no more sense than a calf. Listen, Jack Harpe's respectable, ain't +he? Or he aims to be, which is the same thing. Anyway, he's swelling +round here like a poisoned pup and don't know us a-tall. Takin' him +down a couple o' pegs wouldn't hurt him. He always was too tall. I'll +bet if he was come at right he'd pay cash down on the hoof for us, me +and you both, to keep our heads shut about what we know." + +"But we was in that, too." + +"But we didn't do what he done," pointed out Marie. "And you know +yoreself the company don't drop the case like a ordinary sheriff +does. No, I expect Jack Harpe would be worried some if he knowed we'd +recognized him.... Aw, what are you scared of? Pap's dead, ain't he? +How can Harpe hurt us? He never knowed how intimate we knowed Pap +while he was stayin' at our house. He just thought Pap was a friend. +He never knowed we got our share of the money. Nawsir, he can't hook +us up with that killin' nohow, but we can hook him. Brace up to him, +Bull. Maybe you can work him for a stake. They ain't no danger, I tell +you." + +"By Gawd, I'd like to!" declared Bull and swore a string of oaths. + +"Then go ahead," urged Marie. "And don't forget I want in on the +stake." + +"Ah-h, I do all the work and then have to whack up with you, huh? I +will not. What I get I keep." + +"I remember Jack Harpe used to say that. He shore hated himself, the +poor feller. Alla same, I guess maybe you'll go even Steven with me, +Bull. Who is it recognized him first? Who give you the idea? Who did, +huh? Who did? Whatever you get you'll divide with me or I'll know the +reason why. And if you don't think I'm a wildcat get me roused, man, +get me roused." + +Bull stood back and scratched a tousled head. "I--well--" he began and +paused. Obviously the prospect did not wholly please him. + +"Go to Jack Harpe easy like," suggested the girl. "Don't tell him too +much, just enough to show yo're meanin' what you say. I'd do it myself +only he'd laugh at me. He's one of those gents a woman has to shoot +before they'll believe she's in earnest. He ain't the only one, they's +another just like him in town.... Nemmine who. You go to Jack Harpe. +He'll listen to a man. G'on! They's money in it, if you work it right. +You want money, don't you? You need three hundred to pay what you owe +Piggy Wadsworth, don't you? Yah, you big hunk, you been runnin' to me +for money long enough! Here's a chance to make some of yore own. Fly +at it." + +When Bull had picked up a rifle standing in a corner and departed, +slamming the door behind him, Marie sat down on the lid of a mottled +zinc trunk and wiped her hot face on a petticoat that hung on the wall +conveniently to hand. "Warm work, warm work!" she muttered, wearily. +"I dunno when I seen Bull so mad. I shore thought one time there +I wasn't gonna get rid of him without a fight." She rolled her +well-shaped ankles and flipped the gilt tassels on her shoe tops to +and fro (yes, indeed, some women wore tasseled footgear in those +days). "Men," she went on, staring down at the shiny tassels, "men are +shore hell." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A BOLD BAD MAN + + +Bull had halted a moment outside the door of the shack to roll a +cigarette. Before he pulled out his tobacco bag he leaned the rifle +against the doorjamb. + +His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, did not see the crouching +Racey Dawson within arm's-length. + +Both of Bull's hands were cupped round the lighted match. He lifted +it to the end of the cigarette. He sucked in his breath and--a voice +whispered: "Drop that match an' grab yore ears." + +Bull did not hesitate to obey, for the broad, cold blade of a bowie +rested lightly against the back of his neck. Bull swayed a little +where he stood. + +"I got yore rifle," resumed the whisperer. "Walk away now. Yo're +headin' about right. Don't make too much noise." + +Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is +safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man +with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder +half buried in sumac. + +"Si'down," requested the captor in a conversational tone. "We can be +right comfortable here." + +"Dawson!" breathed the captive. + +"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I +said," he added, sharply. + +Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower +his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle +was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The +firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. + +Racey smiled widely. He felt very chipper and pleased with himself. He +was managing the affair well, he thought. + +"You show up right plain against that white rock," he remarked. "If +yo're figuring to gamble with me, think of that." + +"Whatcha want?" demanded Bull, sullenly. + +"Lots of things," replied Racey, shifting a foot an inch to the left. +"I'm the most wantin' feller you ever saw. Just now this minute I want +you to tell me where it was you met up with Bill Smith and what it was +he did so bad that you and Marie think you've got a hold on him." + +"You _was_ listenin' quite a while," muttered Bull. + +"Quite a while," admitted Racey Dawson. "Quite a while." + +"But you didn't listen quite hard enough," suggested Bull. + +"No," assented Racey, "I didn't. I'm expecting you to sort of fill in +the gaps." + +Bull shook a decided head. "No," he denied. "No, you got another guess +comin'. I won't do nothin' like that a-tall." + +"And why not?" + +"Because I won't." + +"'Won't' got his neck broke one day just because he wouldn't." + +"Yeah, I guess so," sneered Bull. + +"You must forget I heard all about how you tried to bushwhack me from +the second floor of the Starlight," Racey put in, gently. + +"Aw, that's a damn lie," bluffed Bull. "A damn lie. All a mistake. You +heard wrong." + +Racey shook a disapproving head. "When it's after the draw," he said, +"and you ain't got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have +everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she's poor +poker to make a bluff. Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about," persisted Bull. + +"Aw right, let it go at that. Who put you up to bushwhack me?" + +"Nun-nobody," hesitated Bull. + +"Yore own idea, huh?" + +Bull spat disgustedly on the grass. He had seen the trap after it had +been sprung. + +"You shore can't play poker," smiled Racey, his eyes shining with +pleasure under the wide brim of his hat. "I--The starlight's pretty +bright remember." + +Bull's sudden movement came to naught. He settled back, his eyes +furtively busy. + +"Still, alla same," pursued Racey, "I wonder was it all yore own +idea." + +"Whatell didja kick me for?" snarled Bull. + +"'Kick you for?'" Racey repeated, stupidly. + +"Yeah, kick me," said Bull. "No damn man can kick me and me not take +notice." + +"Dunno as I blame you. Dunno as I do. If any damn man kicks you, Bull, +you got a right to drill him every time. And you think I kicked you?" + +"I know you did." + +"You know I did, huh? Did you see me do it?" + +"You kicked me after you'd knocked me silly with that bottle. Kicked +me when I was down and couldn't help myself." + +"So I did all that to you after you were down, huh? Who told you?" + +"Nemmine who told me. You done it, that's enough." + +"No, it ain't enough. It ain't enough by a long mile. I want to know +who told you?" + +"I ain't sayin'." Sullenly. + +"Come to think, she's hardly necessary. Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke were +the only two gents in the Starlight at the time. It was either one +or both of 'em told you. Maybe I'll get a chance to ask 'em about it +later. Now I dunno whether you'll believe it or not but to tell the +truth and be plain with you, Bull, I didn't kick you." + +"I don't believe you." But Bull's tone was not confident. + +"I wouldn't expect you to--under the circumstances. What I'm tellin' +you is true alla same. Lookit, you fool, is it likely after takin' +the trouble to knock you down, I'd kick you besides? Do I look like a +sport who'd do a thing like that? Think it over." + +Bull was silent. But Racey believed that he had planted the seed of +doubt in his mind. + +"And another thing," resumed Racey, "do I look like a sport who'd +let another jigger lay for him promiscuous? You go slow, Bull. +I'm good-natured, a heap good-natured. But don't lemme catch you +bushwhacking me again." + +"I won't," said Bull with a flash of humour. + +"Be dead shore of it," cautioned Racey. "If I ever get to even +thinking that yo're laying for me, Bull, I'm liable to come a-askin' +questions you can't answer. Yo're a bright young man, Bull, but you +want to be careful how you strain yore intellect. You might need it +some day. And if you want to keep on being mother's li'l helper, be +good, thassall, be good." + +"Yo're worse'n a helldodger," affirmed Bull. + +"You got me sized up right. I'm worse than a helldodger, a whole lot +worse." The words were playful, but the tone was sardonic. + +Bull grunted. + +"You tell me, will you, just where it was you met this Bill Smith-Jack +Harpe feller, and what it was he did? There's a company in it, too. +What company is it--the Northern Pacific?" + +"Ah-h, you got a gall, you have," sneered Bull, savagely. "Think +you'll make something out of Harpe yore own self, huh?" + +"That is my idea," admitted Racey. + +"Well, you got a gall, thassall I gotta say." + +"You forget you've got a gall, too, when you try to bushwhack me," +Racey reminded him. "I'm trying to play even for that." + +"Try away." + +"You seem to make it hard for me kind of," grinned Racey. + +"Of course I'd enjoy makin' it easy for you all I could," observed +Bull with sarcasm. + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say _that_," was the Dawson comment. +"But maybe it's possible to persuade you to tell me what you know." + +"It ain't." + +"Suppose I decided to leave you here." + +"You won't." Confidently. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you ain't shootin' a unarmed man." + +"Yet you think I'm the boy to kick one that's down." + +"Sometimes I change my mind," said Bull with a harsh laugh. + +"You laugh as loud as that again," said Racey, irritably, "and you'll +change somethin' besides yore mind. Don't be too trusting a jake, +Bull, not too trusting. I might surprise you yet. About that +information now--I want it." + +"If anybody's gonna make money out of Harpe I am." Thus Bull, +stubbornly. + +"I ain't aimin' to make _money_ out of Harpe. What I'm figuring to +make out of him is somethin' else again." + +"Whatsa use of lying thataway? Don't--" + +"That'll be about all," interrupted Racey. "You've called me a liar +enough for one night. I ain't got _all_ kinds of patience. You going +to tell me what I want to know?" + +"No, I ain't." + +"Yo're mistaken. You'll tell me, or you'll leave town." + +"Leave town!" + +"Yep, leave town, go away from here, far, far away. So far away that +you won't be able to blackmail Jack Harpe. See? Yore knowledge won't +be worth a whoop to you then. An' I'll find out what I want to know +from Marie." + +"She'll never tell." + +"Oh, I guess she will," said Racey, but he knew in his heart that +worming information out of Marie would not be easy. Saving his life +was one thing, but giving up information with a money value would be +quite another. The amiable Marie was certainly not working for her +health. + +"Yo're welcome to what you can get out of her," said Bull. + +"Then you'll be starting to-night. From here we'll go get yore hoss +and see you safely on yore way." + +"What'll you gimme to tell you?" inquired the desperate Bull. + +"Nothin'--not a thin dime, feller. C'mon, let's go." + +"Nun-no, not yet. I--say, suppose you lemme talk to Jack Harpe first +myself. Just you lemme get my share out of him, and I'll tell you all +you wanna know." + +"When you going to him?" Racey demanded, suspiciously. + +"To-night if I can find him. It ain't so late. But to-morrow, anyway." + +"I'll give you till sundown to-morrow night. If you ain't ready to +tell me then you'll have to drift." + +"Maybe, maybe not," sneered Bull. + +"I've said it," Racey said, shortly, rising to his feet. + +"There's no ropes on you. Skip.... Nemmine yore Winchester. She's all +right where she is. So long, Bull, so long." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SURPRISE + + +The sun, lifting over the rim of the world, sprayed its rays through +the window and splashed with gold the face of Racey Dawson. He awoke, +and much to the profane disgust of Swing Tunstall, shook that worthy +awake immediately. + +"Aw, lemme sleep, will you?" begged Swing, with suspicious meekness, +reaching surreptitiously for a boot. "You lemme alone, that's a good +feller." + +"Get up," commanded Racey. "Get up, it's the early worm catches the +most fish. Rise and shine, Swing. Never let the sun catch you snorin'. +Besides, I can't sleep any more myself. I--" + +Wham! Swing's flung boot shaved Racey's surprised ear and smashed +against the partition. + +"You'll wake up that Starlight proprietor," Racey said, calmly, as he +picked up the boot and dropped it out of the window. "Good dog," he +continued, presumably addressing a canine friend without, "leave +Swing's nice new boot alone, will you? Don't go gnawin' at it +thataway. It ain't a bone." + +Swing, pulling on his pants, left the room, hopping physically and +mentally. Racey rested both elbows on the sill and waited happily for +his comrade to appear beneath him. + +"Shucks," he said in a tone of great surprise when Swing shot round +the corner of the hotel, "I shore thought there was a dog there +a-teasin' that boot. I could have took my Bible oath there was a +great, big, black, curly-haired feller with lots of teeth down there. +I saw him, Swing. Shore thought I did. Must 'a' been mistaken. And you +went and believed me, and got splinters in yore feet because you were +in such a hurry. Never mind, Swing, here's the other one." + +He jerked the boot in question at his friend's head, and sat down on +his cot to complete his own dressing. + +Came then the sound of a prodigious yawn from the room next door +occupied by Jack Harpe. A cot creaked. A boot was scraped along the +floor. + +"Shore must be a sound sleeper," said Racey Dawson to himself, "if he +really did just wake up." + +He buckled on his gunbelt, set his hat a-tilt on one ear, and went +down to wash his face and hands in the common basin on the wash-bench +outside the kitchen door. + +But Swing Tunstall was before him, and was disposed to make an issue +of the dropped boots. Only by his superior agility was Racey enabled +to dodge all save a few drops of a full bucket of water. + +"Djever get left! Djever get left!" singsonged Racey from the corner +of the building, and set the thumb of one hand to his nose and +twiddled opprobrious fingers at his comrade. "You wanna be a li'l bit +quicker when you go to souse me, Swing. Yo're too slow, a lot too +slow. Yep. Now I wouldn't go for to fling that pail at me, Swing. +You might bust it, and yore carelessness with crockery thataway has +already cost you ten dollars and six bits." + +This was too much for the ruffled Swing. Waving the pail he pursued +his tormentor round the hotel and into the front doorway. Racey +fled up the stairs. At the stair foot Swing gave over the chase and +returned to the washbench to resume his face-washing. Racey went on +into their room. There was in it several articles belonging to Swing +that he intended to throw out of the window at once. + +But when he had entered the room and the door was closed behind him he +did not touch any of Swing's belongings. Instead he remained standing +in the middle of the room looking thoughtfully at the floor. What had +given him pause was the fact that he had found the door ajar. And +he knew with absolute certainty that he had closed the door tightly +before he went downstairs. + +It is the vagrant straw that shows the wind's direction, and since the +attempt to bushwhack him Racey was not overlooking any straws. The +door had been ajar. Why? + +There was no closet, and from where he stood he could see under both +cots. No one lay concealed in the room. The bedclothes on Swing's cot +had not been touched. At least they were in precisely the position in +which they had been landed when thrown back by Swing's careless hand. +Racey did not believe that his own had been touched, either. But the +saddlebags and _cantenas_ lying on the floor at the head of his cot +had certainly been moved. He recalled distinctly having, the previous +evening, piled the _cantenas_ on top of the saddlebags. And now the +saddlebags were on top of the _cantenas_. + +He glanced at Swing's warbags. They had not been moved. He wondered +if Jack Harpe and the Starlight's owner were still in their rooms. He +listened intently. Hearing no sound he went out into the hall, and +knocked gently on Jack Harpe's door and called him softly by name. +Getting no reply, he lifted the latch and walked in. There were Jack +Harpe's saddlebags, _cantenas_, and rifle in a corner. A coat lay on +the tumbled blankets of the cot. Otherwise the room was empty. + +Racey went out, being careful to close the door tightly, and went to +the room of the Starlight's owner. This room, too, was empty. Racey +returned to his own room, tossed his _cantenas_ and saddlebags on the +cot, and began feverishly to paw through their contents. + +Nothing had been subtracted from or added to the heterogeneous +collection of articles in the _cantenas_. The contents of the off-side +saddlebag were in their familiar disorder. There was nothing in or +about the off-side saddlebag to arouse suspicion. Not a thing. + +He unbuckled the flap of the near-side saddlebag, and flipped it back. +Somebody had been at this saddlebag. He was sure of it. His extra +shirt, instead of being wadded into the fore-end of the saddlebag on +top of a pair of socks, had been stuffed into the hinder end on top of +a pair of underdrawers. Which underdrawers should by rights have been +at the bottom of the leather hold-all. + +But there was something else at the bottom of the saddlebag. It was +something long and hard and wrapped in the buttonless undershirt +despised and rejected by Swing. + +Racey unrolled the undershirt. His eyes stared in genuine horror at +what the unrolling revealed. It was the commonest of butcher knives +that someone's busy hand had wrapped in the undershirt. But what was +not nearly so common was that the broad, thin blade was stained with +blood. From point to haft the steel was as red as if it had been +dipped in a pail of paint. Indeed, being dry, it looked not unlike +paint. But Racey knew that it was not paint. + +"It was dry before it was wrapped in that undershirt," he said to +himself, testing the blood on the blade with a speculative fingernail. +"There ain't a mark on the undershirt. Gawd! Here it is again--the +earmark of a crime, and no crime--yet. This is getting monotonous." + +He laid down the knife, settled his hat, and methodically searched +Swing Tunstall's warbags. It turned out a needless precaution. He had +felt that it would be. But he could not afford to take any risks. +Having found nothing in Swing's warbags save his friend's personal +belongings, Racey slid the knife up his sleeve and went downstairs to +breakfast. On the way he stopped a moment at a fortuitous knothole in +the board wall. When he passed on his way the knife was no longer with +him. + +Jack Harpe was still eating when Racey eased himself into the chair at +Swing's right hand. Jack Harpe nodded to Racey and went serenely on +with his meal. Racey seized knife and fork, squared his elbows, and +began to saw at his steak. And as he chewed and swallowed and sloshed +the coffee round in his cup in order to get the full benefit of the +sugar he wondered whether it was Jack Harpe or Bull to whom he was +indebted for the butcher knife. It was one of the two, he thought. Who +else could it be? + +He believed it would be wise to spend most of his spare time in his +room. At least until he knew the inwardness of the butcher-knife +incident. It was possible that the man who had secreted the knife +would return. Racey might well be in line for other even more delicate +attentions. + +Before going up to his room Racey went to the corral. He had left his +saddle-blanket out all night, he mentioned to Swing in the hearing +of Jack Harpe. He was gone five minutes. When he returned, strangely +enough minus the saddle-blanket, he was in time to see Piney Jackson +dart round the corner of the blacksmith shop, cup his hand at his +mouth, and raise a stentorian bellow for Jake Rule. + +Piney did not wait to see whether the sheriff replied to his call. +Instead he beckoned violently to the handful of men grouped on the +sidewalk in front of the hotel. + +"C'mon over!" he bawled. "Look what I found here this morning." + +Jack Harpe and the owner of the Starlight being among those present +and responding to the invitation, Racey Dawson took a chance and went +with the rest. + +"Look at that," said Piney Jackson, indicating a humped-up individual +sitting behind the woodpile. + +Racey and the other spectators went round the woodpile and viewed the +humped-up individual. The latter was Bull, the Starlight bartender. +And he was dead, very dead. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. +He was a ghastly object. + +"Who done it?" inquired one of the fools that infest every group of +men. + +"He didn't leave any card," the blacksmith replied with sarcasm. + +The fool asked no more questions. Came then Jake Rule and Kansas +Casey. Jake, a rather heavy, well-meaning officer, old at the +business, began to sniff about for clues. Kansas Casey laid the body +down on its back and thoroughly searched the pockets of the clothing. + +"One thing," said Kansas Casey, looking up from what he had found--a +handful of silver dollars, a pocket knife, and a silver watch, +"robbery wasn't the motive." + +Racey looked sidewise from under his eyebrows at Jack Harpe. The +latter was staring down unmoved at the dead body. + +"Somebody must 'a' had a grudge against Bull," offered the fool. + +"You think so?" said Piney. "Yo're a real bright feller." + +The fool subsided a second time. + +"Lookit here, Jake," Piney continued to the sheriff's address, "you +don't have to kick my wood all over the county, do you?" + +"I'm lookin' for the knife," explained the sheriff, ceasing not to +stub his toes against the solid chunks. "Feller after doing a thing +like this gets flustrated sometimes and drops the knife. And finding +the knife might be a help in locating the feller." + +All of which seemed sufficiently logical to the bystanders. + +Racey decided he had seen enough. Besides, he wanted to camp closer to +his warbags. He should have been in his room before this, and he would +have been had he cared to make himself conspicuous by not going along +with the crowd to see what Piney Jackson had found. + +Declining Swing's earnest invitation to drink he returned to the +hotel. Swing went grouchily to the Happy Heart, wondering what was the +matter with his friend. It was not like the Racey he knew to play the +hermit. + +Once in his room Racey again explored his own and Swing's saddlebags +and _cantenas_, looked under the cots and through the bedclothes. But +he found nothing that did not belong to either himself or Swing. + +"They didn't make a second trip," he said to himself. "I'm betting +it's Jack Harpe. Shore it is, the polecat." + +Then in order to have a water-tight reason for remaining in the room +he pulled off his boots and trousers, fished a housewife from a +_cantena_, and set about repairing a rip in his trousers. It was a +perfectly good rip. He had had it a long time. What more natural that +on this particular day he should wish to sew it up? + +It was an hour later that he heard the tramp of several pairs of boots +on the stairs. He could hear the wheezing, laboured breathing of Bill +Lainey, the hotel proprietor. Climbing the stairs always bothered +Bill. The latter and his followers came along the hall and stopped in +front of Racey's door. + +"This is his room," panted Bill Lainey. + +Unceremoniously the latch was lifted. A man entered. The man was Jake +Rule, the sheriff of Fort Creek County. He was followed by Kansas +Casey, his deputy. + +Jake looked serious. But Kansas was smiling as he closed the door +behind him. Then he opened it quickly and thrust his head into the +hall. + +"No need of you, Bill," he said. + +"Aw right," said Bill, aggrievedly, and forthwith shuffled away. + +Kansas withdrew his head and nodded to Jake Rule. "He's gone," he +said. + +Racey Dawson, sitting crosslegged on his cot and plying his needle in +most workmanlike fashion, grinned comfortably at the two officers. +Lord, how glad he was he had found that knife! If he hadn't-- + +"Sidown, gents," invited Racey. "There's two chairs, or you can have +Swing's cot if you like." + +Jake Rule shook his head. "We don't wanna sit down, Racey," he said. +"We got a li'l business with you, maybe." + +"Maybe? Then you ain't shore about it?" + +"Not unless yo're willing. You see, Dolan's drunk to-day, and of +course we can't get a warrant till he's sober." + +"A warrant? For me?" + +"Not yet," said Jake Rule. "Only a search warrant--first. But of +course if you ain't willing we can't even touch anything." + +"Still, Racey," put in Kansas Casey, smoothly, "if you could see yore +way to letting us go through yore warbags, yores and Swing's, it would +be a great help, and we'd remember it--after." + +"Yeah, we shore would," declared the sheriff. "You save us trouble +now, Racey, and I'll guarantee to make you almighty comfortable in the +calaboose. You won't have nothing to complain of. Not a thing." + +Racey laughed cheerily. "Got me in jail already, have you?" he +chuckled. "You'll have me hung next." + +"Oh, they's quite some formalities to go through before _that_ +happens," declared the sheriff, seriously. + +"I'm glad," drawled Racey. "I thought maybe you were fixing to take me +right out and string me up before dinner. Want to search our stuff, +huh? Hop to it. Swing ain't here, but I'll give you permission for +him. He won't mind." + +Jake and Kansas went at the warbags like terriers digging out a +badger. Racey leaned on his elbow and watched them. What luck that the +door had been ajar and that he had noticed it! If it had not been a +life-and-death matter he would have laughed aloud. + +At the end of twenty minutes the officers stood up. They had gone +through everything in the room, including the cots. Kansas Casey wore +a pleased smile. Jake Rule looked disappointed. + +"Don't look so glum, Jake," urged Racey. "Is it a fair question to ask +what yo're hunting for?" + +"The knife," he said, shortly. "The knife that cut Bull's throat." + +"The knife, huh?" remarked Racey as if to himself. "So yo're +suspectin' me of wiping out Bull, are you?" + +"I never did," said Kansas, promptly. "I know you. You ain't that +kind." + +Jake looked reproachfully at his deputy. "You never can tall, Racey," +he said, turning to the puncher. "I've got so myself I don't trust +nobody no more." + +"Was this here yore own idea," pursued Racey, "or did somebody sic you +onto me?" + +Jake made no immediate answer. It was obvious that he was of two minds +whether to speak or not. + +"Why not tell him?" suggested Kansas. "What's the odds?" + +At this Jake took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it +to Racey. + +"I found this lying on the floor of my office when I come back after +attending to Bull," was his explanation. + +There were words printed on the slip of paper. They read: + +Look in Racey Dawson's room for what killed Bull. + +The communication was unsigned. + +Racey handed it back to Jake Rule. "Got any idea who put it in yore +office?" he asked. + +Jake shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "The window was open. Anybody +passing could 'a' throwed it in." + +"You satisfied now, Jake, or--" Racey did not complete the sentence. + +"Oh, I'm satisfied you didn't do it," replied the sheriff, "if that's +what you mean. But--the man who wrote this here _joke_!" + +As he spoke he tore the note in two, dropped the pieces on the floor, +and stamped out of the room. Kansas Casey looked over his shoulder as +he followed in the wake of his superior. + +He saw Racey Dawson picking up the two pieces of the note. Racey's +mouth was a grim, uncompromising line. + +"If Racey ever finds out who wrote that," thought Kansas to himself, +pulling the door shut, "hell will shore pop. And I hope it does." + +For he liked Racey Dawson, did Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FIRE! FIRE! + + +"Why didn't you tell me at breakfast?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"And give it away to Jack Harpe!" said scornful Racey. "Shore, that +would 'a' been a bright thing to do now, wouldn't it?" + +"What didja do with the knife?" + +"Dropped it through a knothole in the wall. The only way they'll ever +get hold of it is by tearing the building down." + +"Jack Harpe, if he _is_ the feller, will know you found it and try +again." + +"Shore. We can't help that. One thing, we'll know before the day is +over whether it is Jack Harpe or not." + +"How?" + +"Remember me this morning telling you how I'd left my saddle-blanket +out all night and then going out in the corral for the same. I said it +so Jack could hear me. He did hear me, and he watched me go. He saw +me go out round the corral, and he saw me come back without the +saddle-blanket. Now anybody'd know I wouldn't leave my saddle-blanket +out behind the corral, would I?" + +"Not likely." + +"But a feller who'd just found a knife with blood on it in his warbags +might go out back of the corral to lose the knife, mightn't he?" + +"He might." + +"Well, that's what I did. Naturally, having already lost the knife +down through the knothole I couldn't lose her again. But I did the +best I could. I dug in the ground with a sharp stick, and I made a +li'l hole like, and I filled her in again, and tramped her all down +flat, and sort of half smoothed down the roughed-up ground like I was +trying to hide my tracks and what I'd been doing. Then I came away. + +"Now I'm betting that if Jack Harpe is the lad tucked away that knife +in my warbags he'll go skirmishing out behind the corral to see what I +was really doing." + +"Maybe." Doubtfully. + +"There ain't any maybe if he's the man turned the trick. And from +where we're a-laying under this wagon we can see the back of the +corral plain as--There he comes now." + +The posts of the corral were less than a hundred yards from where +Racey and Swing lay beneath a pole-propped freight wagon. From the +wagon, which was standing beyond the stage company's corral, the +ground sloped gently to the hotel corral. Racey had taken the +precaution to mask their position with a cedar bush. + +Hatless he peered through the branches at the man quartering the +ground behind the hotel corral. + +"He's getting close to where I made that hole," he told Swing. "Now +he's found it," he resumed as the man dropped on his knees. "Jack +Harpe all along. Ain't he the humoursome codger?" + +"He shore couldn't 'a' dug up that hole already," declared Swing when +Jack Harpe jumped to his feet after a sojourn on his knees of possibly +thirty seconds' duration. + +"No," assented Racey, puzzled. "He couldn't. There's an odd number," +he added, as Jack Harpe pelted back at a brisk trot over the way he +had come. "Le's not go just yet, Swing. I have a feeling." + +He was glad of this feeling when ten minutes later Jack Harpe returned +with Jake Rule and Kansas Casey. The latter carried a shovel. The +three men clustered round the spot where Racey had dug his hole. +Kansas Casey set his foot on the shovel and drove it into the ground. +Racey chuckled at the pleasant sight. What must inevitably follow +would be even pleasanter. + +The deputy sheriff made the dirt fly for six minutes. Then he threw +down the shovel, pushed back his hat, and wiped his face on his +sleeve. He spoke, but his language was unintelligible. Jack Harpe said +something and picked up the shovel. He began to dig. He cast the earth +about for possibly five minutes. + +"Ain't he the prairie-dog, huh?" Racey demanded, jabbing his comrade +in the ribs with stiffened thumb. "Just watch him scratch gravel." + +Suddenly Jake Rule and Kansas Casey turned their backs on the +frantically labouring Jack Harpe and walked away. Jack Harpe watched +them, threw up a few more half-hearted shovelfuls, and then slammed +the implement to earth with a clatter, hitched up his pants, and +strode hurriedly after the officers. + +"That proves it, I guess," said Swing. + +"Naturally. She's enough for us, anyhow.---- it to ----!" + +"Whatsa matter?" inquired Swing, surprised at his friend's vehemence. + +"Whatsa matter? Whatsa matter? Everythin's the matter. I just happened +to think that now Bull won't be able to tell me what he was going to +to-night." + +"That'so. Can't you ask the girl?" + +"I can, but I ain't shore it'll do any good. Marie ain't the kind that +blats all she knows just to hear herself talk. If she wants to tell me +she will. If she don't want to, she won't. Bull was my one best bet." + +"What's that?" cried Swing, raising himself on an elbow. + +"That" was the noise of a tumult in Farewell Main Street. There were +shouts and yells and screams. Above all, screams. Racey and Swing +hurried to the street. When they reached it the shouts and yells had +subsided, but the screams had not. If anything they were louder than +before. They issued from the mouth of Marie, whom Jake Rule, Kansas +Casey, and four other men were taking to the calaboose. They were +doing their duty as gently as possible, and Marie was making it +as difficult for them as possible. She was as mad as a teased +rattlesnake, and not a man of her six captors but bore the marks of +fingernails, or teeth, or heels. + +She had, it appeared, attacked without warning and with a derringer, +Jack Harpe as he was walking peacefully along the sidewalk in front +of the Starlight. Only by good luck and a loose board that had turned +under the girl's foot as she fired had Mr. Harpe been preserved from +sudden death. + +"That's shore tough," Racey said to their informant. "I'm goin' right +away now and get me a hammer and some nails and fix that loose board." + +"You better not let Jack Harpe hear you say that," cautioned the +other. + +"If you want something to do, suppose now you tell him," was Racey's +instant suggestion. + +Racey's tone was light, but his stare was hard. The other man went +away. + +"Fire! Fire!" shrilled young Sam Brown Galloway, bouncing out of his +father's store, and jumping up and down in the middle of Main Street. +"The jail's afire! The jail's afire!" + +Men added their shouts to his childish squalls and ran toward the +jail. Racey and Swing trundled along the sidewalk together. "She's +afire, all right," said Racey. "Lookit the smoke siftin' through the +window at the corner." + +The smoke was followed by a vicious lash of flame that whipped up the +side of the building and set the eaves alight. The glass of another +window fell through the bars with a tinkle. A billow of smoke rushed +forth. Smoke was seeping through cracks at the back of the building. + +"My Gawd!" exclaimed Racey, as a shriek rent the air. "The girl's in +there!" + +He had for the moment forgotten that Marie was incarcerated in the +jail. But Kansas Casey had not forgotten. Racey, having picked up a +handy axe, raced round to the back only to find the deputy unlocking +the back door. A burst of smoke as he flung open the door assailed +their lungs. Choking, holding their breath, both men dashed into the +jail. Kansas unlocked the girl's cell. + +"You shore took yore time about comin'," drawled Marie. "I didn't know +but what I'd be burned up with the rest of the jail. You big lummox! +You don't have to bust my wrist, do you? Go easy, or I'll claw yore +face off!" + +Once outside they were immediately surrounded by the townsfolk. Most +of them were laughing. But Jake Rule was not laughing. + +"Good joke on you, Jake," grinned a friend. "Burned herself out on +you, didn't she?" + +"You can't keep a good man down," shouted another. + +"Never let the baby play with matches," advised a third. + +"Get pails, gents!" shouted Rule. "We gotta put it out. Where's a +pail? Who--" + +"Aw, let 'er burn," said Galloway. "Hownell you gonna put it out? +She's all blazin' inside. You couldn't put it out with Shoshone +Falls." + +"The wind's blowin' away from town," contributed Mike Flynn. "Nothin' +else'll catch. Besides, we been needing a new calaboose for a long +time. You done us a better turn than you think, Marie." + +"If you say I set the jail afire, Mike Flynn," cried Marie, "Yo're a +liar by the clock." + +"You set it afire," said the sheriff, sternly. "You'll find it a +serious business setting a jail afire." + +"Prove I done it, then!" squalled Marie. "Prove it, you slab-sided +hunk! Yah, you can't prove it, and you know it!" + +To this the sheriff made no reply. + +"We gotta put her somewhere till the Judge gets sober," he said, +hurriedly. "Guess we'll put her in yore back room, Mike." + +"Guess you won't," countered Mike. "They ain't any insurance on my +place, and I ain't taking no chances, not a chance." + +"There's the hotel," suggested Kansas Casey. + +"You don't use my hotel for no calaboose," squawked Bill Lainey. +"Nawsir. Not much. You put her in yore own house, Jake. Then if she +sets you afire, it's your own fault. Yeah." + +Jake Rule scratched his head. It was patent that he did not quite know +what to do. Came then Dolan, the local justice of the peace. Dolan's +hair was plastered well over his ears and forehead. Dolan was pale +yellow of countenance and breathed strongly through his nose. He +looked not a little sick. He pawed a way through the crowd and cast a +bilious glance at Marie. + +He inquired of Jake Rule as to the trouble and its cause. On being +told he convened court on the spot. Judge Dolan agreed with Mike +Flynn that the burning of the jail was a trivial matter requiring no +official attention. For was not Dolan's brother-in-law a carpenter and +would undoubtedly be given the contract for a new jail. Quite so. + +"You can't prove anything about this jail-burning," he told Jake Rule +and the assembled multitude, "but this assault on Jack Harpe is a cat +with another tail. It was a lawless act and hadn't oughta happened. +Marie, yo're a citizen of Farewell, and you'd oughta take an interest +in the community instead of surging out and trying to massacre a +visitor in our midst, a visitor who's figuring on settlin' hereabouts, +I understand. Gawd knows we need all the inhabitants we can get, and +it's just such tricks as yores, Marie, that discourages immigration." + +Here Judge Dolan frowned upon Marie and thumped the palm of his hand +with a bony fist. Marie stood first on one leg and then on the other +and hung her head down. Since her raving outburst at the time of her +arrest she had cooled considerably. It was evident that she was now +trying to make the best of a bad business. + +"Marie," resumed Judge Dolan, and cleared his throat importantly, "why +did you shoot at Mr. Jack Harpe?" + +"He insulted me," Marie replied without a quiver. + +"I ain't ever said a word to her," countered Jack Harpe. "I don't even +know the girl." + +The judge turned back to Marie. "Have you any witnesses to this +insult?" he queried. + +"Nary a witness." Marie shook her brown head. + +"Y' oughta have a witness. She's yore word against his. Where did this +insult take place?" + +"At my shack. He come there early this mornin'." + +"That's a lie!" boomed Jack Harpe. + +"Which will be about all from you!" snapped Judge Dolan, vigorously +pounding his palm. + +"What did he say to you?" was the judge's next question. + +"I'd rather not tell," hedged Marie. + +"Well, of course, you don't have to answer," said the judge, +gallantly. "But alla same, Marie, you hadn't oughta used a gun on him. +It--it ain't ladylike. Nawsir. Don't you do it again or I'll send you +to Piegan City. Ten dollars or ten days." + +"What?" Thus Jack Harpe, astonished beyond measure. + +"Ten dollars or ten days," repeated Judge Dolan. "Taking a shot at you +is worth ten dollars but no more. It don't make any difference whether +you came here to invest money or not, you wanna go slow round the +women." + +"But I didn't even say howdy to her," protested Jack Harpe. + +"She says different. You leave her alone." + +Public opinion, which at first had rather favoured Jack Harpe, now +frowned upon him. He shouldn't have insulted the girl. No, sir, he had +no business doing that. Be a good thing if he was arrested for it, +perhaps. What a virtuous thing is public opinion. + +"I ain't got a nickel, Judge," said Marie. "You'll have to trust me +for it till the end of the week." + +"I'll pay her fine," nipped in Racey, glad of an opportunity to annoy +Jack Harpe. "Here y' are, Judge. Ten dollars, you said." + +It was a few minutes after he had eaten dinner that Racey Dawson +presented himself at the door of Kansas Casey's shack. The door was +open. Racey stood in the doorway and leaned the shovel against the +wall of the room. + +"You forgot yore shovel, Kansas," he said, gently, "or Jack Harpe did. +Same thing, and here it is." + +Kansas had the grace to look a trifle shamefaced. "Somebody said you'd +buried that knife--" he began, and stopped. + +"Yep, I know, Jack Harpe," smiled Racey. "Li'l Bright Eyes is shore a +friend of mine. Only I wouldn't bank too strong on what he says about +me." + +"I ain't," denied the deputy. + +"Another thing, Kansas," drawled Racey, "did you ever stop to think +how come he knowed so much about that knife? And did you ask him if he +was the gent left that paper in Jake's office? And going on from that +did you ask him why he didn't come out flat footed at first and say +what he thought he knowed instead of waiting till after you'd searched +my room? You don't have to answer, Kansas, only if I was you I'd think +it over, I'd think it over plenty. So long." + +From the house of Casey he went to the shack of Marie. He found the +girl cooking her dinner quite as if attempts at murder, dead men, +and jailburning were matters of small moment. But if her manner +was placid, her eyes were not. They were bright and hard, and they +flickered stormily upon him when she lifted her gaze from the pan of +frying potatoes and saw who it was standing in the doorway. + +"I'm obliged to you," she said, calmly, "for payin' my fine. You ran +away so quick this mornin' you didn't gimme any chance to thank you. +I'll pay you back soon's I get paid come Saturday." + +Racey stared reproachfully. He shifted his weight from one +uncomfortable foot to the other. "I didn't come here about the fine," +he told her. "I--" He stopped, uncertain whether to continue or not. + +"If you didn't come about the fine it must be something else +important," said she, insultingly. "I shore oughta be set up, I +suppose. So far it's always been me that's had to make all the moves." + +"'Moves?'" repeated Racey, frankly puzzled. + +"Moves," she mimicked. "Didn't you ever play checkers? Oh, nemmine, +nemmine! Don't take it to heart. I don't mean nothin'. Never did. +C'mon in an' set. Take a chair. That one. What do you want? Down +feller, down!" + +The command was called forth by the violent entry of the yellow dog +which, remembering Racey as a friend, flung itself upon him with +whines and tail-waggings. + +"He's all right," said Racey, rubbing the rough head. "I just thought +I'd ask you what you knew about Jack Harpe." + +Marie's narrowed eyes turned dark with suspicion. "Whadda you know +about me an' Jack Harpe?" she demanded. + +"Not as much as I'd like to know," was his frank reply. + +"I ain't talkin'." Shortly. + +"Now, lookit here--" he began, wheedlingly. + +She shook her head at him. "S'no use. I don't tell everything I know." + +"Then you do know something about Jack Harpe?" + +"I didn't say I did." + +"You didn't. But--" + +"That's what the goat done to the stone wall. Look out you don't bust +yore horns, too." + +"Meanin'?" + +"Meanin' you'll knock 'em off short before you get anything out o' me +I don't want to tell you. And I tell you flat I ain't talkin' over +Jack Harpe with you." + +"Scared to?" he hazarded, boldly. + +"You can give it any name you like. Pull up a chair. Dinner's most +ready. They's enough for two." + +Despite the fact that he had just dined at the hotel he accepted her +invitation in the hope that she could be persuaded to talk. And after +dinner he smoked several cigarettes with her--still hoping. Finally, +finding that nothing he could say was of any avail to move her, he +took up his hat and departed. + +"Don't go away mad," she called after him. + +"I ain't," he denied, and went on, her mocking laughter ringing in his +ears. + +After Racey was gone out of sight Marie turned back into her little +house. There was no laughter on her lips or in her eyes as she sat +down in a chair beside the table and stared across it at the chair in +which Racey had been sitting. + +"He's a nice boy," she whispered under her breath, after a time. "I +wish--I wish--" + +But what it was she wished it is impossible to relate, for, instead of +completing the sentence, she hid her face in her hands and began to +cry. + +Early next morning Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall rode out of town by +the Marysville trail. They were bound for the Bar S and a job. + + * * * * * + +"What have you been drinkin', Racey?" demanded Mr. Saltoun, winking at +his son-in-law and foreman, Tom Loudon. + +The latter did not return the wink. He kept a sober gaze fastened on +Racey Dawson. + +Racey was staring at Mr. Saltoun. His eyes began to narrow. "Meanin'?" +he drawled. + +"Now don't go crawlin' round huntin' offense where none's meant," +advised Mr. Saltoun. "But you know how it is yoreself, Racey. Any gent +who gets so full he can't pick out his own hoss, and goes weaving off +on somebody else's is liable to make mistakes other ways. You gotta +admit it's possible." + +The slight tinge of red underlying Racey's heavy coat of tan +acknowledged the corn. "It's possible," he admitted. + +Mr. Saltoun saw his advantage and seized it. "S'pose now this is +another mistake?" + +"Tell you what I'll do," said Racey. "You said you had jobs for a +couple of handsome young fellers like us. Aw right. We go to work. We +ride for you six months for nothing." + +"Huh?" Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon stared their astonishment. + +"Oh, the cat's got more of a tail than that," said Racey. "You don't +pay us a nickel for those six months _provided_ what I said will +happen, don't happen. If it does happen like I say, you pay each of us +two hundred large round simoleons per each and every month." + +"Come again," said Mr. Saltoun, wrinkling his forehead. + +Racey came again as requested. + +"Six months is a long time" frowned Mr. Saltoun. "If I lose--" + +"But I dunno what I'm talkin' about," pointed out Racey. "I make +mistakes, you know that. And you were so shore nothin' was gonna +happen. Are you still shore?" + +"Well--" hesitated Mr. Saltoun. + +"If you take us up you stand to be in the wages of two punchers for +six months. That's four hundred and eighty dollars. Almost five +hundred dollars. Of course, it's a chance. What ain't, I'd like to +know? But yo're so shore she's gonna keep on come-day-go-day like +always, that I'd oughta have odds." + +"Five to one," mused Mr. Saltoun, pulling at the ends of his gray +mustache. + +"And fair enough--seeing that nothing is going to happen." + +"I wouldn't do it," put in Tom Loudon. "These trick bets are unlucky." + +"Oh, I dunno," said Mr. Saltoun, running true to form in that he +rarely took kindly to advice. "Looks like a good chance to get six +months' work out of two men for nothing." + +"Looks like a good chance to lose twenty-four hundred dollars," +exclaimed Tom Loudon, wrathfully. + +"My Gawd, Tom," said Mr. Saltoun, cocking a grizzled eyebrow, "you +don't mean to tell me you think they's any chance a-tall of Racey's +winning this bet, do you?" + +"They's just about ten times more chance for him to win than to lose." + +"Tom, do you ever see any li'l pink lizards with blue tails an' red +feet? I hear that's a sign, too." + +"Aw right, have it yore own way," said Tom Loudon with every symptom +of disgust. "Only don't say I didn't warn you." + +"Gawd, Tom, y' old wet blanket, yo're always a-warnin' me. I never see +such a feller." + +"Aw right, I said. Aw right. But when yo're a-writin' out a check +for twenty-four hundred dollars, just remember how I always told you +somebody was gonna horn in here some day and glom half the range." + +"Laugh," said Mr. Saltoun. "Yo're shore the jokin'est feller, Tom +Loudon. Even Racey and his partner are laughing." + +"I should think they would," Tom Loudon returned, savagely. "I'd +laugh, too, if I stood to win twenty-four hundred in six months." + +Mr. Saltoun shook a whimsical head at Racey Dawson. "Whatsa use?" he +asked, sorrowfully. "Whatsa use?" + + * * * * * + +"You was too easy with him," declared Swing, as he and Racey were +unsaddling at the Bar S corral. "You could 'a' stuck him for three +hundred a month just as easy." + +Racey shook a decided head. "No, there's a limit even to Old Salt's +stubbornness. I know him better'n you do ... Aw, what you kicking +about? We've got enough coin in our overalls to last out six months if +you don't drink too much." + +"If I don't drink too much, hey! If _I_ don't drink too much! Which I +like that. Who's--" + +"Racey," interrupted Tom Loudon, who had approached unperceived, "this +is a fine way to treat yore friends." + +"What's bitin' you?" + +"You hadn't oughta take advantage of Old Salt thisaway." + +"And why not? What's wrong with the bet? Fair bet. Leave it to +anybody." + +"Shore, shore, but alla same, Racey, you'd oughta gone a li'l easy. +Twenty-four hundred dollars--" + +"What's the dif? You won't have to pay it." + +"'Tsall right, but I didn't think it of you, damfi did. You know how +Old Salt is--always certain shore he's right, and you took advantage." + +"Shore I took advantage," Racey acquiesced, amiably. "I got sense, I +have. Alla same, he'd never 'a' taken me up if you hadn't slipped in +yore li'l piece of advice for him not to. That was a bad play, Tom. +You might know he'd go dead against you. But I ain't complaining, not +me. Nor Swing ain't, either. We'll thank you for yore helping hand to +our dying day." + +"I guess you will," Tom Loudon said, ruefully. "When you get through +here, Racey, you and Swing come on over to the wagon shed. I wanna +sift through this Jack Harpe business once more." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE BAR S + + + "_Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale. + I'm an object of sorrow, I'm looking quite stale. + I gone up my trade selling Pink's Patent Pills + To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills_." + +"I wish to Gawd you'd stayed there," said Jimmie, the Bar S cook, +pausing in his march past to poke his head in at the bunkhouse +doorway. "Honest, Racey, don't you ever get tired of yell-bellerin' +thisaway?" + +Racey Dawson, standing in front of the mirror, ceased not to adjust +his necktie. The mirror was small and he was not, and it was only +by dint of much wriggling that he was succeeding in his purpose. To +Jimmie and his question he paid absolutely no attention. + + "_Don't go away, stay at home if you can, + Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne_." + +"Seemin'ly he don't get tired," Jimmie answered the question for +himself. "And what's more, he don't ever get tired of dandy-floppin' +himself all up like King Solomon's pet pony. Yup," Jimmie continued +with enthusiasm, addressing the world at large, "I can remember when +Racey used to ride for the 88 and the Cross-in-a-box how he was a +regular two-legged human being. A handkerchief round his neck was good +enough for him _always_. If his pants had a rip in 'em anywheres, or +they was buttons off his vest, or his shirt was tore, did it matter? +No, it didn't matter. It didn't matter a-tall. But now he's gotta buy +new pants if his old ones is tore, and a new shirt besides, and he +sews the buttons on his vest, and he's took to wearin' a necktie. A +_necktie_!" + +Jimmie, words failing him for the moment, paused and hooked one foot +comfortably behind the other. He leaned hipshot against the doorjamb, +and spat accurately through a knothole in the bunkhouse floor. + +"Yop," he went on, ramming his quid into the angle of his jaw, "and +he's always admiring himself in the mirror, Racey is. He pats his hair +down, after partin' it and usin' enough goose-grease on it to keep +forty guns from rusting for ten years, and he shines his boots with +blacking, _my_ stove-blacking, the rustling scoundrel. Scrouge +southwest a li'l more, Racey, and look at yore chin. They's a li'l +speck of dust on it. Oh, me, oh, my! Li'l sweetheart will have to wash +his face again. Who is she?" + +Still Racey did not deign to reply. He placed, removed, and replaced a +garnet stickpin in the necktie a dozen times handrunning. Jimmie beat +the long roll with his knuckles on the bottom of the frying-pan, and +winked at the broad back of Racey Dawson. + +"I hear they's a new hasher at Bill Lainey's hotel," pursued the +indefatigable Jimmie. "Tim Page told me she only weighed three hundred +pounds without her shoes. It ain't her! Don't tell me it's her! You +ain't, are you, Racey?" + +Racey, pivoting on a spurred heel, faced Jimmie, stuck his arms +akimbo, and spoke: + +"Not mentioning any names, of course, but there's some people round +here got an awful lot to say. Which if a gent was to say their tongues +are hung in the middle he'd be only tellin' half the truth. Not that +you ain't popular with me, James. You are. I think the world of you. +How can I help it when you remind me all the time of my aunt's pet +parrot in yore face and language. Except you ain't the right colour. +If yore whiskers had only grown out green." + +"We're forgetting what we was talkin' about," tucked in Jimmie the +cook, smiling sweetly. "The lady, Racey. Who is she?" + +"James," said Racey, his smile matching that of the cook, "they's +something about you to-day, something I don't like. I dunno the name +for it exactly. But if you'll step inside the bunkhouse a minute, I'll +show you what I mean. I'll show you in two shakes." + +Jimmie shook a wise head and backed out into the open. "Not while I +got my health. You come out here and show me." + +"Oh, I ain't gonna play any tricks on you," protested Racey Dawson. + +"You bet you ain't," Jimmie concurred, warmly. "Not by severial +jugfuls. I--" He broke off, cocking a listening ear. + +"Yeah," grinned Racey, "you hear a noise in the cook-shack, huh? I +_thought_ I saw the Kid slide past in the lookin'-glass while you were +standing in the doorway." + +"And you never told me!" squalled Jimmie, speeding toward his beloved +place of business. + +He reached it rather late. When he entered by the doorway the Kid, a +pie in each hand, was disappearing through a back window. + +"Did you ever get left!" tossed back the Kid as the flung frying-pan +buzzed past his ear.--"Now see what you done," he continued, skipping +safely out of range; "dented yore nice new frypan all up. You +oughtn'ta done that, Jimmie. Fry-pans cost money. Some day, if you +ain't careful, you'll break something, you and yore temper." + +"Them's the Old Man's pies," declared Jimmie, leaning over the +window-sill and shaking an indignant fist at the Kid. "You bring 'em +back, you hear?" + +"They ain't, and I won't, and I do," was the brisk answer. "Yo're +making a big mistake, Jimmie boy, if you think they're _his_ pies. +Don't you s'pose I know he's gone to Piegan City, and he won't be back +for a coupla weeks? And don't you s'pose I know them pies would be too +stale for him to eat by the time he got back? You must take me for a +fool, Jimmie. And you lied to me, Jimmie, you lied. Just for that I'll +keep these pies, I'll keep 'em and eat 'em no matter how big a pain +I get, and let this be a lesson to you. Hey, Racey, Jimmie gimme a +coupla pies! C'mon out and we'll eat 'em where Jimmie can watch us." + +"If I catch you--" began the angry Jimmie. + +"But you ain't gonna catch me," tantalized the Kid. "C'mon, Racey, +hurry up." + +Racey came slowly and with dignity. + +The Kid stared. "Well, I bedam! Where are you goin'?" + +"Ride, just a li'l ride," was the vague reply. + +"Is that all? I thought it was a funeral or a wedding or something, +an' I was wonderin'. Just a li'l ride, huh? And where might you be +a-going to ride to, if I may make so bold as to ask?" + +"You can ask, of course," replied Racey, shrugging his wide shoulders +and spreading his hands after the fashion of Telescope Laguerre. + +"But that ain't sayin' he'll tell you," put in Jimmie. "Bet you he's +gonna go see that new hasher of Bill Lainey's." + +"No," denied the Kid, judicially, "not that lady. Even Racey's arms +ain't long enough to reach round her. I--_Say_, one of these pies is a +_raisin_ pie!" + +"You can gimme that one," suggested Racey Dawson, glad of an +opportunity to change the subject. + +The Kid, his teeth sunk in the raisin pie, shook a decisive head and +mumbled unintelligibly. He thrust the other pie toward his friend. + +Racey Dawson rode away westward munching pie. And it was a very good +pie, and would have brought credit to any cook. He regretfully ate the +last crumb, and rolled a cigarette. He felt fairly full and at utter +peace with the world. Why not? Wasn't it a good old world, and a +mighty friendly world despite the Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses that +infested it? I should say so. + +Racey Dawson inhaled luxuriously, pushed back his wide hat, and let +the breeze ruffle his brown hair. He rubbed the back of one hand +across his straight eyebrows, and stared across the range toward +the distant hills that marked his goal. Which goal was the old C Y +ranch-house at Moccasin Spring on Soogan Creek, where lived the Dales +and their daughter Molly. + +And as he looked at the hill and bethought him of what lay beyond it, +he drew a Winchester from the scabbard under his left leg and made +sure that he had not forgotten to load it. For Racey laboured under no +delusion as to the danger that menaced not only his own existence but +that of his friend Swing. He knew that their lives hung by a thread, +and a thin thread at that. They were but two against many, and +their position had not been aided by the string of uneventful days +succeeding their advent at the Bar S. For their enemies were taking +their time in the launching of their enterprise. And Racey had not +expected this. It threw him off his balance somewhat. Certainly it +worried him. + +It was not humanly possible that Jack Harpe could be aware that Old +Man Saltoun did not believe what Racey had told him. But he was acting +as if he knew. Perhaps he was waiting till Nebraska Jones should be +entirely well of his wound. That was possible, but not probable. Jack +Harpe had not impressed Racey as a man who would allow his plans to +be indefinitely held up for such a cause. There was no telling +when Nebraska would be up and about. His recovery, thanks to past +dissipations, had been exceedingly slow. + +Again, perhaps the delay might be merely a detail of the plan Fat +Jakey Pooley mentioned in his letter to Luke Tweezy, or it might be +due to the more-than-watchful care the Dales and Morgans were taking +of old Mr. Dale. Wherever the old gentleman went, some one of his +relations went with him. Certainly no ill-wisher had been able to +approach Mr. Dale (since his spree at McFluke's) at any time. Mr. +Dale, to all intents and purposes, was impossible to isolate. + +At any rate, whatever the reason, the fact remained that Harpe had not +moved and showed no signs of moving. Mr. Saltoun, every time he met +Racey, took special pains to ask his puncher how much twice six times +two hundred was. Then Mr. Saltoun, without waiting for an answer, +would walk off slapping his leg and cackling with laughter. Even Tom +London was beginning to take the view that perhaps his father-in-law +was in the right, after all. + +"You been here near two months now, Racey," he had said that very +morning, "and they ain't anything happened yet." + +"I've got four months to go," Racey had replied with a placidity he +did not feel. + +Now as he rode, his eyes closely scanning the various places in the +landscape providing good cover for possible bushwhackers, he recalled +what Loudon had said. + +"I'll show him all the happenstances he wants to see before I'm +through," he said, aloud. "Something's gonna happen. Something's got +to happen. Jack Harpe won't let this slide. Not by a jugful." + +The words were confident enough, but they were words that he had been +in the habit of repeating to himself nearly every day for some time. +Perhaps they had lost some of their force. Perhaps-- + +"Twelve hundred dollars," mused Racey. "And the same for Swing. Six +months' work for--Hell, it can't turn out different! I know it can't. +We'll show 'em all yet, won't we, Cuter old settler?" + +Cuter old settler waggled his ears. He was a companionable horse, +never kicked human beings, and bucked but seldom. + +"Yep," continued Racey, sitting back against the cantle, "she's a long +creek that don't bend some'ers or other." + +And then the creek that was his flow of thought shot round a bend into +the broad and sparkling reaches of a much pleasanter subject than the +one that had to do with Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses. After a time +he came to where the pleasanter subject, on her knees, was +weeding among the flowers that grew tidily round Moccasin Spring. +Baby-blue-eyes, low and lovely, cuddled down between tall columbines +and orange wall-flowers. Side by side with the pink geranium of +old-fashioned gardens the wild geranium nodded its lavender blooms in +perfect harmony. + +The subject, black-haired Molly Dale, rested the point of her +hand-fork between two rows of ragged sailors and Johnny-jump-ups and +lifted a pair of the clearest, softest blue eyes in the world in +greeting to Racey Dawson. + +"This is a fine time for you to be traipsing in," she told him, with +a smile that revealed a deep dimple in each cheek. "I thought you +promised to help me weed my garden to-day." + +"I did," he returned, humbly, dismounting and sliding the reins over +Cuter's neck and head, "but you know how it is Sunday mornin's, Molly. +There's a lot to do round the ranch sometimes. Now, this mornin'--" + +"I'll bet," she interrupted, smoothing out the smile and frowning as +severely as she was able. "I'd just tell a man that, I would. I would, +indeed. I'm sure it must have taken you at least half-an-hour to shine +those boots. Half-an-hour! More likely an hour. Why, I can see my face +in them." + +"And a very pretty face, too," said Racey, rising to the occasion. "If +I owned that face I'd never stop looking at it myself. I mean--" He +floundered, aghast at his own temerity. + +But the lady smiled. "That'll do," she cautioned him. "Don't try to +flirt with me. I won't have it." + +"I ain't--" he began, and stopped. + +Molly Dale continued to look at him inquiringly. But as he gave no +evidence of completing the sentence, she lowered her gaze and resumed +her weeding. Racey thought to have glimpsed a disappointed look in her +eyes as she dropped her chin, but he could not be certain. Probably he +had been mistaken. Why should she be disappointed? Why, indeed? + +"Start in on that bed, Racey," she directed, nodding her head toward +the columbines and wall-flowers. "There's some of that miserable +pusley inching in on the baby-blue-eyes and they're such tiny things +it doesn't take much to kill them. And Lord knows I had a hard enough +job persuading 'em to grow in the first place." + +"Wild things never cotton to living inside a fence," he told her. +"They're like Injuns thataway--put 'em in a house and they don't do so +well." + +"Shucks, look at the Rainbow." + +"Half-breed. There's the difference, and besides the Rainbow ain't +lived in a house since she left the convent. She lives in a tepee same +as her uncle and aunties." + +"I don't care," defended Molly, straightening on her knees to survey +her garden. "Every single plant in my garden except the pink geraniums +is wild. Look at those thimble-berry bushes round the spring, and the +blue camass along the brook, and the squaw bushes round the house, +and the squaw grass and pussy paws back of the clothes-lines. Some I +transplanted, the rest I grew from seeds. And where will you find a +better-looking garden?" + +Racey sagged back on his heels and stared critically about him. + +"Yeah," he drawled, nodding a slow head, "they do look pretty good. +Got to give you lots of credit. But those squaw bushes now--" He broke +off, grinning. + +"Oh, of course, you provoking thing!" cried she, irately. "Might know +you'd pick on those squaw bushes. It is a mite too shady for 'em +where they are, but still they're doing pretty well, considering. I'm +satisfied--What's that?" + +"That" was a horseman appearing suddenly among the cottonwoods that +belted with a scattering grove the garden and the spring. The horseman +was Lanpher, manager of the 88 ranch. He was followed by another +rider, a lean, swarthy individual with a smooth-shaven, saturnine +face. Racey knew the latter by sight and reputation. The man was one +Skeel and rejoiced in the nick-name of "Alicran." The furtive scorpion +whose sting is death is not indigenous to the territory, but Mr. +Skeel had gained the appellation in New Mexico, a region where the +tail-bearing insect may be found, and when the man left the Border for +the Border's good the name left with him. + +"Oh, lookout! The bushes! The bushes! Don't trample my +thimble-berries!" + +But Lanpher, heeding not at all Molly's cries of warning, spurred his +sweating horse through the thimble-berry growth, breaking down three +shrubs, and splashed cat-a-corneredly across the spring, the brook, +and several rows of flowers. + +The garden looked as if a miniature cyclone had passed that way. + +Midway across the garden Lanpher's horse halted--halted because a +flying figure in chaps had appeared from nowhere and seized it by the +rein. But the horse did more than halt. In obedience to a powerful +jerk administered by the man in chaps the horse pivoted on its +forelegs and slid its rider out of the saddle and deposited him +a-sprawl and face downward among the flowers. + +Lanpher arose, snarling, to face a levelled sixshooter. It did not +signify that Racey had not drawn the weapon. He was perfectly capable +of shooting through the bottom of his holster and Lanpher knew it. And +Racey knew that he knew it. + +"Get out of this garden!" ordered Racey. "Take yore friend with you," +he added, tossing the horse's bridle to Lanpher. "And if I were you +I'd walk a heap careful between the rows. I just wouldn't go a-busting +any more of these posies." + +Lanpher went. He went carefully. He was followed quite as carefully by +Racey Dawson. + +When Lanpher was free of the neat rows he looked up venomously into +the face of Alicran Skeel who had meticulously ridden round the +garden. + +"I was wondering where you was," Lanpher remarked with deep meaning. + +"I ain't rooting up nobody's gyarden," Alicran returned, cheerfully. +"And don't wonder too hard. Might strain yore intellect or something. +I'll always be where I aim to be--always. You done scratched yore +face, Lanpher." + +Lanpher turned from Alicran Skeel and spat upon the ground. + +"Alicran," said Racey, holding his alert attitude, "the first false +move you make Lanpher gets it." + +"I ain't makin' a move," said Alicran, thumbs hooked in the armholes +of his vest. "I got plenty to do minding my own business." + +"Huh?" Thus the sceptical Racey, who did not trust Mr. Skeel as far as +he could throw a horse by the tail. + +"Shucks," said Alicran, out of deference to the lady, "you don't +believe me." + +"Shore I do," asserted Racey, "Shore, you bet you. I--_Careful, +Lanpher_! I can talk to somebody else and watch you at the same time!" + +"If Alicran was worth a--" began Lanpher, furiously, and stopped. + +"You was gonna say--what?" queried Alicran, softly. + +"Nothing," said Lanpher, sulkily. "Put yore gun away," he continued to +Racey. "I ain't gonna hurt you." + +"Now that's what I call downright generous of you, Lanpher," Racey +declared, warmly. "I'd shore hate to be hurt. I shore would. But if +it's alla same to you, I'll keep my gun right where she is--if it's +alla same to you." + +"That'll do, Racey. Stop this rowing. I won't have it." It was Molly +Dale pushing past Racey and standing with arms akimbo directly +in front of his gun-muzzle. Racey let his gun and holster fall +up-and-down, but he did not remove his hand from the gunbutt. + +"Who do you want here?" Molly inquired of Lanpher. + +Lanpher's rat-like features cracked into an ugly smile. "Is yore paw +home?" he asked. + +"Father's gone to Marysville." + +"When'll he be back?" + +"Day after to-morrow, I guess." + +"Yeah, I kind of guess he'd want to spend the night so's he could do +business in the morning, huh?" The Lanpher smile grew even uglier. + +"He has some business to attend to in the morning, yes." + +"I kind of thought he would. Yeah. You don't happen to know the nature +of his business, do you?" + +"His business is none of yours, and I'll thank you to pick up your +feet and clear out, the pair of you." + +"Not so fast." Lanpher spread deprecatory hands, and his smile became +suddenly crooked. "I just come down to do yore paw a favour." + +"A favour? You?" Blank unbelief was patent in Molly's tone and +expression. + +"A favour. Me. You see, yore paw's got a mortgage coming due on the +tenth, and the reason yore paw went to Marysville was so he could be +there bright and early to-morrow morning at the bank to renew the +mortgage. Ain't I right?" + +"You might be." Molly's face was now a mask of indifference, but there +was no indifference in her heart. There was cold fear. + +Racey's expression was likewise indifferent. But there was no fear in +his heart. There was anger, cold anger. For he had sensed what was +coming. He knew that the previous winter had been a hard one on the +Dale fortunes. They had lost most of their little bunch of cattle in a +blizzard, and the roof of their stable had collapsed, killing two team +horses and a riding pony. Racey had conjectured that Mr. Dale would +have been forced to borrow on mortgage to make a fresh start in the +spring. And at that time in the territory the legal rate was 12 per +cent. Stiff? To be sure. But the security in those days was never +gilt-edged--cattle were prone to die at inconvenient moments, and land +was not worth what it was east of the Mississippi. + +"We'll take it I'm right," pursued Lanpher, lapping his tongue round +the words as though they possessed taste and that taste pleasant. "And +being that I'm right I'll say yore paw could 'a' saved himself the +ride to Marysville by stayin' to home." + +Oh, Lanpher was the sort of man who, as a boy, was accustomed to +thoroughly enjoy the pastime of pulling wings from living flies and +drowning a helpless kitten by inches. + +Now he nodded his head and grinned anew, and put up a satisfied +hand and rubbed his stubbly chin. Racey yearned to kick him. It was +shameful that Molly should be compelled to bandy words with this +reptile. Racey stepped forward determinedly, and slid past Molly. + +Promptly she caught him by the sleeve. "Don't mix in, Racey," she +commanded with set face. "It's all right. It's all right, I tell you." + +"'Course it's all right," Lanpher hastened to say, more than a hint of +worriment in his little black eyes. One could never be sure of these +Bar S boys. They were uncertain propositions, every measly one of +them. "Shore it's all right," went on the 88 manager. "I ain't meaning +no harm. Yo're taking a lot for granted, Racey, a whole lot for +granted." + +"Nemmine what I'm taking for granted," flung back Racey. "I get along +with taking only what's mine, anyway." + +Which was equivalent to saying that Lanpher was a thief. But Lanpher +overlooked the poorly veiled insult, and switched his gaze to Molly +Dale. + +"I just rid over to say," he told her, "that if yore paw is still set +on renewing the mortgage when he comes back from Marysville he'll have +to see me and Luke Tweezy at the 88. We done bought that mortgage from +the bank." + +Molly Dale said nothing. Racey felt that if he held his tongue another +second he would incontinently burst. He sidestepped past the girl. + +"You've said yore li'l piece," he told Lanpher, "and for a feller who +was bellyaching so loud about keeping out of this deal it strikes me +yo're a-getting in good and deep--buying up mortgages and all. Dunno +what I mean, huh? Yep, you do. Shore you do. Think back. Think way +back, and it'll come to you. Jack Harpe. You know him. Bossy-looking +jigger, seemed like. Has he been a-bearing down on you lately, +Lanpher? Mustn't let him run you thataway. Bad business. Might be +expensive. You can't tell. You be careful, Lanpher. You go slow--a +mite slow. Yep. Well, don't lemme keep you. This way out." + +He flicked a thumb westward, and stared at Lanpher with bright eyes. +Lanpher's eyes dropped, lifted, then veered toward Alicran Skeel, that +appreciative observer, who continued to sit his horse as good as gold +and silent as a clam. + +Lanpher turned to his horse without another word, slid the reins over +the animal's neck and crossed them slackly. He stuck toe in stirrup +and swung up. He looked down at Molly where she stood dumbly, her +troubled eyes gazing at nothing and the fingers of one hand slowly +plaiting and unplaiting a corner of her apron. Lanpher opened his +mouth as if to speak, but no words issued. For Racey had coughed a +peremptory cough. + +Lanpher turned his horse's head toward the creek. + +"Lookit here, Alicran," the peevish Lanpher burst forth when he and +his henchman had forded the creek and were riding westward, "whatsa +matter with you, anyway?" + +"With me?" Alicran tilted a questioning bead. "I dunno. I don't feel a +mite sick." + +"What do you think I hired you for?" Heatedly. + +"Gawd he knows." Business of rolling a cigarette. + +"Yo're supposed to be a two-legged man with a gun." + +"Yeah?" Indifferently. + +"Yeah, but I got my doubts--now. Hell's bells! Wasn't you off to one +side there when Racey pulled? Wasn't you?" + +"Wasn't you listenin' to what Racey said at the time? Wasn't you?" + +"After! I mean after! His gun was back hugging his leg after the girl +slid in between. What more of a chance didja want?" + +"So that's it, huh?" + +"That's--it." Between the two words was a perceptible pause. + +"I ain't shootin' nobody in the back. I never have yet, and I ain't +beginnin' now, not for you or any other damn man." + +"Say--" began Lanpher, threateningly. + +Alicran Skeel turned a grim face on his employer so suddenly and +sharply that Lanpher almost dodged. + +"Lookit here, Lanpher," said he, quietly, "don't you try to start +nothin' that I'll have to finish. I know you from way back, you +lizard, and outside of my regular work I ain't taking no orders from +you. Don't gimme any more of yore lip." + +"Aw, I didn't mean nothing, Alicran. You ain't got any call to get +het. I need you in the business." + +"Shore you do," Alicran declared, contemptuously. "You need me to do +anything you ain't got the nerve to do." + +"I got my duty to my company," Lanpher bluffed lamely. + +"Duty bedam. You ain't got the guts for a tough job, that's whatsa +matter." + +This was rubbing it in. Lanpher plucked at the loose strings of his +courage, and managed to draw out a faintly responsive twang. "I'll +show you whether I got guts--" he began. + +"Oh, look," said Alicran. "See that wild currant bush." + +To Lanpher it seemed that the sixshooter was barely out of the holster +before it was back again. But there was a swirl of smoke adrift in the +windless air and the topmost branch of a wild currant bush thirty feet +distant had been that instant cut in two. + +"What was that you was gonna say?" Alicran prompted, softly. + +"I forget," evaded Lanpher. "But they's one thing you wanna remember, +Alicran. It don't pay to be squeamish. It comes high in the end +usually. You'll find, if you keep on being mushy thisaway, that you'll +have more'n you can swing at the finish." + +"Is that so? You leave me do things my own way, you hear? Lemme tell +you if I'd 'a' knowed all what you was up to by coming to Dale's this +mornin' I'd never have allowed it." + +"Allowed it!" + +"Yes, allowed it, I said. Want me to spell it for you? You +thumb-handed idjit, if you had any more sense you'd be a damfool. +Don't you know that in anything you do, no matter what, they's no +profit in unnecessary trimmings? Most always it's the extra frills on +a feller's work that pushes the bridge over and lands him underneath +with everything on top of him and the job to do again, if he's lucky +enough to be livin' at the finish. And yore swashing through that +girl's gyarden was a heap unnecessary. It was a close squeak you +wasn't drilled by Racey Dawson. I wouldn't have blamed him if he had +let a little light in on yore darkened soul. Done it myself in his +place. And yore rubbing in that mortgage deal was another unnecessary +piece o' damfoolishness. It only made Racey have it in for you more'n +ever. And after acting like more kinds of a fool thataway in less time +than anybody I ever see before, you sit up on yore hunkers and tell +_me_ I'll have more'n I can swing at the finish. Say, you make me +laugh! Listen, Lanpher, for a feller that's come out second best with +the Bar S outfit as many times as you have it looks to me like you was +crowdin' Providence a heap close." + +"That's all right," sulked Lanpher, then added, with a sudden flare of +spite: "When I hired you as foreman I shore never expected to draw a +skypilot full o' sermons into the bargain." + +"No?" drawled Alicran, looking hard at Lanpher. "I often wonder just +what you did hire me for." + +On which Lanpher made no comment. + +"Yeah," resumed Alicran, the fish having failed to bite, "I often +wonder about that. Was it a foreman you wanted or a--gunman? And what +did Racey mean about Jack Harpe a-bearing down on you so hard, huh?" + +"Nothing, nothing, nothing a-tall," Lanpher replied, irritably. + +"If Racey didn't mean nothing by it, what did yore eyes flip for and +why didja shuffle yore feet?" + +"Whatell business is it of yores?" burst out the goaded manager. + +"None," Alicran replied, calmly. "I was just wondering. I got a +curiosity to know why, thassall." + +"Then hogtie yore curiosity--or you'll be gettin' yore time. I'm free +to admit I need you, like I said before, but I can do without you if I +gotta." + +"That's just where yo're dead wrong," Alicran promptly contradicted. +"You can't do without me. Lanpher, I like the job of bein' yore +foreman. I like it so well that if you was to fire me I dunno what I +wouldn't do. You know, Lanpher, a man is a whole lot bigger target +than the branch of a wild currant bush." + +Frankly speculative, the eyes of Alicran travelled up and down the +spare frame of the 88 manager. Which gave Lanpher furiously to think, +as it were. + +"Why," said he, forcing a smile, "I guess we understand each other, +Alicran." + +"Shore we do," said Alicran, cheerfully. "And don't you forget it." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SIGNED PAPER + + +When the two 88 men had departed Molly Dale continued to stand where +she was for a space and stare dumbly at nothing. Racey, realizing well +enough that her world had crashed to pieces about her, wished that she +would burst into tears. A sobbing woman is easily comforted. It is +simply necessary to pet her and keep on petting her till her grief +is assuaged. But this hard stillness of Molly Dale's gave Racey no +opening. He could but gaze at her uncomfortably and shift his weight +from one foot to the other. + +"That was a dirty trick of the Marysville bank." Thus tentatively. + +It is doubtful whether Molly heard him. "Poor Father," she said in a +low tone. + +"Lookit here, Molly," said Racey, struck by a bright idea, "I've got a +li'l money I been saving. I--I want you should take it." + +Molly continued to stare into the distance. + +"I've got some money--" he began again, thinking that Molly had not +heard. + +But she turned her face toward him at that, and he saw that her eyes +were shining with unshed tears. + +"Racey," she said, with a slight catch in her voice, and laid her hand +lightly on his arm. "Racey, you're a dear, good boy. We--we'll manage +somehow. I mum-must tell Mother." + +Abruptly she swung away and left him. He watched her cross the garden +and enter the kitchen of the ranch-house. Then slowly, thoughtfully, +he set to work repairing as best he could the ravages left in the +garden by the hoofs of Lanpher's horse. + +Came then Swing Tunstall on a paint pony and was moved to mirth at +sight of Racey Dawson engaged in earthy labour. + +"See the pret-ty flowers," mouthed Swing Tunstall, after the fashion +of a child wrestling with the First Reader. "Does Racey like pret-ty +flow-ers? Yeth, he'th crathy ab-out them. Ain't he cute squattin' +there all same hoptoad and a-workin' away two-handed? Only he ain't +a-workin' now. He's stopped workin'. He's gettin' all red in the face. +He's mad at Swing who never done him no harm nohow. Whatsa matter, +Racey?" he added in his natural voice. "What bit you on the ear this +fine an' summer day?" + +Racey looked over his shoulder toward the house. Then he got to his +feet and strode across the garden to where Swing Tunstall sat his +horse. + +"Swing," said he, quietly, "are you busy just now?" + +Swing, suspecting a catch somewhere, stared in swift suspicion. +"Why--uh--no," was his cautious reply. + +"Then go off some'ers and die." + +Without waiting for Swing's possible comment Racey turned his back on +his friend and walked unhurriedly to his horse Cuter. Swing slouched +sidewise in the saddle and watched him go. + +He rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled luxuriously. And all +without removing his gaze from Racey's back. He watched while Racey +flung the reins crosswise over Cuter's neck, mounted, and rode down +into the creek. When he saw that Racey, after allowing Cuter to drink +nearly all he wanted, rode on across the creek and up the farther +bank, Swing's brow became corrugated with a puzzled frown. + +"He means business," muttered Swing. "I ain't seen that look on his +face for some time. I wonder what did happen this morning." + +His eyes still fixed on the dwindling westward moving object that was +Racey Dawson and his horse, he smoked his cigarette to a butt. Then he +picked up his reins, found his stirrups, and rode away. + +Racey Dawson, bound for the 88 ranch-house, did not smoke. He did not +feel like it. He did not feel like doing anything but facing Lanpher. +What he would be moved to do while facing Lanpher he was not sure. +Time enough to cross that bridge when the crucial moment should +arrive. He knew what he wanted to do, but he knew, too, that he could +not do it unless Lanpher made the first break. Otherwise it would be +murder, and Racey was no murderer. + +"He'll back down if he can, the snake," Racey said aloud. "And he'll +be shore to slick and slime round till all's blue. Damn him, riding +over those flowers of hers!" + +Racey did not hurry. He had no desire to come up with Lanpher on +the open range. It would be better to meet the man at his own +ranch-house--where there were apt to be plenty of witnesses. Racey +realized perfectly that he might need a witness, several witnesses, +before the sunset. He hoped that all the boys of the 88 outfit would +be at the ranch. He hoped that Luke Tweezy would be there, too. +Lanpher and Tweezy together, the pups. + +"Fat Jakey Pooley's li'l playmates," he muttered and swore +again--heartily. + +He understood now the true reason for Jack Harpe's lack of activity. +This purchasing by Lanpher and Tweezy of the Dale mortgage was the +eminently safe and lawful plan of Jakey Pooley. In his letter Fat +Jakey had written that it would take longer. And wasn't it taking +longer? It was. Racey thought he saw the plan in its entirety, and was +in a boil accordingly. He would have been in considerably more of a +boil had he been blessed with the ability to read the future. + +When he rode in among the buildings of the 88 ranch his eyes were +gratified by the sight of freckle-faced Bill Allen straddling a +cracker-box in front of the bunkhouse and having his hair cut by Rod +Rockwell. + +"That's right," Bill Allen was complaining, "whynell don't you cut off +the whole ear while yo're about it?" + +"Aw, shut up," said Rod Rockwell, "it was only the tip, and I didn't +go to cut it, anyway." + +"I don't giveadamn whether you went to cut it or not, you cut it! I +can feel the blood running down the back of my neck." + +"That's only sweat, you bellerin' calf! Hold still, can't you? Djuh +want me to hurt you?" + +"You done have already," snarled Bill Allen, fidgeting on his +cracker-box. "You wait till I cut yore hair after. I'll fix you. I'll +scalp you, you pot-walloper." + +"That's right, Bill," said Racey, checking his horse beside the +quarrelling pair. "Talk to him. Givem hell." + +"'Lo, Racey," grinned the two youngsters in unison. + +"Where did you rustle _this_ hoss?" asked Bill Allen. + +"Nemmine where," smiled Racey, for both Bill and Rod had been his +friends in his 88 days and could therefore insult him with impunity. +"I wouldn't wanna put li'l boys in the way of temptation. Does the +cook still spank him regular, Rod?" + +"Stab his hoss with the scissors, Rod," begged Bill Allen. "Let's see +what for a rider Mr. Dawson is." + +Racey pressed his off rein against his horse's neck. The animal +whirled on a nickel, and reared, hard held, after the first plunge. +The flying pebbles plentifully showered the two punchers. Bill Allen +swore heartily, for one of the pebbles had clipped his damaged ear. + +"You see what a good rider I am," Racey said, sweetly. "Can't feaze +me, nohow. Sit still, Bill, and lemme try can I jump the li'l hoss +over you. Rod, do you mind movin' back a yard?" + +"No," said Bill Allen, decidedly, and picked up his cracker-box and +retreated backward to the bunkhouse door. "No, you don't play any such +tricks as that on me. He'd just as soon try it as not, the idjit," he +added over his shoulder to Tile Stanton who was peering out to see +what all the racket was about. + +"Let him try it," Tile Stanton advised promptly. "If the cayuse does +happen to hit yore head, it won't hurt yore thick skull. G'on, Bill, +be a sport." + +"Be a sport yoreself," returned Bill Allen, skipping into the +bunkhouse. "Where's the other scissors? I'll finish this job myself." + +Racey, left alone with Rod Rockwell, smiled slightly. "Bill ain't got +a sense of humour this mornin'," he observed, softly. "He must 'a' +thought I meant it." + +There was no answering smile on Rod's features as he looked up at +Racey Dawson. "Racey," said he, laying a hand on the horse's mane, +"have you been to McFluke's lately?" + +"I ain't," replied Racey, his smile fading out. + +"Then keep on stayin' away." + +"As bad as that?" + +"As bad as that." + +"McFluke been talking?" was Racey's next question. + +"If McFluke was the only one it would be a mighty short hoss to +curry." + +"Then there are others?" + +"Plenty." Rod Rockwell gave a short, hard laugh. + +"All of Nebraska's bunch, huh?" + +"All but Nebraska." + +"How long has this been going on--this talking, I mean?" + +"Doc Coffin started it about a week ago. He told Windy Taylor of the +Double Diamond A he was gonna ventilate yore good health some fine +day. He wasn't drunk, neither." + +"Then he must have serious intentions." + +"Somethin' like that. Five of us heard him say it. Lookit, while I was +at McFluke's alone day before yesterday Doc and Peaches Austin and +Honey Hoke was all three bellying the bar, and while I was tucking +away my nosepaint they was mumbling to themselves how you was all +kinds of a pup and would stand shootin' any day." + +"Mumblin' loud enough for you to hear, huh?" + +"Naturally, or I wouldn't 'a' heard it." + +"Then they wanted you to hear. Guess they know yo're a friend of +mine." + +"Guess they do now," Rod Rockwell said, grimly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, nothin'. I just talked to 'em a li'l bit." + +"And you wasn't shot? Didn't they do anything?" + +"Hell, no," Rod denied, disgustedly. "Kansas Casey come in just at the +wrong time, and throwed down on the four of us and said he'd do all +the shooting they was to be done. And when he went he took me with +him. Said he'd arrest me if I didn't go peaceable. Ain't that just +like Kansas?" + +"Wearing the star shore means a lot to him." + +"Aw, since he's been deputy he's gotten too big for his boots. And +Jake the same way. The country's played out, that's whatsa matter. +Law and order, law and order, till a feller can't turn round no more +without fallin' into jail." + +"She's one lucky thing for you, cowboy," said Racey, seriously, "that +Kansas did come. Three of 'em! You had yore gall. Lookit here, next +time you let 'em talk. Names don't hurt less they're said to a +feller's face." + +"They knowed you was my friend," said Rod, simply. "Anyway, you keep +away from McFluke's." + +"Maybe I will take yore advice. It has its points of interest, as +the feller said when he sat down on the porkumpine. And speakin' of +porkumpines, have you seen Lanpher?" + +"Shore. Him and Alicran pulled in a hour ago. Guess he's in the +office--Lanpher." + +"See anything of Tweezy lately?" + +"Luke seems to be living with us _lately_." + +"I never knowed him and Lanpher was good friends?" Racey cast at a +venture. + +"I didn't either--till lately." + +"Jack Harpe ever come out here?" + +"Long-geared feller--supposed to have capital? Hangs out in Farewell? +The one that Marie girl tried to down? Bo, he ain't been here as I +know of, but then he could easy drift in and out and me not know it." + +Racey nodded. "Marie jump Jack again, do you know?" he asked. + +"Damfino. Don't guess so, though. I seen her pass him on Main Street, +and she didn't even look at him." + +"I'll bet he looked at her." + +"You can gamble he did. He ain't trustin' her, not him. I wonder what +was at the bottom of the fuss between him an' her?" A sharp glance at +Racey accompanied this remark. + +"I dunno," yawned Racey. "They say Mr. Harpe has had a career both +high, wide, and handsome." + +"That's what I'd call one too many," grinned Rod Rockwell. + +"You can put down a bet the career has been one too many, too." + +"Yeah?" said Rod, wondering what was coming next. + +"Yeah," said Racey, nodding mysteriously, but disappointing his friend +by immediately changing the subject. "Say, Rod, I'd take it as a +favour if you and Tile and Bill would sort of freeze round the +bunkhouse till after I'm through with Lanpher." + +"Shore," said Rod. "Tweezy's in the office, too, I guess." + +Racey nodded, and started his horse toward the office. + +He understood well enough that Rod and the other two punchers would +not interfere in any way with him and whatever acts he might be called +upon to perform during his conversation with Lanpher. Loyal to the +last cartridge and after whenever it was ranch business, none of the +88 punchers ever felt it incumbent upon him to go out of his way so +far as Lanpher personally was concerned. The manager was not the man +either to engender or to foster personal loyalty. + +At the open doorway of the office Racey dismounted. He dropped the +reins over his horse's head and walked to the doorway. There he +stopped and looked in. He saw Lanpher sitting behind his big homemade +desk. Lanpher was watching him. At one side of the desk, on a chair +tilted back against the wall, sat Luke Tweezy. Luke was chewing a +straw. His eyes were half closed, but Racey detected their glitter. +Luke Tweezy was not overlooking any bets at that moment. + +Racey stepped across the doorsill and halted just within the room. The +thumb of his left hand was hooked in his belt. His right hand hung at +his side. He was ready for action. + +"Lanpher," said Racey without preliminary, "I want to serve notice +on you here and now that if I catch you within one mile of Moccasin +Spring you come a-shooting because I will." + +Lanpher's hand remained motionless on the desktop. Then the man picked +up a pencil and began to tap it on the wood. He licked his lips +cat-fashion. + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" he asked. + +"You can take it she's both," Racey told him. + +"You hear that, Luke?" Lanpher turned to Luke Tweezy. "Threatenin' my +life, huh?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke Tweezy. "Actionable, that is. Mustn't threaten a +man's life, Racey. Against the law, you know." + +Racey moved to one side and leaned his back comfortably against the +wall. "Against the law, huh, Luke?" he said nervously. "Then I can be +arrested?" + +"You can," Luke Tweezy declared with evident relish. "That is, you can +if Lanpher wants to make a complaint." + +"You hear, Lanpher?" asked Racey, still more nervously. "You wanna +make a complaint, huh?" + +Lanpher had not failed to note the nervousness of Racey's tone. Now he +licked his lips again. He felt quite cheerful of a sudden. It gave +him a warm and pleasant feeling to think that Racey Dawson was to a +certain degree in his power. Having licked his lips several times he +rubbed his chin judicially and coughed, likewise judicially. + +"Well, I dunno as I wanna make a complaint exactly," he said, slowly. +"But you wanna walk a chalkline round here, Racey. You got too much to +say for a fact." + +"What do you think, Luke?" queried Racey. "Have I got too much to +say?" + +"You heard what Lanpher said," replied the cautious Luke. + +"Yep, I heard all right. I just wanted to get yore opinion, because I +ain't through yet--through talking, I mean. What I was going to say is +that I wouldn't be particular about catching Lanpher round Moccasin +Spring. If I only _heard_ he'd been hanging round there it would be +enough." + +"Meaning you'll drill him on suspicion?" + +"Meaning I'll do just that." + +"Now yo're threatenin' me again." Thus Lanpher. + +"Takes you a long time to wake up, don't it?" The nervousness had +vanished from Racey's voice. "Lanpher, you lousy skunk! Why don't you +pull? There's a gun in that open drawer not six inches from your hand. +Go after it, you hound-dog!" + +Lanpher was not inordinately brave. He would go out of his way to +avoid an appeal to lethal weapons. But Racey's words were more than he +could stand. His hand jerked sidewise and down toward the sixshooter +in the open drawer. + +Bang! Shooting from the hip Racey drove an accurate bullet through the +manager's right forearm. Lanpher grunted and gurgled with pain. But he +made no attempt to seize his weapon with his left hand. + +Luke Tweezy picked himself up from the floor where he had thrown +himself a split second before the shot. Luke Tweezy's leathery face +was mottled yellow with rage. + +"I'll get you ten years for this!" he squalled, pointing a long arm at +Racey. "You started this fight! You tried to murder him!" + +"Oh, say not so," said Racey. "If I'd wanted to kill him I wouldn't +'a' plugged him in the arm, would I? That wouldn't 'a' been sensible." + +"You provoked this fraycas!" snarled Luke, disregarding Racey's point +in a true lawyer-like way. "You--" + +"Why, no, Luke, yo're wrong, all wrong," interrupted Swing Tunstall, +leaning over the windowsill at Tweezy's back. "I seen the whole thing, +I did, and I didn't see Racey do anything he shouldn't. I could swear +to it on the stand if I had to," he added, thoughtfully. + +Come then Rod Rockwell, Bill Allen, and Tile Stanton from the +bunkhouse. None made any comment on the state of affairs. But while +Rod fetched water in a basin, Bill Allen cut away the sleeve of his +groaning employer, and made all ready. + +A few minutes later Alicran Skeel entered the office. "I thought I +heard a gun," he drawled, his calm eyes embracing everyone in the +room. + +"That man!" bubbled Luke Tweezy, shaking his fist at Racey. "That +man tried to kill Lanpher! I call upon you not to let him leave the +premises until I can go to Farewell and swear out a warrant for his +arrest." + +"That man," said Swing Tunstall, pointing a derisive finger at Luke +Tweezy, "is a liar by the clock. I saw the whole thing. And all I +gotta say is that Lanpher went after his gun first." + +"I ain't doubting yore word, Swing," Alicran said, tactfully, "but +they seems to be a difference of opinion sort of, and--" + +"I say that Luke Tweezy is a damn liar," reasserted Swing, "and they +ain't no difference of opinion about that." + +"Well, of course, if Luke--" Alicran did not complete the sentence. + +"I am a lawyer," Luke Tweezy explained, hurriedly. "I ain't paying any +attention to what his man says--now." + +"Or any other time," jibed Swing. + +"Any of you boys see this?" Alicran asked of his three punchers. + +"He tried to kill me, I tell you!" Lanpher gritted through his teeth. +"He didn't gimme a chance!" + +"Any of you boys see it?" repeated Alicran, paying no attention to +Lanpher. + +"How could we?" asked Rod Rockwell, glancing up from the bandaging of +Lanpher's arm. "We was all in the bunkhouse." + +"Then for the benefit of the gents who wasn't here," said Racey, +smoothly, "I don't mind saying that I told Lanpher to go after his +gun, and he did, and I did." + +"He's a liar," gibbered Lanpher. "Alicran, ain't you man enough to +take care of Racey Dawson?" + +Alicran nodded composedly. "I guess him and me would come to some kind +of an agreement provided I was shore he needed taking care of. But I +ain't none shore he does. Looks like it was a even break to me--the +word of you and Luke against his and Swing's. And what's fairer than +that I'd like to know?" + +"Alicran!" squalled Lanpher. "I'm telling you to--" + +"Yo're all worked up, that's whatsa matter," Alicran assured him. +"You don't mean more'n half you say. You lie down now after Rod gets +through with you and cool off--cool off considerable, I would. Do you +a heap o' good. Yeah." + +"And when you get all well, Lanpher," put in Racey, "will I still be a +liar like you say?" + +Lanpher looked at Racey and looked away. His heated blood was cooling +fast. His arm--Lord, how it hurt! He perceived that discretion was +necessary to preserve the rest of his precious skin from future +perforation. + +"I--I guess I was a li'l hasty," he mumbled, his eyelids lowered. + +"Now that's what I call right down handsome--for you," drawled Racey. +"Gawd knows I ain't a hawg. I'm satisfied. Luke, s'pose you and me +walk out to the corral together. I got a secret for yore pearly ear." + +It was obvious that Luke Tweezy was of two minds. Racey grinned to see +the other's hesitation. + +"What you scared of, Luke?" he inquired. "It ain't far to the corral, +and you can ask Alicran to come outside and watch me while I'm talkin' +to you." + +"I ain't got any business with you," denied Luke Tweezy. + +"Oh, yo're mistaken, a heap mistaken. Yes, indeedy, you got business +with me. But it ain't my fault, Luke. I can't help it. Of course, if +you don't wanna talk to me private like, I can reel her off in here. +My thoughts were all of you and yore feelin's, Luke, when I said the +corral. I was shore you'd be happier there." + +"I ain't got a thing to hide, not a thing," declared Luke Tweezy. "But +if you want to we'll go out to the corral." + +They went out to the corral and Racey found a seat on an empty +nailkeg. Luke Tweezy sat perforce on the hardbaked ground. He hunched +up his legs, clasped his hands round his shins, and rested his sharp +chin on his bony knees. His eyes were fixed on Racey. The latter +seemed in no hurry to begin. He rolled a cigarette with irritating +slowness. To force one's opponent to wait is always good strategy. + +"Well," said Luke Tweezy. + +"Is it?" smiled Racey. "Have it yore own way, if you like. Lookit, +Luke, you buy a lot of scrip now and then, don't you?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke. + +"Good big discount, I'll bet." + +"Why not? I ain't in business for my health. They's no law--" + +"Of course there ain't. And yore mortgages, Luke. Do a good business +in mortgages, don't you?" + +"So-so." + +"This mortgage of Old Man Dale's now--you figurin' on foreclosin' if +he can't pay?" + +"Whadda you know about Dale's mortgage?" + +"I heard Lanpher yawpin' about it. He talks too loud sometimes, don't +he? You gonna foreclose on him, I suppose?" + +"Like that!" Luke Tweezy snapped his teeth together with a click. + +"But foreclosing takes time. You can't sell a man up the minute his +mortgage is due. There's got to be notices in the papers and the like +of that. Suppose now he gets to borrow the money some'ers before the +sale? He'll have plenty of time to look round." + +"Who'd lend him money?" + +"Old Salt would. He's tight, but he'd rather have Dale at Moccasin +Spring than someone else, and he'd lend Dale money rather than have +him drove out." + +"Shucks, he wouldn't lend him a dime. I know Old Salt. Don't fret, +we'll foreclose when we get ready." + +"I ain't fretting," said Racey. "You'll foreclose, huh? Aw right. I +just wanted to be shore. You can go now, Luke." + +Thus dismissed Tweezy rose to his feet and glared down at Racey +Dawson. His little eyes shone with spite. + +"Say it," urged Racey. "You'll bust if you don't." + +But Luke Tweezy did not say it. He knew better. Without a word he +returned to the house. + +"They ain't going to foreclose, that's a cinch," said Racey when the +ponies were fox-trotting toward Soogan Creek and the Bar S range five +minutes later. "Luke's telling me they were proves they ain't." + +"Shore," acquiesced Swing, "but what are they gonna do?" + +"I ain't figured that out yet." + +"You mean you dunno. That's the size of it," + +"How'd you happen to be at that window so providential this mornin'?" +Racey queried, hurriedly. + +"How'd you s'pose? Don't you guess I'd know they was something up from +the nice, kind way you said so-long to me back there at the Dales'? +Huh? 'Course I did--I ain't no fool. You'd oughta had sense enough to +take me along in the first place instead of makin' me trail you miles +an' miles. And where would you 'a' been if I hadn't come siftin' +along, I'd like to know? Might know you'd need a witness. Them two +jiggers put together could easy make you lots of trouble. What was you +thinking of, anyhow, Racey?" + +"How could I tell they were _both_ gonna be together? Besides, three +of the 88 boys were over in the bunkhouse. I was counting on them." + +"Over in the bunkhouse, huh? A lot of good they'd done you there. A +lot of good. Oh, yo're bright, Racey. I'd tell a man that, I would." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE SHOWDOWN + + +Racey, walking suddenly round the corner of the Dale stable, came upon +Mr. Dale tilting a bottle toward the sky. The business end of the +bottle was inserted between Mr. Dale's lips. His Adam's apple slid +gravely up and down. He did not see Racey Dawson. + +"Howdy," said the puncher. + +Mr. Dale removed the bottle, whirled, and thrust the bottle behind +him. + +"Oh, it's you," he said, blinking, and slowly producing the bottle. +"Huh-have one on me." + +"Not to-day," refused Racey, shaking his head. "I got a misery in my +stummick. Doctor won't lemme drink any." + +"Yeah?" Thus Mr. Dale with interest. Then, again proffering the +liquor, he said: "This here's fine for the misery. Better have a +snooter." + +"No, I guess not." + +"Well, I will," averred Mr. Dale and downed three swallows rapidly. +"Yeah," he continued, driving in the cork with the heel of his hand, +"a feller needs a drink now and then." + +"Helps him stand off trouble, don't it?" Racey hazarded, +sympathetically, perceiving an opening. + +"Shore does," answered Mr. Dale. "I should say so. Dunno who'd oughta +know that better'n I do. Trouble, Racey--well, say, I'm just made of +trouble I am." + +"Aw, it ain't as bad as that," encouraged Racey. + +"Yes, it is, too," contradicted the other. "I got more trouble on my +hands than a rat-tailed hoss tied short in fly-time. Trouble--nothing +but." + +"Nothing is as bad as it looks." + +"Heaps of times she's worse." + +"I'm yore friend. You know me. If I can help you--" + +"Nobody can help me. I dunno what to do, Racey." + +"Well, you know best, I expect, but I've always found if I talk over +with somebody else anythin' that bothers me it don't seem to stick up +half so big." + +Mr. Dale sank down upon one run-over heel and stared blearily off +across the flats. The bottle in his hip-pocket made a pronounced bulge +under the cloth. + +"I dunno what to do, Racey," he said, looking up sidewise at Racey +where he stood in front of him, his hands in his pockets and his hat +on the back of his head. "I owe a lot of money. I dunno how I'm gonna +pay it, and I'm worried." + +"Let the other feller do the worrying," suggested Racey. + +"I wish I could," said Mr. Dale, drearily. "I wish I could." + +"Why don't you, then?" + +"He'll foreclose--they'll foreclose, I mean." + +"Aw, maybe not." + +"Yeah, they will. I know 'em! ---- 'em! They'd have the shirt off my +back if they could. You see, Racey, she's thisaway: I borrowed five +thousand dollars from the Marysville bank, on a mortgage, and there +they went and sold the mortgage to Lanpher of the 88 and Luke Tweezy. +And there's the rub, Racey. The bank would 'a' renewed all right, but +you can put down a bet and go the limit that Lanpher and Tweezy won't. +I done asked 'em." + +"Five thousand dollars is a lot of money," said Racey, soberly. He had +been thinking that the mortgage would not have been above two thousand +at the outside. But five thousand! What in Sam Hill had old Dale +done with the money? In the next breath Dale answered the unspoken +question. + +"I needed the money," he said in a low voice, his eyes lowered, +"and--and I had bad luck with it." + +"Yeah, I know, the cattle dying and all." + +"Cattle! What cattle?" Mr. Dale stared blankly at Racey. "Oh, them! +Hell, they didn't have nothin' to do with it, them cattle didn't. I'd +worked out a system, Racey--a system to beat roulette, and I was shore +it was all right. By Gawd, it was all right! They was nothin' wrong +with that system. But I had bad luck. I had most awful bad luck." + +"And the system, I take it, didn't work?" + +"It didn't--against my bad luck." + +Mr. Dale again dropped his eyes, and Racey stared down at the +hump-shouldered old figure with something akin to pity in his gaze. +Certainly he was sorry for him. He was not in the least scornful +despite the fact that it did not seem possible that any sensible man +could be such a fool. A system--a system to beat roulette! And bad +luck! The drably ancient and moth-eaten story with which every +unsuccessful gambler seeks to establish an alibi. + +"Whose wheel was it?" said Racey. + +"Lacey's at Marysville." + +"In the back room of the Sweet Dreams, huh? An' there's nothing +crooked about Lacey's wheel, either. It's as square as Lacey himself." + +"Lacey's wasn't the only wheel. They was McFluke's, too." + +So McFluke had a wheel, had he? This was news to Racey Dawson. + +"How long has McFluke been runnin' a wheel?" inquired Racey. + +"Quite a while," was the vague reply. + +"A year?" + +"Maybe longer. I dunno." + +"Funny it never got round." + +"It was a private wheel. Only for his friends. Nothin' public about +it." + +"Who used to play it besides you?" persisted Racey, hanging to his +subject like a bull-pup to a tramp's trousers. + +Mr. Dale wrinkled his forehead. "Besides me? Lessee now. They were Doc +Coffin, Nebraska Jones, Honey Hoke, and Punch-the-breeze Thompson." + +"Nobody else?" + +"Aw, Galloway and Norton and that bunch," Mr. Dale said, shamefacedly. + +Racey nodded his head slowly. A crooked wheel. Of course it was +crooked. Why not? That Dale, Galloway, Norton, and a few other +gentlemen of the neighbourhood were under their wives' thumbs to such +a degree that they did not dare to gamble openly was a matter of +common knowledge. What more natural than that someone should provide +them with a private gambling place? With such cappers as Nebraska and +his gang, losers would not feel equal to making much of an outcry. It +must be a paying occupation for McFluke, Nebraska, or whoever was at +the bottom of the business. + +Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a +stick and squinted along its length. + +"None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you +mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?" + +"About seven thousand." + +Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars. The full amount of +the mortgage and two thousand more. And McFluke had it all. + +"You see," said Mr. Dale, dolefully. "I began to make money after +I'd been here awhile and my health come back. Yeah, I made money all +right, all right." He pushed back his hat and scratched a grizzled +head. "I had luck," he added. "But you wasn't round here then. You'd +gone to the Bend." + +"Yep, I'd gone to the Bend, damitall, and it shore seems like I'd +stayed there too long. Didn't you ever guess McFluke's wheel wasn't +straight?" + +"Aw, it was so straight. Mac wouldn't cheat nobody. Yo're--yo're +mistaken, Racey." + +"I am, huh? Likell I'm mistaken. I know what I'm talking about. I tell +you flat, McFluke is so crooked he could swallow a nail and spit out a +corkscrew. And he's got that wheel trained. You just bet he has. Look +under the table and see what he's doing with his feet or his knees. +My Gawd, Dale, didn't you know they make roulette wheels with a brake +like a wagon?" + +"I--I've heard of 'em," Mr. Dale nodded, hesitatingly. "But I'm shore +Mac's is on the level." + +"And you bet seven thousand dollars it was on the level, didn't you?" + +"But--" + +"But where did you come out? Do you think you ever got a show for yore +money?" + +"Oh, I won a bet now and then," defended Mr. Dale. + +"Small ones, shore. Naturally he has to let you win now and then to +sort of toll you along and keep you good-natured. You won now and +then, yep. But did you ever win when you had a sizable stake up?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I +ever did." + +"I knowed you didn't," exclaimed Racey, triumphantly. "I tell you that +wheel is crooked." + +"Not so loud," cautioned Mr. Dale. "They'll hear you in the house." + +"Don't they know nothing about it a-tall?" probed Racey. + +"They know about the five-thousand-dollar mortgage," admitted Dale, +reluctantly. + +Racey rubbed his chin. "I was here when Molly found it out." + +Mr. Dale nodded miserably. He was too utterly wretched to resent +Racey's interference with his affairs. "She--she told me," he said. + +"Don't they know about the other two thousand you lost to McFluke, or +what you dropped at Lacey's?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "I never told 'em. I--I only lost fifteen or +sixteen hundred at Lacey's, anyway." + +"Fifteen or sixteen hundred is a whole lot when you ain't got it," +said the direct and brutal Racey. "Instead of seven thousand then, you +done lost eighty-five or eighty-six hundred. I swear I don't see how +you managed to lose all that and yore family not find it out." + +"I kept quiet." + +"I guess you did keep quiet. Gawd, yes! Lookit, Dale, I'm going to +help you out of this. But you'll have to start fresh. You've got to +go in and make a clean breast to the family about where the other +thirty-six hundred over and above the five thousand went." + +Mr. Dale's jaw dropped. "I--I never even told 'em where the five +thousand went." + +"Huh? I thought you said they knew about the mortgage--after Molly +found it out." + +"They knew about the mortgage all right enough, but they dunno where +the money went. Yuh see, Racey, I--I done told 'em I lost it in a land +deal." + +"You did! Aw right, you go right in and tell 'em the truth, all of it, +every last smidgen." + +"I cuc-can't!" protested Mr. Dale. "I ain't got the heart!" + +"You ain't got the nerve, you mean. You go on and tell 'em, Dale, an' +I'll fix it up for you, but I won't fix up anything for you if you +ain't gonna play square with those women from now on. And you can't +play square with 'em without you begin by telling 'em the truth." + +"How you gonna help me out?" temporized Mr. Dale. + +"I'm goin' to Old Salt, that's what I'm going to do. I'll fix it up +with him to lend you the money." + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "He won't do it." + +"Shore he'll do it. You don't think he's gonna have somebody else come +in here in yore place, do you? Not much he ain't. He'll lend you the +money and glad to." + +"I done already asked him, an' he wouldn't." + +"'You asked him, and he wouldn't?'" repeated Racey, stupidly. "When +did you ask him?" + +"About two months ago--soon as ever I found out I wouldn't be able to +pay off the mortgage." + +"And he wouldn't lend it to you? I don't understand it, damfi do. It +ain't reasonable. Lookit here, did you tell him what you wanted it +for? Did you tell him about the mortgage?" + +"Non-no," said Mr. Dale in a still, small voice. "I didn't." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Because I was afraid he'd take advantage of me. I was afraid he'd fix +it so as to take my ranch away from me if he knowed how bad and what +for I needed it." + +"But ain't that exactly what the Marysville bank could 'a' done if it +wanted?" demanded Racey, aghast at the Dale obtuseness. + +"Yeah, but I had hopes of standing off the bank, and--" + +"But you ain't got any hope of standing off Lanpher and Tweezy. Nary a +hope. Now lookit, Old Salt is yore only chance round here. Of course, +he'd fix it to take away yore ranch if he could. That's his business. +And it's yore business to see he don't. An' it's my business to help +you see he don't. Suppose now I go to Old Salt and get him to lend you +the money on a mortgage, say a ten-year mortgage?" + +"But I got one mortgage on the place now. He'd never take a second +mortgage." + +"Naw, naw, that ain't gonna be the way of it a-tall. It will be fixed +so's Old Salt's mortgage won't go into effect till the first one's +paid off." + +"But then till the first one is paid off--maybe it will be three-four +days--Old Salt's five thousand will be unsecured." + +"It won't be unsecured. It won't go out of Saltoun's hands. He'll pay +off the mortgage himself." + +"Do you think you can get a easy rate from Old Salt?" asked Dale, the +light of a new hope dawning in his faded old eyes. "It's a awful tax +on a feller paying the full legal rate." + +"We'll have to take what we can get, but I'll do my best to tone it +down. Sometimes a man will take less if he has another object in view +besides the interest. And you bet Old Salt will have a plenty big +object in view in keeping out Lanpher and Tweezy. Money ain't tight +now, anyway. I'll do the best I can for you. Don't you fret. You go on +in now and square up with the women and I'll slide out to the Bar S +instanter." + +Mr. Dale, the poor old man, laid a hand on Racey's strong young +forearm. "I'll tell 'em," he said. "I'll tell 'em. You--you fix it up +with Old Salt." + +Abruptly he turned away and hobbled hurriedly around the corner of the +barn. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SHOOTING + + +Racey Dawson, riding back to Moccasin Spring, was in a warm and +pleasant frame of mind. With him rode Old Salt, and with Old Salt rode +Old Salt's check book. Racey had, after much argument and persuasion, +made excellent arrangements with Mr. Saltoun. The latter, anxious +though he was to own the Dale place himself, had agreed to pay off the +mortgage bought by Lanpher and Tweezy and take in return a 6 per cent. +mortgage for ten years. No wonder Racey was pleased with himself. He +had a right to be. + +As they crossed the Marysville and Farewell trail Racey's horse picked +up a fortuitous stone. Racey dismounted. Mr. Saltoun, slouching +comfortably back against his cantle, looked doubtfully down at Racey +where he stood humped over, the horse's hoof between his knees, +tapping with a knife handle at the lodged stone. + +"A ten-year mortgage is a long one, kind of," he said, slowly. + +"I thought we'd settled all that." Racey lifted a quick head. + +"Shore we've done settled it," Mr. Saltoun acquiesced, promptly. +"That's all right. I'm going through with my part of it. Gotta do it. +Nothing else to do. I was just a-thinking, that's all." + +Racey merely grunted. He resumed his tapping. + +"Alla same," Mr. Saltoun said, suddenly, "I don't believe this Jack +Harpe feller had anything to do with this mortgage deal, Racey." + +"Don't you?" + +"No, I don't. You can't make me believe they's any coon in _that_ +tree. If they was why ain't Jack Harpe done something before this? +Tell me that. Why ain't he?" + +"Damfino." + +"Shore you don't. You was mistaken, Racey. Badly mistaken. Yore +judgment was out by a mile. She's all just Luke Tweezy and that lousy +skunk of a Lanpher trying to act spotty. No more than that." + +"Well, ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--" + +"But nothing. Where'd you be if I hadn't found out about it, huh? +Wouldn't you look nice feedin' other folks' cows on yore grass?" + +"Alla same, they wouldn't 'a' been Jack Harpe's cows." + +"Which is all you know about it. You never would take warning, and you +know it. How about the time when Blakely was the 88 manager, and they +were rustling yore cattle so fast it made a quarter-hoss racing full +split look slow?" + +"Well, but--" interrupted Mr. Saltoun, beginning to fidget with his +reins. + +"And the time Cutnose Canter tried to run off a whole herd of hosses +on you?" Racey breezed on, warming to his subject. "You wouldn't let +Chuck warn you. Oh, no, not you. He didn't know what he was talking +about. No, he didn't. And how did it turn out, huh? What did that li'l +party cost you? Yeah, I would begin frizzling round if I was you. +You'll generally notice the feller who's the last to laugh enjoys it +the most. I'm that feller--me and Swing both." + +"Aw, say--" + +"Yeah, me and Swing will be thanking you for a healthy big check +apiece when our time-limit is up. Yes, indeedy, that's us." + +"Is _that_ so? _Is_ that so? You got another guess, Racey, and it's me +that will get the most out of that laugh. If it's like I say, even if +Lanpher and Tweezy are trying a game you don't get paid a nickel if +Jack Harpe and his cattle ain't in on the deal. You done put in the +Jack Harpe end of it yoreself. I heard you. So did Tom Loudon, and +Swing, too. Jack Harpe. Yeah. He is the tune you was playing alla +time. And up to now I can't see that Jack Harpe has made a move, not a +move." + +"But--" + +"Lanpher and Tweezy wasn't in the bet," insisted Mr. Saltoun. "It was +Jack Harpe, and you know it. 'If Jack Harpe don't start trying to get +Dale's ranch away from him and run cattle in on you inside of six +months you don't have to pay us.' Them was yore very words, Racey. I +got 'em wrote down all so careful. I know 'em by heart." + +"I'll bet you do," Racey told him, heartily. "I'll gamble you been +studying those words in all yore spare time." + +"It pays to be careful," smiled Mr. Saltoun. "Always bear that in +mind. I ain't wanting to rub anything in, Racey, but if you'd been a +mite more careful, just a mite more careful, you wouldn't be out so +much at the finish. Drinks are on you, cowboy. And when you stop to +think that I'd 'a' made the bet just the same if you'd wanted Lanpher +and Tweezy in on it. Only you didn't." + +"Guess I must 'a' overlooked 'em, huh?" grinned Racey. "Feller can't +think of everything, can he?" + +"I'm glad to see yo're taking it thisaway," approved Mr. Saltoun. +"Working for six months for nothing don't seem to bother you a-tall." + +"I ain't worked six months for nothing--yet," pointed out Racey. "The +six months ain't up--yet. You wanna remember, Salt, that a race ain't +over till the horses cross the line." + +"You gotta prove Jack Harpe's connection," began Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey topped his mount, but as the horse started he held him up. + +"Lessee who's coming," he suggested, jerking his thumb over his +shoulder. + +He and Mr. Saltoun both turned their heads. Someone was riding toward +them along the trail from the direction of the Lazy River ford--Racey +had caught the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks of a wash +wherein the trail lay concealed. + +"Siftin' right along," said Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey nodded. Horse and rider slid into sight above the side of the +wash and trotted toward them. + +"Looks like Punch-the-breeze Thompson," said Mr. Saltoun. + +"It is Thompson," confirmed Racey. "Didn't it strike you he sort of +hesitated a li'l bit when he first seen us--like a man would whose +breakfast didn't rest easy on his stomach, as you might say." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "He did sway back on them lines at the top." + +"And he ain't boiling along quite as fast now as he was in the wash," +elaborated Racey. + +"I noticed that, too," admitted Mr. Saltoun. + +They waited, barring the trail. Punch-the-breeze Thompson did not +attempt to ride around them. He pulled up and nodded easily to the two +men. + +"They's been a fraycas down at McFluke's," Thompson said. + +"Fraycas?" Racey cocked an eyebrow. + +"Yeah--old Dale and a stranger." + +Racey nodded. He knew with a great certainty what was coming next. +"Anybody hurt?" he asked. + +"Old Dale." + +"Bad?" + +"Killed." + +Racey nodded again. "Even break?" + +"We don't think so," Thompson stated, frankly. + +"Who's we?" queried Racey. + +"Oh, Austin, Honey Hoke, Doc Coffin, McFluke, Jack Harpe, Lanpher, and +Luke Tweezy. We all just didn't like the way the stranger went at it, +so I'm going to Farewell after the sheriff." + +"Yo're holdin' the stranger then, I take it?" put in Mr. Saltoun. + +"Well, no, not exactly," replied Thompson. "He got away, that stranger +did." + +"And didn't none of you make any try at stopping him a-tall?" demanded +Racey. + +"Plenty," Thompson replied with a stony face. "I took a shot at him +myself just as he was hopping through the window. I missed." + +"Yet they say yo're a good snap shot, Thompson," threw in Racey. + +"I am--most usual," admitted Thompson. "But this time my hand must 'a' +shook or something." + +"Yep," concurred Racey, "I shore guess it must 'a' shook +or--something." + +Thompson faced Racey. "'Or something,'" he repeated, hardily. +"Meaning?" + +"What I said," replied Racey, calmly. "I never mean more'n I +say--ever." + +Thompson continued to regard Racey fixedly. Mr. Saltoun was glad that +he himself was two yards to the right, and he would not have objected +to double the distance. + +Racey's hands were folded on the horn of his saddle. Thompson's right +hand hung at his side. Racey had told the truth when he spoke of +Thompson as a good snap shot. He was all of that. And he was +fairly quick on the draw as well. It would seem that, taking into +consideration the position of Thompson's right hand, that Thompson +had a shade the better of it. Racey thought so. But he hoped, +nevertheless, by shooting through the bottom of his holster, to plant +at least one bullet in Thompson before the latter killed him. + +The decision lay with Thompson. Would he elect to fight? Racey could +almost see the thoughts at conflict behind Thompson's frontal bone. +Mr. Saltoun, hoping against hope, sat tensely silent. Racey's eyes +held Thompson's steadily. + +Slowly, inch by inch, Thompson's right hand moved upward--and away +from the gun butt. He gathered his reins in his left hand and with his +hitherto menacing right he tilted his hat forward and began to scratch +the back of his head. + +"If you don't mean more'n you say," offered Thompson, "you don't mean +much." + +"Which is all the way you look at it," said Racey. + +"And a damn good way, too," nipped in Mr. Saltoun, hurriedly, inwardly +cursing Racey for not letting well enough alone. "What was the fight +about, Thompson?" + +"Cards," said Thompson, laconically, switching his eyes briefly to Mr. +Saltoun's face. + +"And the stranger cold-decked him?" inquired Racey. + +"Something like that, but I can't say for shore. I wasn't playing with +him. Doc Coffin was, and so was Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin. Peaches +said he kind of had an idea the stranger dealt himself a card from the +bottom just before old Dale started to crawl his hump. But Peaches +ain't shore about it. Seemin'ly old Dale is the only one was shore, +and he's dead." + +"And yo're going for the coroner, huh?" asked Racey. + +"I said so." + +"But you didn't say if anybody was chasing the stranger now. Are +they?" + +"Shore," was the prompt reply. "They all took out after him--all +except McFluke, that is." + +Racey nodded. "I expect McFluke would want to stay with Dale," he +said, gently, "just as you'd want to go to Farewell after the coroner. +Yo're shore it is the coroner, Thompson?" + +"Say, how many times do you want me to tell you?" demanded the +badgered Thompson. "Of course it's the coroner. In a case like this +the coroner's gotta be notified." + +"I expect," assented Racey. "I expect. But if yo're really goin' for +the coroner, Thompson, what made you tell us when you first met us you +were going for the sheriff?" + +"Why," said Thompson without a quiver, "I'm a-goin' for him, too. I +must 'a' forgot to say so at first." + +"Yeah, I guess you did." Thus Racey, annoyed that Thompson had +contrived to crawl through the fence. He had hoped that Thompson might +be tempted to a demonstration, for which potentiality he, Racey, had +prepared by removing his right hand from the saddle horn. + +"It don't always pay to forget, Thompson," suggested Mr. Saltoun, +coldly. + +"It don't," Thompson assented readily. "And I don't--most always." + +"Don't stay here any longer on our account, Thompson," said Racey. +"You've told us about enough." + +"Try and remember it," Thompson bade him, and lifted his reins. + +"We will, and, on the other hand, don't you forget yore sheriff and +yore coroner." + +"I won't," grinned Thompson and rode past and away. + +"He ain't goin' for the sheriff and the coroner any more'n I am," +declared Mr. Saltoun, disgustedly, turning in the saddle to gaze after +the vanishing horseman. + +"Of course he ain't!" almost barked Racey. "In this country fellers +like Thompson don't ride hellbent just to tell the sheriff and the +coroner a feller has been killed. Murder ain't any such e-vent as all +that. Unless," he added, thoughtfully, "Thompson is the stranger." + +"You mean Thompson might 'a' killed him?" + +"I don't think it would spoil his appetite any. You remember how fast +he was pelting along down in the wash, and how he slowed up after +seeing us? A murderer would act just thataway." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "A gent can't do anything on guesswork," he said, +bromidically. "Facts are what count." + +"You'll find before we get to the bottom of this business," observed +Racey, sagely, "that guesswork is gonna lead us to a whole heap of +facts." + +"I hope so," Mr. Saltoun said, uncomfortably conscious that the death +of Dale might seriously complicate the lifting of the mortgage. + +Racey was no less uncomfortable, and for the same reason. He felt sure +that the killing of Dale had been inspired in order to settle once for +all the future of the Dale ranch. No wonder Luke Tweezy had been so +positive in his assertion that Old Man Saltoun would not lend any +money to Dale. The latter had been marked for death at the time. + +Despite the fact that Tweezy and Harpe were at last being seen +together in public, thus indicating that the "deal," to quote Pooley's +letter to Tweezy, had been "sprung," Racey doubted that the murder +formed part of Jacob Pooley's "absolutely safe" plan for forcing out +Dale. While in some ways the murder might be considered sufficiently +safe, the method of it and the act itself did not smack of Pooley's +handiwork. It was much more probable that the killing was the climax +of Luke Tweezy's original plan adhered to by the attorney and his +friends against the advice and wishes of Jacob Pooley. + +"Guess we'd better go on to McFluke's," was Racey's suggestion. + +They went. + +"Looks like they got back mighty soon from chasing the stranger," +said Racey, when they came in sight of the place, eying the number of +horses tied to the hitching-rail. + +"Maybe they got him quick," Mr. Saltoun offered, sardonically. + +They rode on and added their horses to the tail-switching string in +front of the saloon. Racey did not fail to note that none of the other +horses gave any evidence of having been ridden either hard or lately. +Which, in the face of Thompson's assertion that the men he left behind +had ridden in pursuit of the murderer, seemed rather odd. Or perhaps +it was not so odd, looking upon it from another angle. + +The saloon, when they had ridden up, had been quiet as the well-known +grave. It remained equally silent when they entered. + +McFluke, behind the bar, wearing a black eye and a puffed nose, nodded +to them civilly. In chairs ranged round the walls sat an assortment of +men--Peaches Austin, Luke Tweezy, Jack Harpe, Doc Coffin, Honey Hoke, +and Lanpher. The latter was nursing a slung right arm. They were all +there, the men mentioned by name by Thompson as having been in the +place when Dale was killed. + +"What is this, a graveyard meetin'?" asked Racey of McFluke, glancing +from the assembled multitude to McFluke and smiling slightly. It +was no part of wisdom, thought Racey, to let these men know of his +encounter with Thompson. He had Thompson's story. He was anxious to +hear theirs. + +'"A graveyard meeting,'" repeated the saloon-keeper. "Well, and that's +what it is in a manner of speaking." + +Racey stared. "I bite. What's the answer?" + +The saloon-keeper cleared his throat. "Old Dale's been killed." + +"Has, huh? Who killed him?" Racey allowed his eyes casually to skim +the expressionless faces of the men backed against the walls. + +"A stranger killed him," replied McFluke, heavily. + +Racey removed his eyes from the slack-chinned countenance of the +saloon-keeper to thin-faced, foxy-nosed Luke Tweezy. Luke's little +eyes met his. + +"You saw this stranger, Luke?" he asked. + +Luke Tweezy nodded. "We all saw him." + +"He was playing draw with Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin and me," Doc +Coffin offered, oilily. + +"And the stranger?" amended Racey. + +"And the stranger," Doc Coffin accepted the amendment. + +"What was the trouble?" pursued Racey. + +"Well, we kind of thought"--Doc Coffin's eyes slid round to cross an +instant the shifty gaze of Peaches Austin--"we thought maybe this +stranger dealt a card from the bottom. We ain't none shore." + +"Dale said he did, anyhow," said Peaches Austin. + +"He said so twice," put in Lanpher. + +Racey turned deliberately. "You here," said he, softly. "I didn't see +you at first. I must be getting nearsighted. You saw the whole thing, +did you, Lanpher?" + +"Yeah," replied Lanpher. + +"Who pulled first?" + +"The stranger." The answer came patly from at least five different +men. + +Racey looked grimly upon those present. "Most everybody seems shore +the stranger's to blame," he observed. "Besides saying the stranger +was dealing from the bottom did Dale use any other fighting words?" + +"He called him a--tinhorn," burst simultaneously from the lips of +McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Only two this time," said Racey, shooting a swift glance at Jack +Harpe and overjoyed to find the latter dividing a glare of disgust +between McFluke and Austin. "But you'll have to do better than that." + +Mr. Saltoun shivered inwardly. He was a man of courage, but not +of foolhardy courage, the species of courage that dares death +unnecessarily. He was getting on in years, and hoped, when it came his +time to die, to pass out peacefully in his nightshirt. And here was +that fool of a Racey practically telling Harpe and the other rascals +that he was on to their game. No wonder Mr. Saltoun shivered. He +expected matters to come to push of pike in a split second. So, being +what he was, a fairly brave man in a tight corner, he put on a hard, +confident expression and hooked his thumbs in his belt. + +Racey Dawson spread his legs wide and laughed a reckless laugh. He +felt reckless. He likewise felt for these men ranged before him the +most venomous hate of which he was capable. These men had killed the +father of Molly Dale. It did not matter whether any one or all of +them had or had not committed the actual murder, they were wholly +responsible for it. They had brought it about. He knew it. He knew it +just as sure as he was a foot high. And as he looked upon them sitting +there in flinty silence he purposed to make them pay, and pay to the +uttermost. That the old man had been a gambler and a drunkard, and the +world was undoubtedly a better world for his leaving it, were facts of +no moment in Racey's mind. He, Racey, was not one to condone either +murder or injustice. And this murder and the injustice of it would +cruelly hurt three women. + +He laughed again, without mirth. His blue eyes, glittering through +the slits of the drawn-down eyelids, were pin-points of wrath. His +hard-bitten stare challenged his enemies. Damn them! let them shoot +if they wanted to. He was ready. He, Racey Dawson, would show them +a fight that would stack up as well as any of which a hard-fighting +territory could boast. So, feeling as he did, Racey stared upon his +enemies with a frosty, slit-eyed stare and mentally dared them to come +to the scratch. + +But in moments like these there is always one to say "Let's go," or +give its equivalent, a sign. And that one is invariably the leader of +one side or the other. Racey Dawson saw Luke Tweezy turn a slow head +and look toward Jack Harpe. He saw Doc Coffin, Honey, and Austin, one +after the other, do the same. But Jack Harpe sat immobile. He neither +spoke nor gave a sign. Perhaps he did not consider the present a +sufficiently propitious moment. No one knew what he thought. Had he +known what the future held in store he might have gone after his gun. + +Tense, nerves wire-drawn, Racey and Mr. Saltoun awaited the decision. + +It came, and like many decisions, its form was totally unexpected. +Jack Harpe looked at Racey and said smilelessly: + +"Wanna view the remains?" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DRAWING THE COVER + + +"You don't understand it, do you, Peaches?" Racey inquired genially +of Peaches Austin when he found himself neighbours with that slippery +gentleman at the inquest. + +Peaches shied away from Racey on general principles. He feared +a catch. There were so many things about Racey that he did not +understand. + +"Whatcha talking about?" Peaches grunted, surlily. + +"You--me--Chuck--everybody, more or less. You don't, do you?" + +"Don't what?" A trifle more surlily. + +"You don't see how and why Chuck Morgan is so all-fired friendly with +me, and how I'm a-riding for a good outfit like the Bar S, when the +last you seen of me, Chuck was a-hazing me up the trail with my hands +over my head. You don't understand it none. I can see it in your light +green eyes, Peaches." + +Peaches modestly veiled his pale green eyes beneath dropped lids +and turned his head away. He would have given a great deal to go +elsewhere. But to do that would be to make himself conspicuous, and +there were many reasons, all more or less cogent, why he did not wish +to make himself conspicuous. Peaches sat still on his chair and broke +into a gentle perspiration. + +Racey perceived the other's discomfort and ached to increase it. "Did +you stay here three-four days like I told you to that time a few weeks +ago? And was Jack Harpe most Gawd-awful hot under the collar when you +did see him final? And if so, what happened?" + +Racey gaped at Peaches like an expectant terrier watching a rat-hole. +It may be that Peaches felt like a holed rat in a hole too small for +comfort. He turned on Racey with a flash of defiance. + +"There was a feller once," said Peaches, "who bit off more'n he could +chew." + +"I've heard of him," Racey admitted, gravely. "He was first cousin to +the other feller that grabbed the bear by the tail." + +"I dunno whose first cousin he was," frowned Peaches. "All I know is +he didn't show good sense." + +"Now that," said Racey, "is where you and I don't think alike. I may +be wrong in what I think. I may have made a mistake, but I gotta be +showed why and wherefore. Anybody is welcome to show me, Peaches, just +anybody." + +Racey accompanied his remarks with a chilling look. The perspiration +of Peaches turned clammy. + +"Meaning?" Peaches queried. + +"Meaning? Why, meaning that you can show me if you like, Peaches." + +This was too much for Peaches. He was out of his depth and unable to +swim. He sank with a gurgle of, "I dunno what yo're drivin' at." + +Racey shook a sorrowful head. "I'm shore sorry to hear it. I was +guessin' you did. I had hopes of you, Peaches. You've done gimme a +disappointment. Yep, she's a cruel world when all's said and done." + +This was too much for Peaches. He resolved to shift his seat whether +it made him conspicuous or not. The gambler removed to a vacant +windowsill, upon which he sat and looked anywhere but at Racey Dawson. +That young man leaned back in his chair and surveyed the multitude. + +Besides the citizens found in the saloon on his and Mr. Saltoun's +arrival there were now present Dolan, who combined with his office of +justice of the peace that of coroner, and twelve good men and true, +the coroner's jury and most intimate friends, ready and willing at +any and all times to serve the territory for ten dollars a day and +expenses. In addition to this representative group Alicran Skeel had +dropped in from nowhere, Chuck Morgan had driven over with a wagon +from Soogan Creek (mercifully the family at Moccasin Spring had not +yet been informed of their bereavement), and Sheriff Jake Rule and his +deputy Kansas Casey had ridden out from Farewell. Punch-the-breeze +Thompson had returned with the sheriff. Which circumstance either +disposed of the theory that Thompson was the murderer, or else +Thompson had more nerve than he was supposed to have. Racey began to +nurse a distinct grievance against Thompson. + +The main room of the saloon, into which the body had been brought from +the back room, was a fog of smoke and a blabber of voices. McFluke +had not been idle at the bar, and the coroner's jury was three parts +drunk. The members had not yet agreed on a verdict. But the delay was +a mere matter of form. They always liked to stretch the time, and give +the territory a good run for her money. + +Racey Dawson, conscious that both Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy were +watching him covertly, rolled a meticulous cigarette. He scratched +a match on the chair seat, held it to the end of the cigarette, +and stared across the pulsing flame straight into the eyes of the +Marysville lawyer. Tweezy's gaze wavered and fell away. Racey inhaled +strongly, then got to his feet and lazed across to the bar where Jake +Rule, with Kansas Casey at his elbow, was perfunctorily questioning +McFluke. The latter's hard, close-coupled blue eyes narrowed at +Racey's approach. + +Racey, as he draped himself against the bar, was careful to nudge +Casey's foot with a surreptitious toe. + +"Jake," said Racey, "would I be interruptin' the proceedings too much +if I made a motion for us to drink all round?" + +"Not a-tall," declared the sheriff, heartily. + +Racey turned to McFluke. + +When their hands had encircled the glasses for the third time, Racey, +instead of drinking, suddenly looked across the bar at McFluke who was +industriously swabbing the bar top. + +"Mac," he said, easily, "when that stranger ran out the door how many +gents fired at him?" + +"Punch Thompson," replied McFluke, the sushing cloth stopping +abruptly. "You heard him tell the coroner how he fired and missed, +didn't you?" + +"Oh, I heard, I heard," Racey answered. "No harm in asking again, is +there? Can't be too shore about these here--killin's, can you? Mac, +which door did the stranger run through--the one into the back room or +the one leadin' outdoors?" + +"Why, the one leadin' outdoors, of course." McFluke's surprise at the +question was evident. + +"Jake," said Racey, "s'pose now you ask Punch Thompson what the +stranger was doing when he cut down on him." + +The sheriff regarded Racey with his keen gray gaze. Then he faced +about and singled out Thompson from a conversational group across the +room. + +"Punch," he called, and then put Racey's question in his own words. + +"What was he doin'?" said Thompson, heedless of McFluke's agonized +expression. "Which he was hoppin' through that window there"--here he +indicated the middle one of three in the side of the room--"when I +drawed and missed. I only had time for the one shot." + +At this there was a sudden scrabbling behind the bar. It was McFluke +trying to retreat through the doorway into the back room, and being +prevented from accomplishing his purpose by Racey Dawson who, at the +innkeeper's first panic-stricken movement, had vaulted the bar and +grabbed him by the neck. + +"None of that now," cautioned Racey Dawson, his right hand flashing +down and up, as McFluke, finding that escape was out of the question, +made a desperate snatch at the knife-handle protruding from his +bootleg. + +The saloon-keeper reacted immediately to the cold menace of the +gun-muzzle pressing against the top of his spinal column. He +straightened sullenly. Racey, transferring the gun-muzzle to the small +of McFluke's back, stooped swiftly, drew out McFluke's knife and +tossed it through a window. + +"You won't be needing that again," said Racey Dawson. "Help yoreself, +Kansas." + +Which the deputy promptly proceeded to do by snapping a pair of +handcuffs round the thick McFluke wrists. + +"Whatell you trying to do?" bawled McFluke in a rage. "I ain't done +nothing! You can't prove I done nothing! You--" + +"Shut up!" interrupted Kansas Casey, giving the handcuffs an expert +twitch that wrenched a groan out of McFluke. "Proving anything takes +time. We got time. You got time. What more do you want?" + +The efficient deputy towed the saloon-keeper round the bar and out +into the barroom. He faced him about in front of Jake Rule. The +sheriff fixed him with a grim stare. + +"What did you try to run for, Mac?" he demanded. + +"I had business outdoors," grumbled McFluke. + +"What kind of business?" + +"What's that to you? You ain't got no license to grab a-hold of me and +stop me from transacting my legitimate business whenever and wherever +I feel like it." + +"You seem to know more about it than I do. Alla same unless you feel +like telling me exactly what all yore hurry was for, we'll have to +hold you for a while. Yo're shore it didn't have nothing to do with +yore saying the stranger run out the door and Thompson saying he +jumped through the window?" + +"Why, shore I am," grunted McFluke. + +"Glad to hear that. But how is it you and Thompson seen the same thing +different ways? It's a cinch the stranger, not being twins, didn't use +_both_ the door and the window. Yo're shore he run out the door, Mac?" + +"Shore I am. I seen him, I tell you." But McFluke's tone rang flat. + +"Punch," said the sheriff to Thompson who, in company with everyone +else in the room had crowded round the sheriff and the prisoner, +"Punch, how did the stranger who shot Dale leave the room?" + +"Through the window, like I said," Thompson declared, defiantly. "Ask +anybody. They all seen him. Mac's drunk or crazy." + +"Yo're a liar!" snarled McFluke. "I tell you he run out the door." + +"Aw, close yore trap!" requested Thompson with contempt. "You ain't +packin' no gun." + +"Lanpher," said the sheriff, "how did the murderer get away." + +"Through the window," was the prompt reply of the 88 manager. + +The sheriff asked Harpe, Coffin, Tweezy, and the others who had been +present at the killing, for their versions. In every case, each had +seen eye-to-eye with Thompson. The evidence was overwhelmingly against +the saloon-keeper. But he, a glint of fear in his hard blue eyes, +stuck to his original statement, swearing that all men were liars and +he alone was telling the truth. + +Racey, standing a little back from the crowd, pulled out his +tobacco-bag. But his fingers must have been all thumbs at the moment +for he dropped it on the floor. He stooped to retrieve it. The +movement brought his eyes within a yard of the body of Dale. And now +he saw that which he had not previously taken note of--an abrasion +across the knuckles of Dale's right hand. Not only that, but the hand, +which was lying over the left hand on the body's breast, showed an odd +lumpiness at the knuckles of the first and second fingers. + +Racey stuffed his tobacco-bag into his vest pocket and knelt beside +the body. It was cold, of course, but had not yet completely +stiffened. He laid the two hands side by side and compared them. +The left hand was as it should be--no lumpiness, bruises, or any +discolouration other than grime. But now that the two hands were side +by side the difference in the right hand was most apparent. + +Certainly it was badly bruised across the knuckles and the skin was +broken, too. Furthermore, there was that odd lumpiness about the +knuckles of the first and second fingers, a lumpiness that gave the +knuckles almost the appearance of being double. + +He picked up the dead hand and gingerly fingered the lumpy knuckles. +Then, in a flash of thought, it came to him. The hand was broken. + +He raised his head and looked across the room. And as it chanced he +looked across the packed shoulders and between the peering heads of +the crowd straight into the face of McFluke and the black eye adorning +that face. + +He rose to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd to the side +of the sheriff. + +"Can I ask a question?" said he to the officer. + +"Shore," nodded the sheriff. "Many as you like." + +"Thompson," Racey said, but watching McFluke the while, "did Dale have +any trouble here with anybody besides the stranger?" + +"Not as I know of," came the reply after a moment's hesitation. + +"He didn't have any fuss with anybody," spoke up Luke Tweezy. + +"I was talking to Thompson," Racey reminded the lawyer. "When I want +to ask you any questions I'll let you know." + +"Huh," Luke contented himself with grunting, and subsided. + +"No fuss a-tall, Thompson?" resumed Racey. + +"Nary a fuss." + +"And you was here alla time Dale was here?" + +"I was here before Dale come, and I was still here when Dale--went +away." + +"In the same room with him?" + +"In this room, yeah. In the same room with him alla time. Shore." + +"Then if Dale had had a riot with anybody else but the stranger man +you'd 'a' knowed it." + +"You betcha. He didn't have no trouble, only with the stranger." + +"Did anybody else have any trouble with anybody while you was here?" + +At this Thompson frowned. Where were Racey's questions leading him? +Was it a trap? Knowing Racey as he did, he feared the worst. He +would have liked to leave the questioned unanswered. But this was +impossible. As it was, he was delaying his answer longer than good +sense warranted. Both Jake Rule and Kansas Casey were staring at him +fixedly. Racey regarded him steadily, a slight and sinister smile +lurking at the corner of his mouth. + +"Well," prompted Racey, "you'd oughta be able to tell us whether there +was any other fights while you was here?" + +"They wasn't," plunged Thompson. "Everything was salubrious till Dale +started his battle." + +"And when did you get here?" pursued Racey. + +"Oh, I'd been here all night." + +"And you dunno of any other brush except the one between Dale and the +stranger?" + +"I done said so forty times," Thompson declared, peevishly. "How many +times have I gotta repeat it?" + +"As many times as yo're asked," put in the sheriff, sharply. + +"Didja see anybody get hurt--have a accident or something while you +were here, Thompson?" Racey bored on. + +Thompson shook an impatient head. "Nobody got hurt or had a accident." + +"Then," said Racey, turning suddenly on McFluke, "how did you get that +black eye?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +GONE AWAY! + + +McFluke's eyes flickered at the question. His body appeared to sink +inward. Then he straightened, and flung back his wide shoulders, and +glowered at Racey Dawson. + +"I ran into a door this morning," said the saloon-keeper in a tone of +the utmost confidence. + +"Oh, you ran into a door, did you," Racey observed, sweetly. "And what +particular door did you run into?" + +"The front door." + +"That one?" Racey indicated the door of the barroom. + +"That one." + +"We'll just take a look at that door." + +Accompanied by the deeply interested sheriff, who was beginning to +sniff his quarry like the old bloodhound he was, Racey crossed to the +barroom door. He looked at the door. He looked at the sheriff. The +sheriff looked only at the door. + +"Door's opened back flat against the wall, Mac," said the sheriff. +"Was she like this when you ran into her?" + +"Course not," was the heated reply. "She was swingin' open." + +Racey squatted down on the floor. "Lookit here, Sheriff." + +The sheriff stooped and regarded the wooden wedge under the door that +jammed it fast. Racey drew a finger across the top of the wedge. He +held up the finger-tip for the sheriff's inspection. The tip was black +with the dust of weeks. + +"That door has been wedged back all this hot weather," said Racey, +gently. "Look at the dust under the door on both sides of the wedge, +too. Bet that wedge ain't been out of place for a month." + +Softly as he spoke McFluke heard him. "---- you! I tell you that +door was opened this mornin'! I hit my head on it! Ask 'em all! Ask +anybody! Jack, lookit here--" + +"I didn't see you hit yore head on the door," interrupted Jack Harpe. +"Maybe you did, I dunno." + +Racey raised a quick head as Jack Harpe spoke. Quite plainly he saw +Jack Harpe accompany his words with a slight lowering of his left +eyelid. Racey glanced at McFluke. He saw the defiant expression depart +from the McFluke countenance, and a look of unmistakable relief take +its place. + +Racey dropped his head. The sheriff was speaking. + +"Mac," he was saying, "yo're lyin'. Yo're lyin' as fast as a hoss can +trot. You never got yore black eye on this door. I dunno why yo're +sayin' you did, but I'm gonna find out. Till--" + +"You won't have far to go to find out," struck in Racey Dawson. "I +know how he got his black eye." + +"How?" demanded the sheriff, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. + +"Dale gave it to him," was the answer pat and pithy. + +"He did not!" The saloon-keeper began to roar instantly, and had to be +quieted by Kansas Casey. + +When order was restored Racey explained his deductions. The sheriff +listened in silence. Then he went to the body of the dead man, and +examined the bruised and broken right hand. + +"I'm tellin' you," declared Racey with finality, "he hit somebody when +he broke that hand." + +"He might 'a' broke it when he fell after being shot," put in Luke +Tweezy. + +The sheriff shook his head. "He couldn't fall hard enough to break +them bones as bad as that. It's like Racey says. Question is, who did +he hit? McFluke's eye and McFluke's lies are a good enough answer for +me." + +"You'll have to prove it!" snapped Luke Tweezy. + +"I expect we'll do that, Luke," the sheriff said, calmly. "Have you +agreed on a verdict, Judge?" + +"We had," replied Dolan. "We was about satisfied that a plain 'killin' +by a person unknown,' was as good as any, but I expect now we'll +change it to murder _with_ the recommendation that McFluke be arrested +on suspicion. Whadda you say, boys?" + +"Shore," chorussed the "boys," and hiccuped like so many bullfrogs. + +"Whu-why not lul-let the shush-shpicion shlide," suggested one bright +spirit, "an' cue-convict him right now an' lul-lynch him after shupper +whu-when it's cool?" + +"No," vetoed Dolan, "it can't be done. He's gotta be indicted and +held for the Grand Jury at Piegan City. I ain't allowed to try murder +cases." + +"Tut-too bad," mourned the bright spirit, and refused to be comforted. + +"Can I take him now, Judge?" inquired Chuck Morgan, referring to the +dead man. + +"Any time," nodded Dolan. + +Racey Dawson, whose eyes that day were missing nothing, saw that Jack +Harpe was looking steadily at Luke Tweezy. Luke's nod was barely +perceptible. + +"Where were you thinking of taking him, Chuck?" was Tweezy's query. + +"Moccasin Spring," Chuck replied, laconically. + +"I wouldn't if I were you," said Luke Tweezy. "Better save trouble by +taking him to yore house." + +It was coming now--the answer to one puzzle at least. Racey was sure +of it. He was not disappointed. + +"And why had I better take him to my house?" demanded Chuck. + +"Because the ranch at Moccasin Spring don't belong to the Dale family +any more," Tweezy explained, smoothly. "Dale has turned over the place +to Lanpher and me." + +"It's a damn lie!" declared Chuck. + +Tweezy smiled. He was a lawyer, not a fighter. Names signified nothing +in his greasy life. "It's no lie," he tossed back. "You know Lanpher +and me bought the mortgage on the Dale place from the Marysville bank. +The mortgage is due in a couple of days. Dale didn't have the money to +satisfy the mortgage. We was gonna foreclose. In order to save trouble +all round he made the ranch over to us." + +"You mean to tell me Dale did that just to save trouble?" burst out +Racey. "Just because he liked you two fellers and wanted to make it as +easy as possible for you? Aw, hell, Tweezy. Aw, hell again. Yo're as +poor a liar as yore side-kicker McFluke." + +Tweezy smiled once more and drew forth a long and shiny pocket-book +from the inner pocket of his vest. From the pocket-book he extracted a +legal-looking document. Which document he handed to Sheriff Rule. + +"Read her off, Jake," requested Luke Tweezy. + +The sheriff read aloud the lines of writing. Shorn of the impressive +terms so beloved of law and lawyers, the document set forth that in +consideration of being allowed to retain all his live-stock, wagons, +and household goods, instead of merely the fixed number of cattle, +horses, and wagons, and those specified household articles, exempt +from seizure under the law, Dale voluntarily released to the +mortgagers, without the formality of foreclosure proceedings, the +mortgaged property comprising six hundred and forty acres as described +hereinafter, etcetera. + +The document was signed by Dale and witnessed by Doc Coffin and Honey +Hoke: + +The sheriff held the paper out to Chuck Morgan. "This Dale's +signature, Chuck?" + +Chuck Morgan examined the signature closely and long. + +"Looks like it," he said, hesitatingly. + +"It's his signature, all right," spoke up Honey Hoke. "I saw him sign +it." + +"Me, too," said Doc Coffin. + +"Paper's dated to-day," said the sheriff. "How long before he was +killed did Dale sign it, Luke?" + +"About a hour," replied Tweezy. + +"It's made out in yore writin', ain't it?" went on the sheriff. + +"Shore," nodded Luke. "All but the signature. So, you see, Chuck," +he continued, turning to Morgan, "you might as well pack him to yore +house. We intend to take possession immediately." + +"You do, huh," said Chuck. "You try it, thassall I gotta say. You try +it." + +"I'd admire to see you drive those women out of their home on the +strength of that paper, Tweezy," remarked Racey. + +"Sheriff, I'll make out eviction papers immediately and Judge Dolan +will have you serve them on the Dale family." Thus Luke Tweezy, +blustering. + +"That's yore privilege," said the sheriff, "and I'll have to serve +'em, I suppose. But only in the regular course of business, Luke. +I'm mighty busy just now. Yore eviction notice will have to take its +turn." + +"My punchers will throw 'em out then," averred Lanpher. + +"They ain't nary a one of 'em would gorm up their paws on a job like +that for you, Lanpher," Alicran stated in no uncertain tones. "If you +got any dirty work to do you'll do it yoreself." + +"Yo're--" began the 88 manager, and stopped suddenly. + +"What was you gonna say?" Alicran's voice cut sharply across the +general silence. + +Lanpher controlled himself by an effort. Or perhaps it was not such +an effort, after all. It may have been that he remembered the object +lesson of the severed branch of the wild currant bush. At any rate, +he did not pursue further the subject of the 88 cowboys cast as an +eviction gang. + +"I'll talk to you later, Alicran," said he in a tone he strove to make +grimly menacing, but which actually imposed upon no one, least of all +the truculent Alicran. + +"We won't need yore boys, Lanpher," said Racey. "The sheriff will +attend to it." + +"Lookit here, Tweezy," said Judge Dolan, slouching to the front of the +crowd, "are you gonna run them women off thataway after _this_?" Here +the Judge jerked his head backward in the direction of the body. + +"Why not?" Tweezy demanded, sulkily. "We got a right to." + +"It don't always pay to stand on our rights, Luke," suggested the +Judge. "I'd go a li'l easy if I was you." + +"You ain't me," said Tweezy, rudely. + +"Which is something I gotta be grateful for," the Judge returned to +the charge. "But alla same, Luke, I'd scratch my head and think how +this here is gonna look. Here Dale gives you this paper, and a hour +later he's cashed. Of course, it looks like his signature, and you +got witnesses who say it's his signature, but--" The Judge paused and +gravely contemplated Luke Tweezy. + +"I'll tell you what it looks like to me," announced Racey in a loud, +unsympathetic tone. "The whole deal's too smooth. She's so smooth +she's slick, like a counterfeit dollar. You and Lanpher are a couple +of damn thieves, Tweezy." + +But the sheriff's gun was out first. "None of that, Lanpher," he +cautioned. "They ain't gonna be no lockin' horns _here_. That goes for +you, too, Racey." + +"I don't need to pull any gun," Racey declared, contemptuously. "All +I'd have to use is my fingers on that feller. He never went after his +gun till he seen you pull yores. He ain't got any nerve, that's all +that's the matter with him." + +Lanpher snarled curses at this. He yearned for the daredevil +courage sufficient to risk all on a single throw by pulling his gun +left-handed and sending a bullet smack through the scornful face of +Racey Dawson. But it was precisely as Racey said. He did not have the +nerve. With half-a-dozen drinks under his belt he undoubtedly would +have made an attempt to clear his honour. But he was not carrying the +requisite amount of liquor. Lanpher snarled another string of oaths. +"If I didn't have my right arm in a sling--" he began. + +"I guess," interrupted the sheriff, "this will be about all. Lanpher, +yore hoss is outside. Git on and git out." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A CHECK + + +"Lookit here, Judge," said Racey, earnestly, "do you mean to say yo're +gonna let the sheriff serve them eviction papers?" + +Judge Dolan elevated his feet upon his desk and tilted back his chair +before replying. + +"Racey," he said, teetering gently, "I gotta do what the law says in +this thing." + +"Then yo're gonna sic the sheriff on, huh?" + +"I ain't doin' no sicin', not me. Luke Tweezy's the boy you mean." + +"But the law makes you back up Luke." + +"In this case it does." + +"Then it's a helluva law that lets a feller take away the home of two +women." + +"They's lots of times," observed Dolan, judicially, "when I think +she's a helluva law, too. But what you gonna do? Under the law one +man's word is as good as another's till he's proved a liar. And two +men's words are better than one, and so on. And so far nobody ain't +proved Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke and Luke Tweezy are liars." + +"Of course we know they are," protested Racey. + +"Not legally. You gotta remember that knowing a man is a liar is one +thing, and being able to prove it is another breed of cat." + +"Then they ain't nothing to be done short of rubbing out Lanpher and +Tweezy?" + +"And what good would wiping out either or both of them do? Beyond +Lanpher and Tweezy are their heirs and assigns, whoever they may be. +You can't go down the line and abolish 'em all." + +"I s'pose not," grumbled Racey. + +"Of course not. It ain't reasonable. You don't wanna bull along +regardless like a bufflehead in this, Racey. You wanna use yore brains +a few. They'll always go farther than main strength. You got brains, +and you can bet you'll need every single one of 'em if you wanna get +to the bottom of this business." + +"Under the circumstances, then, what's yore advice, Judge?" + +"I ain't got no particular advice to give," replied Dolan, promptly. +"I'm a judge, not a lawyer, but I'm free to say even if I was a +lawyer, I dunno exactly what I'd do, or where I'd begin." + +Racey nodded. He didn't see exactly where to begin, either. + +"Lookit, Judge," he said at last, "can't you sort of delay the +proceedin's for a while?" + +"I'll do what I can," assented Dolan, "but I can't keep it up forever. +I'm sworn to obey the law and see that it is obeyed. And if Luke +Tweezy's paper can't be proved a forgery certain and soon, they's only +one thing for me to do and one thing for the Dales to do. I'm sorry, +but that's the way it stands under the law." + +It was then that the door-latch clicked and one entered without +knocking. It was Luke Tweezy. Beyond the merest flicker of a glance +he did not acknowledge the presence of Racey Dawson. He nodded +perfunctorily to Dolan. + +"Mornin', Judge," said he, "are the papers ready for the sheriff yet?" + +"Not yet, Luke, not yet," Dolan assured, him blandly. "I ain't had +time to get at 'em." + +"When you gonna get at 'em?" + +"Soon as I get time." + +"But lookit here, Judge. We're bein' delayed. We wanna get the Dales +off their ranch soon as we can." + +"Off _their_ ranch is shore the truth," struck in Racey. "You do tell +it sometimes, don't you, Luke?" + +But Luke Tweezy was not to be drawn that morning. He focussed his eyes +and attention steadily on Judge Dolan. + +"We wanna take possession soon as we can," persisted Luke Tweezy. + +"Shore you do," said the Judge, heartily. "No reason why you shouldn't +wanna as I know of." + +"If you can't see yore way to getting at this business within a +reasonable time I'll have to sue out a mandatory injunction against +you, Judge, and--" + +Dolan smiled wintrily. "What judge are you figuring on to grant this +injunction?" + +Luke Tweezy was silent. + +"You don't expect me to grant a mandatory injunction against myself, +do you?" pursued Dolan. + +"I can go to Judge Allison at Marysville or to Piegan City, and I +guess--" + +"I guess not," interrupted the Judge. "Judge Allison, as you know, is +a Federal Judge, and these here eviction proceedin's are territorial +business. And, furthermore, lemme point out that the Piegan City court +ain't got any jurisdiction in this case." + +"Why not?" + +"Because the case ain't come to a hearing yet. That's why. You oughta +know that, Luke. Yo're a lawyer." + +"Alla same--" began Luke. + +"Alla same nothing!" declared Judge Dolan. "_After_ eviction +proceedin's have been started, and if you don't have any luck in +getting them women off the place, then you can apply to this court for +redress. I'll set a date for a hearing. _After_ the hearing, if you +got a notion in yore numskull that I ain't doing you right, you can +apply to the Piegan City court for all the ---- mandatory injunctions +you feel like and be ---- to you. Is they any further business you got +with me, Luke, or any more points of law you wanna be instructed on? +'Cause if they ain't, here's you, there's the door, and right yonder +is outside." + +Luke Tweezy departed abruptly. + +Dolan laughed harshly as the door slammed. "He can't bluff me, the +chucklehead. He knew he couldn't sue out a mandatory injunction yet, +knew it damn well, but he didn't think I knew it, damn his ornery +soul." + +"Oh, he's slick, Luke Tweezy is," said Racey Dawson, "but like most +slick gents he thinks everybody else is a fool." + +"He makes a mistake once in a while," grunted Dolan. + +At which Racey looked up sharply. "A mistake," he repeated. "There's +an idea. I wonder if he has made any mistake." + +"Who ain't?" nodded Dolan. "Luke's made plenty, I'll bet." + +"I dunno about plenty," doubted Racey. "One would be enough." + +Dolan rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "One would be enough," he +admitted. "If you could find the one." + +"It wouldn't have to be a mistake having to do with this particular +case, either, would it?" + +"Not necessarily. Of course it would be better to trip him up on this +case, but if you can get hold of something else Luke has done that +can be proved anyways shady it would be four aces and the joker. Luke +would have to pull in his horns about this mortgage. And if I know +Luke, he'd do it. He's got nerve, but it ain't cold enough nor witless +enough to go up against the shore thing." + +"If only McFluke would talk. He knows the ins and outs of this +business." + +Dolan nodded. "Shore as yo're a foot high Dale gave him that black +eye." + +"And shore as _yo're_ a foot high he downed Dale." + +"I guess likely. But circumstantial evidence is amazing queer. You +can't ever tell how the jury's gonna take it. But anyway we got +McFluke, and he'll do to start in on." + +Entered then Kansas Casey with a serious face. "McFluke has sloped," +said he without preliminary. + +"What!" cried Judge Dolan. + +But it was characteristic of Racey Dawson that he did not say "What!" +He asked "How?" + +"Because the jail was burned down," said Kansas; "you know we had to +put him in yore warehouse, Judge, as the next strongest place, and +they dug him out." + +"'Dug him out?'" Thus Judge Dolan. + +"That's what they did." + +"'They!' 'They!' Who's 'they?'" Again Judge Dolan. + +"If I knowed who they was," Kansas replied, "I'd dump 'em just too +quick. Way I know it's a 'they,' is because the job of diggin' is +bigger than a one-man job." + +"We'll go look into this," Dolan exclaimed, wrathfully, and reached +for his hat. + +"He'd never 'a' been pulled out of the calaboose so easy," said +Kansas, as he led Dolan and Racey up the street to the rear of the +Dolan warehouse, "but yore foundation logs ain't sunk more'n six +inches, and diggin' under and in was a cinch." + +"But why didn't you handcuff this sport to a roof stanchion inside?" +demanded the Judge. + +"We did, man, we did. We got a log chain and the biggest pair of +handcuffs in our stock and we ironed McFluke by the ankles to a +stanchion in the middle of the warehouse. Besides that his hands was +handcuffed, and no matter how he stretched he couldn't reach nothing. +We seen to that." + +"But, my Gawd, hownell did they have time to file through that log +chain or them cuffs? A log chain ain't made of wire an' them cuffs is +all special steel." + +"They didn't file neither the chain nor the cuffs," explained Kansas, +wearily. "They unlocked the cuffs." + +"Unlocked 'em, huh? Where'd they get the key? Lose one of yores, did +yuh?" + +"Ours is all safe. They must 'a' had a key. Anyway, there's the +handcuffs wide open when I found McFluke gone this mornin'." + +Dolan pulled out his watch. "Nine o'clock," said he. "When did you +first find Mac was gone, Kansas?" + +"When I took his breakfast in less'n five minutes ago." + +"Howcome you went to the warehouse so late?" + +"Well," said Kansas, somewhat shamefacedly, "we didn't lock him up +in the warehouse till one o'clock this morning, and I figured a li'l +extra sleep wouldn't do him any harm." + +"Or a li'l extra sleep wouldn't do yoreself any harm neither, huh?" + +"Maybe I did sleep later than usual," admitted Kansas. + +"I guess you did," said Dolan. "I guess you did. And Jake, too. Told +anybody else about this?" + +"Only Jake." + +They had left the street while they talked, and walked down the long +side wall of the warehouse. Now they turned the corner and saw, heaped +against a foundation log, a pile of freshly dug dirt. Beyond the dirt +pile gaped the mouth of a hole leading beneath the log. The hole was +quite large enough for an over-size man to crawl through without +difficulty. + +Judge Dolan got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole. +Then he eased down into it headfirst and pawed his way through. + +"That's what you get for not walking in by the front door in the first +place, Kansas," grinned Racey. "Root hog or die, feller, root hog or +die." + +Swearing under his breath Kansas went to ground like a badger. His +broad shoulders did not scrape the sides of the hall. Observing which +Racey knew that it must have been an easy matter for McFluke to crawl +through, for the saloon-keeper's shoulders, wide as they were, were +not as broad as those of Kansas Casey by a good inch and a half. + +"That hole is four or five inches wider than necessary," ruminated +Racey, preparing to follow the deputy. "I wonder why. Yep, I shore +wonder why. Here they are in a harris of a hurry and they take time +to make a hole big enough for two men almost. Maybe they robbed the +warehouse, too." + +He suggested as much to Dolan when he joined the latter within. + +"No," said Dolan, sweeping with a glance the stacks of cases and +crates that half filled the single floor of the warehouse. "No, I +don't think they's anything missing. Who'd steal truck like this here, +anyway? It ain't valuable enough. Where's Jake, Kansas?" + +"I left him here when I went after you," replied the deputy. "Guess +this is him," he added, as the front door opened. + +It was the sheriff. He shut the door behind him and advanced toward +the little group gathered about the stanchion. "This is a great note, +Jake," said Dolan, eyeing the sheriff severely. "Can't you make out to +hang onto yore prisoners no more?" + +"Hang onto hell!" snapped back the sheriff. "Short of sleeping in here +with him, I done all that could be expected. I put Shorty Rumbold on +as guard, and Shorty--" + +"Where's Shorty?" + +"Went to the Starlight for a drink. He'll be along in a minute." + +"Maybe he went to sleep," suggested Dolan. + +"Not Shorty," denied the sheriff, with a decisive shake of his head. +"I've used Shorty before. He don't go to sleep on duty, Shorty don't. +Here he is now." + +Entered then Shorty Rumbold, a tall, lean-bodied man with a twinkling +eye and a square chin. + +"Shorty," said Dolan, "Jake says he put you on guard here last night." + +"Not here," said Shorty, always painfully meticulous as to facts. +"Outside." + +"Where outside?" + +"Just outside. I sat on the doorstep all night." + +"And didn't you go round to the back once even?" + +"I didn't think they was any use. They's no door in the back, and the +logs are forty inches through, some of 'em. I never thought of 'em +gopherin' under this away." + +"I guess the sheriff didn't, either," said Dolan, with a glance of +strong disapproval at the sheriff. "You didn't hear anything, huh? +Yo're shore of that?" + +"Shore I am. If I'd heard anything I'd 'a' scouted round to see what +made the noise." + +"Maybe you went to sleep." + +"Not me." The twinkle in Shorty's eyes was replaced by a frosty stare. +"I don't sleep on duty, Judge." + +"That's what the sheriff said, Shorty. But, hownell they could dig +that tunnel and not make _some_ noise I don't see." + +"I don't, either," Shorty Rumbold admitted, frankly. "But I didn't +hear a single suspicious sound either inside or outside the jail the +whole night." + +"Did you hear any noise a-tall?" asked Racey Dawson. + +"Only when some drunk gents had a argument out in front of the dance +hall. You couldn't help hearin' 'em. They made noise enough to hear +'em a mile." + +"How long did the argument last?" + +"Oh, maybe a hour--a long time for a plain argument without any +shooting." + +"Did they call each other any fighting names?" pressed on Racey. + +"Plenty." + +"And no shooting?" + +"Nary a shot." + +"Didn't that hit you as kind of odd?" + +"It did at the time sort of." + +"Recognize any of the voices?" + +Shorty Rumbold shook his head. "They was all too hoarse an' loud." + +"That's the how of it, Judge," said Racey to Dolan. "That's why Shorty +didn't hear any sounds of diggin'. The drunk gents a rowing together +for a long time like that without any shooting proves they were doing +it on purpose to keep Shorty from hearing anything else." + +The sheriff swore. "I heard them fellers, too," he said. "They woke +me up with their bellerin' and I had a job gettin' to sleep again. I +guess Racey's right." + +"I guess he is," assented the Judge. "Now we know how they managed +that part of it, where did they get the key to open the cuffs? Kansas +says you ain't lost any keys, Jake." + +"We got 'em all, every one. I don't believe they used a key. Them +handcuff locks was picked." + +"Picked?" + +"Picked. After Kansas went for you I found these here on the +floor." Here he produced from a pocket a bent and twisted piece of +baling-wire, and a steel half-moon horse-collar needle. + +"That's a Number Six needle," observed the sheriff, who invariably +scented clues in the most unpromising objects. "And the point's broke +off." + +"Number Six is a common size," said Racey. "Most stores carry 'em. And +if the point didn't get broke off wigglin' round inside the lock it +would be a wonder." + +"Still it would take a mighty good man to open them locks with only +bale-wire and a harness-needle," said the sheriff, hurriedly. "A +expert, you bet." + +"It don't matter whether he was a expert or not," said Dolan. "He +opened them, and the prisoner has skedaddled. That's the main thing. +Jake, how about trailin' him?" + +"How? They's tracks, a few of 'em, leadin' from the pile of dirt +straight to the hard ground in front of the stage corrals. Beyond +there they ain't any tracks. Trail 'em! How you gonna trail 'em?" + +"I dunno," replied Dolan, promptly passing the buck. "Yo're the +sheriff. She's yore job. You gotta do _something_. C'mon out." + +The five men, Dolan and the sheriff arguing steadily, went out into +the street. Racey walked thoughtfully in the rear. He was revolving in +his mind what the sheriff had said about an expert. Of course it had +been an expert. And experts in lock-picking in the cattle country are +few and far between. + +Racey decided that it would be a good idea for him to have a little +talk on lock-picking with Peaches Austin. Not that he suspected the +excellent Peaches of having picked those locks. But Peaches knew who +had. Oh, most certainly Peaches knew who had. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TAKING FENCES + + +"'Lo, Peaches." + +Peaches Austin, standing at the Starlight bar, was raising a glass to +his lips. But at the greeting he set down the liquor untasted, turned +his head, and looked into the face of Racey Dawson. + +"Whatsa matter, Peaches?" inquired Racey. "You don't look glad to see +me." + +"I ain't," Peaches said, frankly. "I don't give a damn about seein' +you." + +"I'm sorry," grieved Racey, edging closer to the gambler. "Peaches, +yo're breaking my heart with them cruel words." + +At this the bartender removed hastily to the other end of the bar. He +sensed he knew not what, and he felt instead of curiosity a lively +fear. Racey Dawson was the most unexpected sport. + +Peaches looked nervously at Racey. A desperate resolve began to +formulate itself in the brain of Peaches Austin. His right arm tensed. +Slowly his hand slid toward the edge of the bar. + +"Why, no," said Racey, who had never been more wide-awake than at that +moment, "I wouldn't do anything we'd all be sorry for, Peaches. That +is, all of us but you yoreself. You might not be sorry--or anythin' +else." + +This was threatening language, plain and simple. But it was no bluff. +Peaches knew that Racey meant every word he said. Peaches' right hand +moved no farther. + +"Peaches," said Racey, "le's go where we can have a li'l private +talk." + +"All right," Peaches acquiesced, shortly, and left the saloon with +Racey. + +On the sidewalk they were joined by Swing Tunstall. The latter fell +into step on the other side of Peaches Austin. + +"Is he coming, too?" queried the gambler, with a marked absence of +cordiality in expression and tone. + +"He is," answered Racey. + +"I thought this talk was gonna be private." + +"It is--only the three of us. We wouldn't think of letting anybody +else horn in. You can rest easy, Peaches. We'll take care of you." + +The gambler didn't doubt it. His wicked heart sank accordingly. He +knew that he had been a bad, bad boy, and he conceived the notion that +Nemesis was rolling up her sleeves, all to his ultimate prejudice. + +He perceived in front of the dance hall Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke, and +plucked up heart at once. But Racey saw the pair at the same time, and +said, twitching Peaches by the sleeve, "We'll turn off here, I guess." + +Peaches turned perforce and accompanied Racey and Swing into the +narrow space between the express office and a log house. When they +came out into the open Racey obliqued to the left and piloted his +companion to a large log that lay among empty tin cans, almost +directly in the rear of and about fifty yards away from Dolan's +warehouse. + +"Here's a good place," said Racey, indicating the log. "Good seats, +plenty of fresh air, and nobody round to bother us. Sidown, Peaches." + +Peaches sat as requested. The two friends seated themselves one on his +either hand. Racey laughed gently. + +"Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us," he +remarked with enjoyment, "didn't they, Peaches?" + +"I didn't notice," lied Peaches. + +"It don't matter," nodded Racey. "See that pile of dirt over against +the back wall of Dolan's warehouse, Peaches?" + +"I ain't blind." + +"No, then maybe you've heard how and why it come to be dug and all?" + +"I ain't deaf, neither." + +Racey smiled his approval. "I always said you had all yore senses +except the common variety, Peaches." + +"Hop ahead with yore private talk," grunted the badgered gambler. + +"Gimme time, gimme time. It don't cost anything. Whadda you think of +that hole, Peaches?" + +"Good big hole," replied Peaches, conservatively. + +"Too big--that is, too big for just McFluke, or for any other feller +the size of McFluke." + +"What of it?" + +"Don't be in a hurry, Peaches, and you'll last longer. Did you know +Mac's handcuffs were picked open?" + +"How--picked open?" + +"Whoever opened 'em didn't use a key," Racey explained. "They were +picked open with a piece of bale-wire and a collar-needle." + +"I heard that." + +"I thought maybe so. But did you ever think that a feller has got +to have a good and clever pair of hands to pick a lock with only a +collar-needle and bale-wire?" + +"All that stands to reason," admitted Peaches. + +"There can't be a great many fellers like that. No, not many--not +around here, anyway. You'll find such sports in the big cities +mainly." + +"Yeah," chipped in Swing Tunstall, staring hard at Peaches, "I'll bet +you a hundred even they ain't more than one or two such experts in the +whole territory." + +"Whadda you think, Peaches?" inquired Racey. + +"Swing may be right," said Peaches, preserving a wooden countenance. +"I dunno." + +"Shore about that?" Sharply. + +"Shore I'm shore. Why not?" + +"You looked sort of funny when you said it. Well, then, Peaches, we'll +go back to our hole yonder. It's reasonable to suppose that fellers +hustlin' to dig it and without any too much time wouldn't make it any +bigger than they had to. How about it, huh?" + +"Guess so, maybe." + +"Aw right, I told you a while ago the hole was too big for McFluke. +Why was it made too big for McFluke?" + +"Damfino." + +"So as to let in the feller who was to pick open Mac's handcuffs." + +"Well, what does that prove?" + +"It proves that the expert who set Mac loose was a bigger man across +the shoulders than McFluke. Now who all around here, besides Kansas +Casey, is wider across the shoulders than McFluke?" + +Peaches wrinkled his forehead. "I dunno," he said after a space. + +"Think again, Peaches, think again. Don't you know anybody who's +bigger sidewise than McFluke?" + +"I don't. Mac's the biggest man across the shoulders I ever seen." + +"Good enough, Peaches. I've found out what I wanted. I had a fair idea +before, but now I know. I hear you were acting boisterious and noisy +out front of the dance hall last night?" + +"What of it?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin' a-tall. Only I'd think it over--I'd think +everythin' over good an careful, and after I'd done that I'd do what +looked like the best thing to do--under the circumstances. That's all, +Peaches. You can go now. I think yore friends are looking for you. I +saw Doc Coffin peekin' round the corner of the dance hall a couple of +times." + +Peaches arose and faced Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall. "I--" he +began, and stopped. + +"I--" prompted Swing. + +"I what?" smiled Racey. "Speak right out, Peaches. Don't you care if +you do hurt our feelin's. They're tough. They can stand it. Say what's +on yore mind." + +But Peaches did not say what was on his mind. He turned about and +walked hurriedly away. + +"So it _was_ Jack Harpe who picked the cuffs," murmured Racey. +"Peaches, old timer, I didn't think you'd be so easy." + +"Neither did I," said Swing. "And him a gambler. No wonder he ain't +doin' so well." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +DIPLOMACY + + +Worried Mrs. Dale raised a work-scarred hand and pushed back a lock of +gray hair that had fallen over one eye. "It's a forgery," she said, +wretchedly. "I know it's a forgery. He--he wouldn't sign such a paper. +I know he wouldn't." + +Molly Dale, all unmindful of Racey Dawson sitting in a chair tilted +back against the wall, slipped around the table and slid her arm about +her mother's waist. + +"There, there, Ma," she soothed, pulling her mother's head against +her firm young shoulder. "Don't you fret. It will come out all right. +You'll see. You mustn't worry this way. Can't you believe what Racey +says? Try, dear, try." + +But unhappy Mrs. Dale was beyond trying. She saw the home which she +had worked to get and slaved to maintain taken from her and herself +and her daughter turned out of doors. There was no help for it. There +was no hope. The future was pot-black. She broke down and wept. + +"Oh, oh," she sobbed, "if only I'd watched him closer that day. But I +was washing, and I sort of forgot about him for a spell, and when I'd +got the clothes on the line he wasn't anywhere in sight, and--and it's +all my fuf-fault." + +This was too much for Racey Dawson. He got up and went out. Savagely +he pulled his hat over his eyes and strode to where his horse stood in +the shade of a cottonwood. But he did not pick up the trailing reins. +For as he reached the animal he saw approaching across the flat the +figures of a horse and rider. And the man was Luke Tweezy. + +With the sight of Mrs. Dale's tears fresh in his memory and the rage +engendered thereby galvanizing his brain he went to meet Mr. Tweezy. + +"Howdy, Racey," said the lawyer, pulling up. + +"Whadda you want?" demanded Racey, halting a scant yard from Luke +Tweezy's left leg. + +"I come to see Mrs. Dale," replied Tweezy, his leathery features +wrinkling in a grimace intended to pass for a propitiating smile. + +Racey's stare was venomous. "Tweezy," he drawled, "I done told you +something about admiring to see you put these women off this ranch, +didn't I?" + +"Oh, you was just a li'l hasty. I understand. That's all right. I've +done forgot all about it." + +"So I see. So I see. I'm reminding you of it. After this, Luke, I'd +hobble my memory if I was you, then it won't go straying off thisaway +and get you into trouble." + +"Trouble?" + +Racey did not deign to repeat. He nodded simply. + +"I ain't got no gun," explained the lawyer. + +"Alla more easy for me, then. You can't shoot back." + +Luke Tweezy choked. Choked and spat. "---- ----" he began in a violent +tone of voice. + +"Careful, careful," cautioned Racey, promptly kicking the lawyer's +horse in the ribs. "There's ladies in the house. You get a-holt of +yore tongue." + +Luke Tweezy obeyed the command literally. For, his horse going into +the air with great briskness at the impact of Racey's toe, even as the +puncher had intended it should, he, Luke Tweezy, bit his tongue so +hard that he wept involuntary tears of keenest anguish. + +"You stop that cussin'," resumed Racey, seizing the bridle short and +yanking the bouncing horse to a standstill with a swerve and a jerk +that almost unseated its rider. "You be careful how you talk, you--hop +toad!" + +"Leggo that bridle!" yammered Tweezy, almost distraught with anger. +His tongue pained him exquisitely and he was otherwise physically +shaken. "Leggo that bridle!" + +"I'll let it go!" Racey grated through set teeth, and he let it go +with a backward flip to the lower branches of the severe curb bit that +instantly sent the horse on its hind legs. If Luke Tweezy had not +quickwittedly smacked the animal between the ears with the butt of his +quirt it would have continued the motion to a backfall and rolled its +rider out. + +"Tough luck," mourned Racey, sorry to observe that Luke had contrived +to ward off an accident. "I was expecting to see that horn dislocate +yore latest meal. If you ain't quite so set on going to the house you +can flit." + +"I wanna see Mrs. Dale," persisted the lawyer in a strangled voice. +"I come to offer her money. I wanna do her a favour, can't you +understand?" + +"I can't," was the frank reply. "I can't see you doing anybody a +favour or giving away any money. C'mon, get a-going." + +It was then that the lawyer lifted up his voice and shouted aloud for +Mrs. Dale. Undoubtedly Racey would have done Tweezy a mischief had he +been given time. But unfortunately Molly Dale came to the lawyer's +rescue precisely as she had once come to the rescue of his partner in +evil, the bulldozer Lanpher. As it was Racey had contrived to pull +Luke Tweezy partly from the saddle when Molly arrived and forced her +defender to release his victim. + +Reluctantly Racey dropped the leg he held and allowed Tweezy to come +to earth on his hands and knees. + +"What do you want?" inquired Molly, regarding Tweezy much as she would +have regarded a poisonous reptile. + +"I want to see yore mother," snuffled Tweezy, applying his sleeve to +his nose. He had in the mixup smote his swell fork with the organ in +question and it had begun to bleed. + +"Why?" + +"I want to pay her money to go away quietly," said Tweezy, switching +from his sleeve to his handkerchief. "I--" + +"Here she is," interrupted Molly. "Tell her." + +"How do, ma'am," said Luke to the wet-eyed widow. "I guess it ain't +necessary for me to go through a lot of explanations with you. You +know what's what, and you know we'll take possession just as soon as +the sheriff serves the eviction papers on you." + +At this Racey Dawson made a noise in his throat. Molly laid cool +fingers on his wrist. + +"Steady, boy, steady," she whispered under her breath. + +Despite the seriousness of the moment Racey's heart skipped a beat and +the pleasantest shiver in the world ran about his body. "Boy!" she had +called him. "Boy." Her hand was actually touching his own. He-- + +"I don't want to be hard on you, Mis' Dale," resumed Luke, after an +apprehensive glance at Racey Dawson. "I don't like to be hard on +anybody that's sittin' into a run of hard luck, but business is +business, ma'am. You know that. And after all I'm--we're only asking +for what we're by rights entitled to. We got title to this place fair +and square, and--" + +"Title, huh?" struck in Racey, unable to keep silent. "Not yet you +ain't." + +"S-s-sh," breathed Molly, tightening her grip on his wrist. + +"It's like I say, Mis' Dale," Luke Tweezy burred on from behind his +handkerchief, "I ain't got any wish to add to yore troubles, and so I +got my partner to agree for me to give you five hundred dollars cash +money if you'll pack up and clear out quiet and peaceful." + +"Don't you do it, Mis' Dale!" urged Racey. "There's a trick in that +offer." + +"They ain't any trick!" contradicted Luke Tweezy, vehemently. "I just +wanna save trouble, thassall." + +Save trouble! That had been Lanpher's reason for coming the day he +rode through the garden. Save trouble, indeed. + +"If yo're so shore the sheriff is going to serve those eviction +papers," said Racey as calmly as he could because of the warning +pressure on his wrist, "if yo're so shore why are you giving away five +hundred?" + +"Because I don't like to be hard on Mis' Dale. Then, again, I'll admit +we wanna get in here soon as we can." + +"You admit it, huh? That's a good one, that is. Don't you do it, Mis' +Dale. You stand pat." + +"I don't want your five hundred dollars," said Mrs. Dale. + +"Seven-fifty," climbed up Tweezy. + +Mrs. Dale shook her head. "No." + +"One thousand," Tweezy raised his ante. + +"Lemme throw him out, Mis' Dale?" begged Racey Dawson. "Just lemme +throw him out, and I'll guarantee he'll never bother you again." + +Again Mrs. Dale shook her head, and the pressure on Racey's wrist +increased. "You mustn't touch him," said Mrs. Dale. "He'll go." + +"Think it over," Tweezy blundered on. "One thousand dollars gratis +cash money in yore hands if you'll leave at once." + +"I'll wait awhile," said Mrs. Dale. "Please go." + +Luke Tweezy opened his mouth to speak. Racey broke from Molly's +detaining grasp and stepped between him and Mrs. Dale, and Tweezy +closed his mouth without speaking. + +"You heard what she said," Racey drawled, softly. "Git." + +And Tweezy got. + +"Do you think the sheriff will put us out?" asked Mrs. Dale, twisting +a corner of her apron between her hands. + +"He'll take all the time to it he can," Racey evaded the direct reply. +"But whatever happens don't think of taking any offer like that of +Tweezy's. It's a trick, thassall. No matter who comes to you nor what +he offers don't you move till--Well, anyway, Judge Dolan and Jake Rule +are with you from soda to hock, and they'll do all they can to hold +things at a stand-still till I can fix it all up. You must remember +that I know what you dunno, and when I say that everything will end +fine and daisy you better believe I know what I'm talking about." + +Molly looked at him keenly. "Racey, that's the third or fourth time +you've said that. I wonder if you really have something up your +sleeve." + +"Of course I have," Racey insisted. "You wait. You'll see." + +"What do you know? Tell us." + +"Never mind, and I won't. It might spoil everything if I told you. You +just leave it to me." + +He had definitely made his bluff. He would have to make good. And he +no more knew how to make good in the business than the year-old baby +busy with its toes. But ere this men have killed dragons and made +wonders come to pass all for the sake of their ladies' eyes. Men as +prosaic and matter-of-fact as the puncher, Racey Dawson. Quite so. + +Half-an-hour after the departure of Luke Tweezy Mr. Saltoun and Tom +Loudon rode in on lathered horses. They were, it seemed, journeying +homeward from the 88 whither they had gone in an endeavour to persuade +Lanpher and Tweezy to sell the Dale mortgage. + +"Tweezy, huh?" said Racey. "He's just left here." + +"He must 'a' rode like the devil," said Mr. Saltoun. "He was in the +office with Lanpher when we left." + +"I thought I noticed a feller off to the south of us as we come +along," observed Loudon. "He was just a-boilin'. I only saw him the +once as he slid by the mouth of a draw. Looked like he was trying to +keep out of sight. Rode a gray hoss." + +"Tweezy rode a gray," nodded Racey. + +"Him, all right. What did he want here, Racey?" + +"Offered Mis' Dale one thousand cold if she'd pull her freight." + +"She ain't gonna do it, is she?" demanded the alarmed Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey shook his head. "She's gonna stick." + +"She must. Hell, yes. Those papers of Luke's are forged. I know they +are." + +"So does everybody else," put in Tom Loudon, "but if something don't +turn up damn quick--" He broke off, shaking a dubious head. + +"Something will," declared Racey, making his bluff a second time with +an air of supreme confidence. + +"You know something, Racey," prodded Mr. Saltoun who prided himself on +his perspicacity. "Whadda you know?" + +"I ain't telling it," answered Racey, coolly. "I ain't coming back to +the ranch to-day, neither." + +"Oh, you ain't. Listen to the new owner, Tom." + +"That's all right," said Racey. "If I'm going to do the world any good +I've got to have a free hand." + +"You can have two of 'em," conceded Mr. Saltoun. "The bridle's off." + +"Aw right, I'll take Swing Tunstall," Racey hastened to say. + +"I meant yore own two hands," demurred Mr. Saltoun. + +"I know you did, but I meant the other kind. Listen, do you want +Lanpher and Tweezy to get this ranch?" + +"---- it, no!" + +"Then gimme Swing Tunstall." + +"Take him. Need anybody else? Wouldn't you like all the rest of the +outfit, and me, too?" + +"My Gawd, no. This is a job requirin' brains." + +"Say, lookit here, Racey--" + +"When you get to the ranch tell Swing to come along soon as he can," +interrupted Racey. "I'll be expecting him." + +Tuckety-tuck! Tuckety-tuck! Somewhere beyond the cottonwood grove +surrounding Moccasin Spring a galloping horse was coming in. A moment +later horse and rider shot past the tail of the cottonwood grove, and +bore down on the house. + +"Marie!" exclaimed Racey. + +"And riding one of my hosses," observed Mr. Saltoun. + +At that instant Marie caught sight of the three men and swerved her +mount toward them. + +"They said at the Bar S you was here," panted the lookout, pulling up +in front of Racey Dawson. "So I borrowed a fresh hoss and kep' on. +Somethin's happened in Farewell, Racey. Swing Tunstall's shot." + +"Downed?" Racey did not usually jump at conclusions, but Swing +Tunstall was his friend. + +Marie shook her tousled head. "Nicked--shoulder and leg. But it ain't +their fault he wasn't rubbed out." + +"Who's responsible?" demanded Racey. + +"Doc Coffin." + +"You said 'their'." + +"Honey Hoke bumped into Swing just as he went after his gun, so Swing +couldn't get his gun out a-tall. Swing said Honey grabbed his wrist, +but Peaches Austin and Punch-the-breeze Thompson was on the other side +in the way so none of the boys seen what happened to Swing exactly +till after it had." + +"Austin, Thompson, Hoke, and Coffin," said Racey. "What began the +fuss?" + +"Doc Coffin upset a glass of whiskey over Swing's arm, and then cussed +him for getting his arm in the way." + +"And Swing called him a liar, huh?" + +"And a ---- one, too," elaborated Marie. + +"Put-up job." Gruffly Mr. Saltoun gave his opinion. + +"Shore." Tom Loudon nodded gravely. + +"Where are those four men now?" Racey asked, quietly, looking at +Marie. + +"They were in the Starlight when I left town--and _they weren't +drinkin_'." + +"No, they wouldn't be." + +"And the sheriff and Kansas went to Dogville this morning, and the +marshal is sick. I thought you ought to know. My Gawd, I thought you'd +hear the news from somebody else before I got here and go bustin' in +regardless, and--" + +"I guess I'll go in all right," he told her with a slight smile, "but +it won't be regardless." + +With that he turned on a spurred heel and crossed springily to where +his horse stood. + +"Aw, the devil!" exclaimed Marie, looking helplessly at Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. "And he'll do it, too." + +Then she "kissed" to her horse and rode into the cottonwood grove for +a drink at the spring. + +Racey, sticking foot in stirrup, found Molly Dale at his elbow. She +was looking at him the way women do when they either don't understand +or think they understand only too well. + +"Who is that woman?" asked Molly Dale. + +"Huh?" Thus Racey, stupidly. He was thinking of his friend lying +wounded in Farewell. "What woman you mean?... Oh, her, that's Marie, +she's--she's lookout in the Happy Heart." + +"Oh, yes, Marie. I--I've seen you with her--one evening when you and +she were crossing the street and I drove past. I--I, yes, indeed." + +And as she spoke her eyes were very bright, and her figure was stiffer +than the proverbial poker. Which was odd. And at the tail of her words +she gave a stiff nod and hurried into the house. Which was odder. The +species of nod and the hurry--both. + +But Racey was in no mood to speculate on the idiosyncrasies of woman. +Even _the_ woman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. They regarded him silently. + +"I guess," said Racey, whirling an empty tobacco-bag by it's +draw-string, "I'll borrow some of yore smokin', Tom. I'm plumb afoot +for tobacco at the present writing." + +Tom Loudon handed over his pouch without a word. But Mr. Saltoun was +fidgety. Unlike his son-in-law, he felt that he must speak. + +"Lookit here, Racey," he said, hurriedly, "you ain't going to Farewell +alone, are you?" + +"Why, no, certainly not," Racey replied, solemnly. "I'm going to send +word to Yardly for the troops. Hell's bells, there's only four of +them, man!" + +"Yes, well--Who's this? One of our boys?" + +But it was not one of "our" boys. It was Rack Slimson, the proprietor +of the Starlight Saloon. But he was riding in from the direction of +the Bar S. + +He rode soberly, as one bound on a journey of length. Even as Marie +had done he glimpsed the three men and turned his horse toward them. +Ten feet from the flank of Racey Dawson's mount he pulled in and +nodded. There was spite--spite and something else--in the gaze he +fixed on Racey Dawson. + +"Yore friend's hurt," said he. "Got in a fight." + +"Hurt bad?" asked Racey. + +"Not _too_ bad. I've seen worse." + +"Where's he hurt?" + +Rack Slimson merely corroborated what Marie had said. So far he seemed +to be telling the truth. And it was natural that there should be spite +in his eyes. He had no cause to feel affection for either man. But +there was the "something else" besides the spite in those eyes. That +was what interested Racey. + +"You come here special to tell me this?" said Racey, staring. + +"Not me," denied Rack Slimson. "I was just passing by, and I thought +I'd let you know." + +"Just bein' neighbourly, huh?" + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say that." + +"Well, I'm obliged to you, Slimson. I'm shore a heap obliged to you. +Is Swing Tunstall being taken care of all right?" + +"He's in Mike Flynn's house. Joy Blythe is a-nursin' him." + +"Then I ain't needed in Farewell right now." Racey's tone was casual. + +Rack Slimson rose to the bait immediately. "He's asking for you alla +time," said he. + +"He is, is he? Why didn't you say so at first?" + +"I didn't know it was necessary." + +"Which is true more ways than one. Lookit here, Slimson, where might +you happen to be going when you run into me so providential here at +Moccasin Spring?" + +"I might be going most anywhere," Rack Slimson replied with a flash of +temper. + +"No call to get het, Rack, no call to get het. What I'm asking is a +fair question: Where might you be going to-day." + +"Marysville." + +"Ain't you off the trail some?" + +"Shore I am, some. I remembered something I gotta see about at the +88 before I go to Marysville. That's how I'm going west instead of +south." + +"When did you first remember this here something of yores?" + +"When I stopped at the Bar S for a drink of water." + +"And after you'd just happened to remember this something, I s'pose +you just happened to ask where I was and they told you Moccasin +Spring. Is that the how of it?" + +"Yo're a good guesser," replied Rack Slimson with sarcasm. + +"Sometimes I do make a centre shot," Racey admitted, modestly. + +It was then that Marie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, +rode forth from the cottonwood grove. At sight of her Rack Slimson's +eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. + +"Hell," he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey. + +"What you hellin' about?" Racey inquired, pleasantly. + +"You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time," complained Rack Slimson. + +"What makes you think so?" Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack. + +"She told you." Thus Rack, bluntly. + +"'She?' What she you mean?" + +"Aw, her." Rack Slimson jerked his head toward the approaching girl. + +"He's got 'em again," said Racey to Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. "I +don't see any 'her' anywhere. Do you?" + +"Not me," chorussed both men. + +"You see how yo're mistaken, Rack," pointed out Racey. "Yore eyes are +deceivin' you. Don't you trust 'em. You don't see any girls round +here, exceptin' maybe Miss Dale over at the house. You might 'a' seen +her according to whether she came to the kitchen door or not. But you +ain't seen any other girl here. And you better be shore you ain't." + +"Why had I?" blustered Rack Slimson, without, however, making any +hostile motion with his hands. + +"Because I say so." + +"Whatell's it to you?" + +"All you have to do is say in Farewell that you saw Marie here at +Dale's and you'll find out. I'll even go farther than that. I'm +tellin' you, Rack, that if anybody finds out in Farewell that +Marie was here, or if any accident happens to her--any accident, +y'understand--I'll have to take it as evidence that you had to blat. +Fair enough, huh?" + +"But supposing somebody else sees her and tells about it?" protested +Rack Slimson. + +"In that case yo're out of luck," was the unfeeling reply. + +"But--" began again Rack Slimson. + +"You might try prayer," Racey interrupted. "It would maybe help. You +can't tell." + +The unhappy Rack Slimson looked toward Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. But +there was no aid for him in that quarter. In fact, both men eyed him +with frank hostility. + +"So you see Marie is kept out of it." Racey laid his final injunction +on Rack as the girl in question joined them. "You don't guess this +girl is her, do you?" + +"Nun-no," declared Rack, hastily. "I don't. She's somebody else for +all I care." + +"That's the way to talk," Racey said, nodding approvingly. "You keep +right on holding to those sentiments and I wouldn't be surprised if +you lived quite a long while." + +Marie showed her teeth in a laugh. "I ain't a-scared of any such breed +of chunker as Rack Slimson," said she, calmly. "I can manage him my +own self. You goin' back to Farewell, Racey?" + +"Right now." + +"Then I'll be going with you." + +"You'll do no such a thing. There's no sense in yore running into +trouble thataway. You'll come in to Farewell after me and from another +direction." + +"Shore, I was going to. I was only gonna ride along with you part +way." + +Racey shook his head. "Wouldn't be sensible, that wouldn't. Somebody +might see you. You come along later like I told you. Me and Rack will +travel together." + +"I was goin' to the 88," protested Rack. + +"Yo're mistaken," Racey told him, firmly. "Yo're going to +Farewell--with me. Ain't you?" + +"I s'pose so," Rack Slimson capitulated. + +"Then c'mon. Get a-goin'." + +Marie watched the two men ride away together. "Ain't he the hellion?" +she said, admiringly, to Tom and Old Salt. "Bound to have his own way +if it kills him." + +At this there was a slight sound from the direction of the garden. +Marie and the two men turned to look. Trowel in hand Molly Dale was +kneeling on one knee between the brook and a row of blue camass. But +she was not doing any weeding. She was staring fixedly at Marie. While +a man could breathe twice Molly stared at Marie, then she dropped her +head and became very busy with the trowel. + +Marie's sniff was audible at thirty feet. She picked up her reins and +nodded to Tom Loudon and Mr. Saltoun. + +"See you later," said she, and started her horse in the direction of +Farewell. But she whirled him back before he had taken three steps. + +"I clean forgot he was yore hoss," she said, apologetically, to Mr. +Saltoun. "I'll have to go back to the Bar S first." + +"Thassall right," Mr. Saltoun made haste to assure her. "You take him +right along. One of the boys can ride yore hoss to town on the next +trip an' ride this one back." + +"That _will_ save me a lot of trouble," said Marie, turning her +bewildered mount a second time. + +"She ain't ridin' straight toward Farewell," said Tom Loudon, rolling +a slow cigarette. + +"Aw, she's sensible," yawned Mr. Saltoun. "She'll do like Racey says +all right. She must like him a lot. I--Whatsa matter with _you_?" + +For Tom Loudon had contrived to make a long leg and give Mr. Saltoun a +vigorous kick on the ankle. + +"I guess we'll be goin'," dodged Tom Loudon, and then took off his hat +to Miss Dale. "So long, miss. If you--uh--You know where the Bar S is +in case--just in case, y' understand." + +He touched his horse with the spur and moved off with as much dignity +as a colonel of cavalry. Not so Mr. Saltoun. He had been kicked, +and the kick hurt, and he was very red and ruffled in consequence. +Swearing under his breath he followed his son-in-law. + +"Here," he demanded, crowding his horse alongside, "what did yuh kick +me for?" + +Tom Loudon looked over his shoulder before replying. The ranch-house +was a hundred yards in the rear and Molly Dale was not in sight. He +deliberately turned his head and looked his father-in-law straight in +the eye. "What did I kick you for?" he repeated. "I kicked you because +you didn't have any sense." + +This was too much. "Huh? Because I--Lookit here, you--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. You didn't have any sense. Here's Molly +Dale thinks Racey is the only fellah ever rode a cayuse, and you have +to blat out so she can hear you, 'Marie must shore like him a lot'." + +"Well, what of it? I don't see--" + +"You don't? Wait till I tell Kate." + +"It ain't necessary to tell my daughter," Mr. Saltoun remonstrated, +hurriedly. "I suppose my saying that about Marie might give Molly a +wrong idea maybe about Racey. But how do you know she likes Racey? You +been talking to her? Did she tell you so?" + +"I ain't, and she didn't. I been talking to Kate. She told me. Don't +ask me how she knows. She says she knows, and that's enough for me. +You can't fool a woman in things like that." + +"You can't fool 'em in anything," Mr. Saltoun corroborated, bitterly. +"I shore oughtn't to said that about Racey and Marie. I'll go right +back and tell Molly it ain't so." + +Mr. Saltoun started to wheel his horse, but Tom Loudon halted that +manoeuvre. + +"You gotta let it go now," said he. "If you tell her you didn't mean +what you said she shore _will_ think it's true." + +"We-ell, if you think I'd better not, I won't," Mr. Saltoun assented, +doubtfully. "But I wouldn't say anything to Kate if I was you." + +"Then I won't," said Tom Loudon, his tongue in his cheek. + +"Where you think yo're going?" Mr. Saltoun queried presently. "This +ain't the way to the ranch." + +"I know it ain't. It's the way to Farewell." + +"Whyfor Farewell?" + +"It's just possible Racey may need a li'l help before he's through +with this job." + +"You're right," Mr. Saltoun said, contritely. "I've been so took up +with this Dale mortgage and the idea of Luke Tweezy and that skunk +Lanpher getting this land that I ain't give much thought to anything +else. Of course Racey will need help, and you and I are the fellers to +give it to him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +STRATEGY + + +Racey Dawson and Rack Slimson, rising a hill on the way to Farewell, +simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other. Rack's +expression was dolefully sullen. Racey's was hard and uncompromising. + +"Who was it put you up to this?" asked Racey. + +"What?" + +"Coming out here after me." + +"I didn't come out after you, I tell you!" + +"Shore, shore," soothed Racey, "I know all about that. Who put you up +to it?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about." + +"The ignorance of some people," said Racey, recalling sundry occasions +when other folk had oddly failed to grasp his meaning. + +They rode onward silently. + +When they reached the southern slope of Indian Ridge, Racey headed to +the east. A spirit of unease lit heavily upon the sagging shoulders of +Rack Slimson. + +"You ain't goin' straight for Farewell," he remarked at a venture. + +"I ain't--no." + +"I thought you was." + +"I am--but not straight." + +"Huh?" Rack Slimson wrinkled his forehead at this. + +"We're goin' in town from the side," explained Racey Dawson. + +This, too, was a puzzler. "Why?" queried Rack Slimson. + +"So's nobody will know we're coming till we're there." The smile with +which Racey garnished his answer was chilling to the soul of Mr. +Slimson. + +"But I don't see--" + +"You wouldn't. I'll tell you how it is all in words of one syllable. +You and me are coming into town from the east where that draw is and +those shacks behind the dance hall. We'll leave our hosses in the +draw, and proceed, like they say in the army, on foot. Then you and +me--" + +"But why me?" Rack Slimson desired to know. "What are you always +putting 'me' in for?" + +"Because yo're a-going with me, Rack, that's why. Yo're a-going with +me while I'm hunting for Coffin and Honey Hoke and Punch-the-breeze +Thompson and Peaches Austin. Those four will likely be together, see, +and I wanna use you for a breastwork sort of." + +"A breastwork!" cried the now thoroughly upset Mr. Slimson. "A +breastwork!" + +"Shore a breastwork. I'll shove you ahead of me into the saloon and if +they--there's four of 'em, y'understand--cut down on me you'll be in +the way." + +"But they'll down me!" + +"I'm counting on that." + +"But--" + +"Aw, shut up, you ---- skunk! You come out to Moccasin Spring on +purpose to get me to come to Farewell and be peaceably shot by Doc +Coffin and his gang. Can't tell me you didn't. I know better." + +"I didn't! I didn't! I--" + +"Aw right you didn't. In that case you got nothing to scare you. If +Doc and his outfit ain't got any harsh thoughts against me they won't +shoot when we run up on 'em. That'll prove yo're telling the truth, +and I'll beg yore pardon. I'll do more'n beg yore pardon. I'll eat +yore shirt an' my saddle." + +Racey's assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicions +proved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson. + +"I--lookit here," he began, desperately, "can't we fix this here up +some way? I dunno as--" + +"Shore we can fix it up," interposed Racey, heartily. "Go after yore +gun any time you feel like it. I been letting you keep it on purpose." + +Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation. He had not the slightest +desire to go after his gun. He was not fast enough, and he knew it. + +"It ain't necessary to do that," said he. + +"Suit yoreself," Racey told him calmly. "Hop into action any time you +feel like it. Of course before we get to that draw outside Farewell +where we're gonna leave our hosses I'll have to take yore gun away. +Later I might be too busy to do it--and I can't afford to take _every_ +chance. Not with four or five men. You can see that yoreself." + +Rack Slimson saw. He saw other things too. Oh, there was no warmth in +the sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled with +bitterness unutterable. + +"We'll be at the draw some time soon," suggested Racey ten minutes +later. + +But Rack Slimson's hands continued to remain in plain sight, the while +Rack gnawed a thin and bloodless lip. + +When at long last the draw opened before them Racey calmly reached +over and removed the saloon-keeper's sixshooter. After satisfying +himself that the weapon was fully loaded he stuffed it down inside the +waistband of his trousers. Then he buttoned the two lower buttons of +his vest and pulled the garment in question over the protruding butt. + +For a space of time they rode the bottom of the draw. Where a few +heavy willows grew about a tiny spring Racey pulled in. + +"We'll leave the cayuses here," said he. "We're right close in back of +Marie's shack." + +They dismounted, tied the horses to separate willows, and climbed the +side of the draw. + +"No hurry," cautioned Racey, for Rack Slimson was showing signs of a +nervous haste. "Besides, I want to pat you all over for a hideout." + +Behind the blind end of Marie's shack Rack Slimson submitted to +being searched for concealed weapons. Racey found none, not even a +pocket-knife. + +"Let's go," said Racey Dawson. "We'll go to yore saloon first. And you +pray hard that nobody sees us from the back window." + +They diagonalled down past the stage company's corral to the house +next door to the Starlight. + +"They haven't seen us yet," Racey observed, cheerfully, to Rack +Slimson whose wretched knees had been knocking together ever since he +had dismounted. "Slide over this way a li'l more, Rack. Now take off +yore spurs." + +Racey stooped and removed his own. And not for an instant did he lose +the magic of the drop. As a matter of fact, he had kept Rack covered +from the moment Rack set his boot-soles to earth. Rack's spurs jingled +on the ground. Racey let them lie. His own spurs he jammed each into a +hip pocket. + +"I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly, +to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to the +Starlight's back door." + +The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, the +proprietor in the lead. + +"Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to be +empty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes." + +He held Rack Slimson by the belt and pushed him toward the door giving +into the front room. This door was shut. They paused behind it. + +"He oughta be along pretty soon," complained a fretful voice that +Racey recognized as belonging to Honey Hoke. + +"We don't mind waiting," chimed in Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"It's the best thing we do." This was big Doc Coffin speaking. + +The two behind the door heard a bottle-neck clink against the rim of a +glass. + +"You better not take too much," advised Thompson. + +"Aw, who's takin' too much?" flung back Honey Hoke. + +"Well, you don't see the rest of us touching a single drop, do you? +Speaking personal, I wouldn't drown _my_ insides with liquor when I'm +due to go up against a proposition like Racey Dawson." + +Here was praise indeed. Racey thumbed Rack Slimson in the ribs. Rack +turned his head and saw that Racey was grinning. Rack grew even more +spineless. + +"You see," pointed out Racey in a sardonic whisper. "Yo're up against +the pure quill, feller." + +Which remark at any other time would have been in the worst possible +taste, but license is extended to men in peril of their lives. + +"They're at the table in the corner beside the bar, this end, ain't +they?" resumed Racey. "Ain't it lucky the door opens that way?" + +Then he was silent for a time while he strove to catch the accents of +Peaches Austin. He wanted to know if they were all four at the one +table. But Peaches was either not talking or elsewhere. A moment later +the question was answered for him by Honey Hoke. + +"If he slips by Peaches without Peaches seem' him--" began Honey. + +"Aw, hownell can he?" sneered Doc Coffin. "They's Peaches camped down +in front of the blacksmith shop right where he can see the trail alla +way down Injun Ridge. A dog couldn't get past Peaches without being +seen, let alone a two-legged man on a four-legged hoss." + +"S'pose he goes round the ridge," offered the doubter, unconsciously +hitting the nail on the head. + +"He won't," declared the confident Doc. "He'll come boiling right in +like he owned the place. Don't you lose no sleep over _that_." + +"Maybe Rack couldn't find him," pursued Honey Hoke, and an answering +quiver ran through the frame of Rack Slimson. + +"Rack will find him all right," said Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"He might be suspicious of Rack, alla same," Honey Hoke wavered on. + +"Not the way Rack will tell him. Didn't we fix it up just what Rack +was to say and all before he went? Shore we did. He won't make no +mistake, Rack won't. You'll see." + +"And anyway," broke in Doc Coffin, "they's four of us to take care of +any mistakes." + +At which the three laughed loudly. + +"I hope," Racey whispered in Rack's rather grimy left ear, "I hope you +heard all those fellers said. Proves I was right, don't it? Nemmine +nodding yore head more'n once. Hold still. Yo're doin' fine. Yep, I'm +shore glad we stood here a-listenin' like we have. Makes me feel a +heap easier in my mind about you. Otherwise I might always have had a +doubt I did right. I'd have been shore, y' understand, but I wouldn't +have been _dead_ shore." + +At which the unfortunate Rack came within an eyewink of fainting. As +it was his stomach seemed to roll over and over. He began to feel a +little sick. + +"The bartender now," went on Racey after a moment, "is he likely to +mix into this?" + +"I dunno," breathed Rack. + +"Who is he? I ain't been in yore place for some time." + +Rack told him the name of the bartender, and Racey nodded quite as if +Rack were facing him and could see everything he did. + +"Then that's all right," whispered Racey. "I know that feller. He's a +friend of Mike Flynn's. He won't do anythin' hostyle. Let's go right +in. Open the door. G'on, damn yore soul, or I'll blow you apart!" + +Rack Slimson opened the door and immediately endeavoured to spring to +one side. But he reckoned not on the strength of Racey Dawson. The +latter swung Rack back into place between himself (Racey Dawson) and +the table at which Doc Coffin and his two friends were sitting. + +It was a painfully surprised trio that confronted Racey and his +unwilling barricade. The bartender was likewise surprised. He +immediately fell flat on the floor. Not so the three men at the table. +They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the body +of their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there was +nothing to say. + +"I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes bright +with cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enough +to take care of any mistakes?" + +At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward. Racey drove an +accurate bullet through Doc Coffin's mouth. The bullet ranging upward, +and making its exit through the parietal bone, let in the light on +Doc's hitherto darkened intellect in more ways than one. + +Doc Coffin's forefinger, tightening convulsively on the trigger of its +wearer's sixshooter, sent an unaimed shot downward. But previous to +embedding itself in a floor board, the bullet passed through Honey +Hoke's foot. This disturbed Honey's aim to such an extent that instead +of shooting Racey through the head he shot Rack through the hat. + +Racey, attending strictly to his knitting, bored Honey Hoke with a +bullet that removed the top of the second knuckle of Honey's right +hand, shaved a piece from the wrist bone, and then proceeded to +thoroughly lacerate most of the muscles of the forearm before finally +lodging in the elbow. Thus was Honey Hoke rendered innocuous for the +time being. He was not a two-handed gunfighter. + +As yet Punch-the-breeze Thompson had remained strictly neutral. His +hands were on the table top, and had been from the beginning. + +"It's yore move, Thompson," Racey said with significance. + +"Then I'll be goin'," said Thompson, calmly. "See you later--maybe." + +So saying he rose to his feet, turned his back on Racey, and walked +out of the place. Racey had no illusions as to Thompson, but he +obviously could not shoot him in the back. He let him go. Watching +from a window he saw Thompson go to the hitching-rail in front of the +saloon, untie his horse, mount, and ride away northward. + +And the blacksmith shop in front of which Peaches Austin was supposed +to be on guard lay at the south end of the street. Where, then, was +Thompson going? + +"Where's he goin'?" he demanded of the now wriggling Rack Slimson. + +"Huh? Who? Punch? I dunno." + +"Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dunno." + +"Yo're a liar. Where is he?" + +"I dunno! I dunno! I tell you! Yo're gug-gug-chokin' me!" + +"Yo're lying again. If I was choking you you couldn't talk. Yo're +talkin', ain't you? Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dud-dud-dunno," insisted Rack Slimson, his teeth chattering as +Racey shook him. + +"Is he in town?" + +"I dud-dunno." + +"Is Thompson going after him, do you think?" + +"I dud-dunny-dunno!" + +"I guess maybe you don't, after all," Racey said, disgustedly, +flinging the unfortunate saloon-keeper from him with such force that +the fellow skittered quite across the floor and sat down in the +washpan into which the bartender was accustomed to throw the broken +glassware. + +"Ow-wow!" It was a hearty, full-lunged howl that Rack Slimson uttered +as he bounded erect and clutched at his trousers. + +Racey's eyes brightened at the sight. "Y' oughta known better than to +sit down in all that glass. I could 'a' told you you'd get prickles in +you. Why don't you stand still and let yore barkeep pick 'em out for +you? You can get at most of the big pieces with yore fingers," he +added to the bartender, who was gingerly emerging on all fours round +the end of the bar. "And the little ones you can dig out with a +sharp knife. Yep, Rack, old-timer, I'll bet you won't carry any more +messages on horseback for a while." + +There was a sudden crashing thud at the back of the room. Honey Hoke +had fallen out of his chair. Now he lay on the floor, his legs drawn +up and the back of his frowsy head resting against a rung of the chair +in which still sat the dead body of Doc Coffin. + +Racey went to Honey and spread him out in a more comfortable position. + +Calloway and Judge Dolan entered the saloon together. + +"We thought we heard shootin'--" began Galloway, staring in +astonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed the +better to endure the ministrations of the bartender. + +"We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweeping +past Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room. + +"What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of +'em cashed?" + +Racey shook his head. "Doc Coffin passed out," said he in a hard, dry +voice. "But Honey Hoke's heart is beatin' regular enough. Guess he's +only fainted from loss of blood." + +The Judge nodded. "They do that sometimes." Here he looked at Doc +Coffin's body lying humped over the table, an arm hanging free, the +head resting on the table-top. + +"Were they rowin' together?" was the Judge's next question. + +Racey gave him a circumstantial account of the shooting and the +incidents that had led up to it. The Judge heard him through without a +word. + +"They asked for it," said he, when Racey made an end. "'Sfunny Punch +didn't pick up a hand. Tell you what you do, Racey: You come to my +office in about a hour. Nothing to do with this business. I got no +fault to find with what you done. Even break and all that. Something +else I wanna see you about. Huh? What's that, Piggy?" + +The place was beginning to fill up with inquisitive folk from the +vicinity, and Racey decided to withdraw. He went out the back way. +Closing the door, he set his shoulders against it, and remained +motionless a moment. His eyes were on the distant hills, but they +neither saw the hills nor anything that lay between. + +"I had to do it," he muttered, bitterly. "I didn't want to down +him. But I had to. They were gonna down me if they could. And +he--they--they asked for it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE QUARREL + + +"Lo, Peaches, ain't you afraid of gettin' sunburnt?" Peaches Austin, +gambler though he was, flickered his eyelashes. He was startled. He +had not had the slightest warning of Racey Dawson's approach. + +"Didn't hear me, did you?" Racey continued, conversationally. "I +didn't want you to. That's why I kept my spurs off and sifted round +from the back of the blacksmith shop. And you were expecting me to +come scampering down the trail over Injun Ridge, weren't you? Joke's +on you, Peaches, sort of." + +Still Peaches said nothing. He sat and gazed at Racey Dawson. + +"Don't be a hawg," resumed Racey. "Move over and lemme sit down, too. +That's the boy. Now we're both comfortable, Peaches, you mean to sit +there and tell me you didn't hear any shooting up at the Starlight a +while back?" + +Peaches Austin wetted his lips with the tip of a careful tongue. "I +heard shootin'," he admitted, stiff-lipped. + +"And what did you think it was?" + +"I didn't know." + +"Didn't you see Thompson ride away?" + +"Shore." + +"And didn't you think anything about that, either?" + +"Oh, I thought, but--" + +"But you had yore orders to sit here and wait for li'l Willie. And you +always obey orders. That it, Peaches?" + +"What are you drivin' at?" + +"Yo're always asking me that, Peaches. Try something new for a change. +Look." + +Racey extended a long arm past Peaches' nose and pointed up the +street toward the Starlight Saloon. A man was backing out through the +doorway. Another followed, walking forward. Between them they were +carrying a third man. The hat of the third man was over his face. His +arms, which hung down, jerked like the arms of a doll. Even at that +distance Peaches could see that there was no life in the third man. + +"That's Doc Coffin," Racey murmured without rancour. "I wonder where +they're taking him? He used to bach with Nebraska Jones, didn't he? I +guess that's where they're taking him to. Yep, they've gone round the +corner of the stage company's corral." + +"Where's Honey?" queried Peaches in a still, small voice. + +"In the Starlight. He ain't hurt bad. Foot and arm. Lucky, huh?" + +Peaches Austin considered these things a moment. "Doc Coffin was +reckoned a fast man," he said in the tone of one who, after adding +up a column of figures, has found the correct total, "and Honey Hoke +wasn't none slow himself. And you got 'em both." + +"I didn't get 'em both," corrected Racey. "Honey is only wounded." + +"Same thing. You could 'a' got 'him if you wanted to. Yo're lucky, +that's what it is. Yo're lucky. And you been lucky from the beginning. +I ain't superstitious, but--" Here he lied. Like most gamblers Peaches +was sadly superstitious. He looked at Racey, and there was something +much akin to wonder on his countenance. He shook his head and was +silent a long thirty seconds. "Yo're too lucky for me--I quit," he +finished. + +"How much?" + +"Complete. I tell you, I don't buck no such luck as yores no longer. +I'll never have none myself if I do. I'm goin'." + +Peaches Austin got to his feet and walked across the street to the +hotel. Twenty minutes later Racey, sitting on the bench in front of +the blacksmith shop, saw him issue from the hotel, carrying a saddle, +packed saddlebags, and _cantenas_, blanket and bridle, and go to the +hotel corral. + +Within three minutes Peaches Austin rode out from behind the hotel. As +he passed the blacksmith shop he said "So long" to Racey. + +"See you later," nodded that serene young man. + +"I hope not," tossed back Peaches, and rode on down the trail that +leads over Indian Ridge to Marysville and the south. + +Racey watched him out of town. Then he went to Mike Flynn's to see +and, if it were possible, to cheer up his wounded friend, Swing +Tunstall. But he was not allowed to see him. Swing, it appeared, had +been given an opiate by Joy Blythe, who was acting as nurse, and she +refused to awaken her patient for anybody. So there. + +Racey went to the Happy Heart to while away the remainder of the +hour set by Judge Dolan. The bartender greeted him respectfully and +curiously. So did several other men he knew. For that respect and +that curiosity he understood the reason. It lay on a bunk in Nebraska +Jones's shack. + +No one asked him to drink. People are usually a little backward in +social intercourse with a citizen who has just killed his fellowman. +Of course in time the coolness wears off. In this case the time would +be short, Doc Coffin having been one of those that more or less +encumber the face of the earth. But for the moment Racey felt his +ostracism and resented it. + +He set down his drink half drunk and walked out of the Happy Heart. + + * * * * * + +"See anything of Luke Tweezy lately?" asked Judge Dolan when Racey was +sitting across the table from him in the Judge's office. + +"Saw him to-day." + +"Where?" + +"Moccasin Spring." + +Judge Dolan nodded and rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "Luke is +in town now," said he. + +"I ain't lost any Luke Tweezys," observed Racey, looking up at the +ceiling. + +"I wonder how long Luke is figuring on staying in town," went on Judge +Dolan, sticking like a stamp to his original subject. + +"Nothing to me." + +"It might be. It might be. You never can tell about them things, +Racey." + +Racey Dawson's eyes came down from the ceiling. He studied the Judge's +face attentively. What was Dolan driving at? Racey had known the Judge +for several years, and he was aware that the more indirect the Judge +became in his discourse the more important the subject matter was +likely to be. + +"No," said Racey, willing to bite, "you never can tell." + +"We was talking one day about a feller making mistakes." The tangent +was merely apparent. + +"Yep," acquiesced Racey. "We were saying Luke Tweezy made a good +many." + +"Something like that, yeah. You run across any of Luke's mistakes yet, +Racey?" + +Racey shook his head. "No." + +"Did you go to Marysville?" + +"Why for Marysville?" + +"Luke Tweezy lives in Marysville." + +"And you think there's somebody in Marysville would talk?" + +Judge Dolan looked pained. "I didn't say so," he was quick to remark. + +"I know you didn't, but--" + +"I don't guess they's many folks in Marysville _know_ much about +Luke--no, not many. Luke is careful and clever, damn clever. +But they's other things besides folks which might have useful +information." + +"Yeah?" + +"Yeah. A gent, a lawyer anyway, keeps a lot of papers in his safe as +a rule. Sometimes them papers make a heap interesting readin'." The +Judge paused and regarded Racey coolly. + +"They might prove interesting reading, that's a fact," drawled Racey. + +"Now I ain't suggestin' anything," pursued Judge Dolan. "I couldn't on +account of my oath. But it ain't so Gawd-awful far from Farewell to +Marysville." + +"It ain't _too_ far." + +"I got a notion Luke Tweezy will find important business to keep him +here in Farewell the next four or five days." + +"I wonder what kind of a safe Luke has got," murmured Racey. + +"Damfino," said the Judge. "You know anything about dynamite--how it's +handled, huh?" + +"Shore, handle it carefully." + +"I mean how to prepare a fuse and detonator and stick it in the +cartridge. You know how?" + +"I helped a miner man once for a week. Shore I know. You cut the fuse +square-ended. Stick the square end into the cap until it touches the +fulminate, and crimp down the copper shell all round with a dull knife +to hold the fuse. Then you make a hole in the end of the cartridge +and--" + +"I guess you know yore business, Racey," interrupted Judge Dolan. +"You'll find a package on that shelf by the door. Handle it carefully. +I'm glad you dropped in, Racey, Nice weather we're having." + +"But there are some people about due for a cold wave," capped Racey, +stopping on his way out to take the package from the shelf and wink at +Judge Dolan. + +The wink was not returned. But the Judge's tongue may have been in his +cheek. He was a most human person, was Judge Dolan of Farewell. + +Racey, handling the package with care, went back to the draw where +he had left the two horses. In the draw he opened the package. It +contained six sticks of dynamite and the necessary detonators and +fuse. + +"Good old Judge," said Racey, admiringly, and rewrapped the dynamite, +the detonators, and the fuse with even more care than he had employed +in unwrapping them. + +He rolled the package into his slicker and tied down the slicker +behind the cantle of his saddle. Untying the two horses he mounted his +own and, leading the other, rode to the hotel corral. + +Bill Lainey was only too glad to lend him a fresh horse and a bran +sack. + +It was dusk when he dismounted at the Dale corral. There was a lamp +in the kitchen. Its rays shone out through the open door and made a +rectangle of golden light on the dusty earth. Molly was standing at +the kitchen table. She was stirring something in a bowl. She did not +turn her head when he came to the door. + +"Evenin', Molly," said Racey. + +"Good evening." Just that. + +"Uh. Yore ma around?" + +"She's gone to bed." Still the dark head was not raised. + +He misunderstood both her brevity and the following silence. He +left his hat on the washbench outside the door and stepped into the +kitchen. + +"Don't take it so to heart, Molly," he said, awkwardly. + +"It's hard, but--Shucks, lookit, I've got something to tell you." + +In very truth he had something to tell her but he had not meant to +tell her so soon. + +"Lemme take care of you, Molly--dear. You know I love you, and--" + +"Stop!" Molly turned to him an expressionless face. She looked at him +steadily. "You say you love me?" she went on. + +"Shore I say it." He was plainly puzzled at her reception of what he +had said. Girls did not act this way in books. + +"How about that--that other girl? Marie, I think her name is." + +"What about her?" + +"A good deal." + +"What has she got to do with my loving you, I'd like to know?" + +"She loves you." + +"Marie? Loves me? Yo're crazy!" + +"Oh, am I? If she hadn't loved you do you think for one minute she'd +come riding all the way out here to give you a warning?" + +"Marie and I are friends," he admitted. "But there ain't any law +against that." + +"None at all." Molly's eyes dropped. Her head turned back. She resumed +her operations with a spoon in the bowl. + +"Lookit here, Molly--" + +"Don't you call me Molly." Her tone was as lacking in expression as +was her face. + +"But you've got to listen to me!" he insisted, desperately. "I tell +you there ain't anything between Marie and me." + +"Then there ought to be." Thus Molly. Womanlike she yearned to use her +claws. + +"But--" + +"Oh, I've heard all about your carryings on with that--creature; how +you talk to her, and people have seen you walking with her on the +street. I saw you myself. Yesterday when Mis' Jackson drove out here +to buy three hens she told me when the girl was arrested and fined for +trying to murder a man you stepped up and paid her fine. Did you?" + +"I did. But--" + +"There aren't any buts! You've got a nerve, you have, making love to +me after running round with that wretched hussy!" + +"She ain't a hussy!" denied the exasperated Racey, who was always +loyal to absent friends. "She's all right. Just because she happens to +be a lookout in the Happy Heart ain't anything against her. It don't +give you nor anybody else license to insult her." + +This was too much. Not content with confessing his friendship for the +girl, he was standing up for her. Molly whirled upon him. + +"Go!" Tone and business could not have been excelled by Peg Woffington +herself. + +Racey went. + +"What's the matter?" queried a sleepy voice from the doorway giving +into an inner room, as Racey's spurred heels jingled past the +washbench. "What's goin' on? Who was here? What you yelling about, +anyway?" + +"Racey was here, Ma," said Molly. + +"Seems to me you made an uncommon racket about it," grumbled her +mother, plodding into the kitchen in her slippers. + +Her gray hair was all in strings about her face. Her eyes and cheeks +were puffed with sleep. She had pulled a quilt round her shoulders +over her nightdress. Now she gave the quilt a hitch up and sat down in +a chair. + +"Make me a cup o' coffee, will you, Molly?" said Mrs. Dale. "My head +aches sort of. I hope you didn't have a fight with Racey Dawson." + +"Well, we didn't quite agree," admitted Molly, snapping shut the cover +of the coffee-mill and clamping the mill between her knees. "I don't +like him any more, Ma." + +"And after he's helped us so! I was counting on him to fix up this +mortgage business! Whatever's got into you, Molly?" + +"He's been running round with that awful lookout girl at the Happy +Heart." + +"Is that all?" yawned Mrs. Dale, greatly relieved. "I thought it might +have been something serious." + +"It is serious! What right has he to--" + +"Why hasn't he? You ain't engaged to him." + +"I know I'm not, but he--I--you--" Molly began to flounder. + +"Has he ever told you he loved you?" Mrs. Dale inquired, shrewdly. + +"Not in so many words, but--" + +"But you know he does. Well, so do I know he does. I knew it soon as +you did--before, most likely. Don't you fret, Molly, he'll come back." + +"No, he won't. Not now. I don't want him to." + +"Then who's to fix up this mortgage business with Tweezy, I'd like +to know? I declare, I wish I'd taken that lawyer's offer. We'd have +something then, anyhow. Now we'll have to get out without a nickel. +Oh, Molly, what did you quarrel with Racey for?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +BURGLARY + + +Merely because he believed that the well-known all was over between +Molly Dale and himself, Racey did not relinquish his plans for the +future. + +He rode to Marysville as he had intended. That is, he rode to the +vicinity of Marysville. For, arriving at a hill five miles outside of +town in the broad of an afternoon, he stopped in a hollow under the +cedars and waited for night. Daylight was decidedly not appropriate +for the act he contemplated. + +"I wonder," he muttered, as he lay with his back braced against a tree +and stared at the bulge in his slicker, "I wonder if I ought to use +all them sticks at once. I never heard that miner man say how much of +an argument a safe needed. I s'pose I better use 'em all." + +Luke Tweezy was a bachelor. His office was in his four-room house, and +he did not employ a housekeeper. Further than this, Racey Dawson +knew nothing of the lawyer's establishment. But he believed that his +knowledge was sufficient to serve his purpose. + +About midnight Racey Dawson removed himself, his horse, and his +dynamite from the hollow on the hill to where a lone pine grew almost +directly in the rear of and two hundred yards from the residence of +Luke Tweezy. He had selected the tall and lonely pine as the best +place to leave his horse because, should he be forced to run for +it, he would have against the stars a plain landmark to run for. +He thoroughly expected to be forced to run. Six sticks of dynamite +letting go together would arouse a cemetery. And Marysville was a +lively village. + +Racey, taking no chances on the Lainey horse stampeding at the +explosion, rope-tied the animal to the trunk of the pine. After which +he removed his spurs, carefully unwrapped the dynamite and stuck three +sticks in each hip-pocket. The caps, in their little box, he put in +the breast-pocket of his shirt. With the coil of fuse in one hand and +the bran sack given him by Lainey in the other he walked toward the +house of Tweezy. + +The house was of course dark. Nor were there any lights in the +irregular line of houses stretching up and down this side of the +street. The neighbours had apparently all gone to bed. Through an +opening between two houses Racey saw a brightly lighted window in a +house an eighth of a mile away. That would be Judge Allison's house. +The Judge, then, was awake. Two hundred and twenty yards was not a +long distance even for a portly man like Judge Allison to cover at +speed. And Racey had known Judge Allison to move briskly on occasion. + +Racey, moving steadily ahead, slid past someone's barn and opened up +a view of the dance hall. It had previously been concealed from his +sight by the high posts and rails of three corrals. The dance hall was +going full blast. At least all the windows were bright with light. He +was too far away to hear the fiddles. + +The dance hall! He might have known it would still be operating at +midnight. But it was almost twice as far from the Tweezy house to the +dance hall as it was from the Judge's house to Tweezy's. That was +something. Indeed it was a great deal. But he would have to work +fast. All the neighbours would come bouncing out at the crash of the +explosion. + +Racey paused to flatten an ear at the kitchen door. He heard nothing, +and tiptoed along the wall to the window of the room next the kitchen. +The ground plan of the house was almost an exact square. There was a +room in each angle. The office, which Racey knew contained the safe, +was diagonally across from the kitchen. + +Racey, halting at the window of the room next the kitchen, was +somewhat surprised to find it open. He stuck in his head and saw a +faint glow beyond the half-closed door of the office. The glow seemed +to be brighter near the floor. Racey listened intently. He heard a +faint grumble and now and then a squeak. + +He crouched beneath the window and removed his boots. Then he crawled +over the sill and hunkered down on the uncarpeted floor. The floor +boards did not creak. Still crouching, his arms extended in front of +him, he made his way silently across the room, skirting safely in the +process two chairs and a table, and stood upright behind the crack of +the door. + +Looking through the crack he perceived that the glow he had seen from +the window emanated from a tin can pierced with several holes. The +dim, uncertain light revealed the figure of a tall and hatless man +kneeling beside the safe. The man's back was toward the lighted tin +can. One of the tall man's hands was slowly turning the knob of the +combination. The side of the man's head was pressed against the front +of the safe near the combination. Racey could not see the man's face. + +Across the window of the room two blankets had been hung. The door +into the other front room was open. Then suddenly the doorway was no +longer a black void. A man stood there--a fat man with a stomach that +hung out over the waistband of his trousers. There was something very +familiar about the figure of that fat man. + +The fat man leaned against the doorjamb and pushed back his wide black +hat. The light in the tin can illumined his countenance dimly. But +Racey's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness. He was +able to recognize Jacob Pooley--Fat Jakey Pooley, the register of the +district, whose home was in Piegan City. + +"You ain't as fast as you used to be," observed Fat Jakey in a soft +whisper. + +"Shut up!" hissed the kneeling man, and turned his face for an instant +toward Fat Jakey, so that the light shone upon his features. + +It was Jack Harpe. + +"What's biting your ear?" Fat Jakey asked, good-naturedly. + +"I've told you more'n once to let what's past alone," grumbled Jack +Harpe. + +"Hell, there's nobody around." + +"Nemmine whether they is or not. You get out of the habit." + +"Rats," sneered Fat Jakey. + +"What was that?" Jack Harpe's figure tautened in a flash. + +"Rats," repeated Fat Jakey. + +"I thought I heard something," persisted Jack Harpe. + +"You heard rats," chuckled Fat Jakey. "You're nervous, that's what's +the matter, or else you ain't able to open the safe." + +"I can open the safe all right," growled Jack Harpe, bending again to +his work. + +"I wonder what he did hear," Racey said to himself. "I thought I heard +something, too." + +Whatever it was he did not hear it again. + +"There she is," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, and threw open the safe +door. + +It was at this precise juncture that a voice from the darkness behind +Fat Jakey said, "Hands up!" + +Oh, it was then that events began to move with celerity. Fat Jakey +Pooley ducked and leaped. Jack Harpe kicked the tin can, the candle +fell out and rolled guttering in a quarter circle only to be +extinguished by one of Fat Jakey's flying feet. + +There was a slithering sound as the blankets across the window were +ripped down, followed by a scraping and a heaving and a grunting as +two large people endeavoured to make their egress through the same +window at the same time. + +"So that window was open alla time," thought Racey as he prudently +waited for the owner of the voice in the other room to discover +himself. But this the voice's owner did not immediately do. Racey +could not understand why he did not shoot while the two men were +struggling through the window. Lord knows he had plenty of time and +opportunity. + +Even after Jack Harpe and Fat Jakey had reached the outer air and +presumably gone elsewhere swiftly, there was no sound from the other +room. Racey, his gun ready, waited. + +At first his impulse had been incontinently to flee the premises as +Jack and Jake had done. But a saving second thought held him where +he was. It was more than possible that the mysterious fourth man had +designs on the contents of the safe. In which event-- + +Racey stood pat. + +He heard no sound for at least a minute after Jack and Jake had left, +then he heard a soft swish, and a few stars which had been visible +through the upper half of the window were blotted out. The blankets +were being readjusted. + +A match was struck and a figure stooped for the candle that had been +dashed out by the foot of Fat Jakey Pooley. A table shielded the +figure from Racey. Then the figure straightened and set the flaring +match to the candle end. And the face that bent above the light was +the face of one he knew. + +"Molly!" he whispered, and slipped from his ambush. + +At which Molly dropped candle and match and squeaked in affright. But +her scare did not prevent her from drawing a sixshooter. He heard the +click of the hammer, and whispered desperately, "Molly! Molly! It's +me! Racey!" + +He struck a match and retrieved the candle and lit it quickly. By its +light he saw her staring at him uncertainly. Her eyes were bright with +conflicting emotions. Her sixshooter still pointed in his general +direction. + +"Put yore gun away," he advised her. "We've got no time to lose. Hold +the candle for me! Put it in the can first!" + +Automatically she obeyed the several commands. + +He knelt before the open safe and, beginning at the top shelf, he +stuffed into his bran sack every piece of paper the safe contained. +Besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. These he did +not take. + +When the safe was clean of papers Racey tied the mouth of the bran +sack, took Molly by the hand, and blew out the candle. + +"C'mon," he said, shortly. "We'll be leavin' here now." + +Towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. +Holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window. No +blow or shot followed the action. He clapped the hat on his head, and +looked out cautiously. He satisfied himself that the coast was clear +and flung a leg over the sill. + +When he had helped out Molly he gave her the sack to hold and pulled +on his boots. + +"Where's yore hoss?" he whispered. + +"I tied him at the corner of the nearest corral," was the answer. + +"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand. + +They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him. + +"Whatsa matter?" + +"Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm--I'm all right. I +just stepped on a sharp stone." + +"Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't +you say something? Here." + +So saying he scooped her up in his arms, settled her in place with due +regard for the box of caps in his breast-pocket, and plowed on through +the night. Her arms went round his neck and her head went down on his +shoulder. She sighed a gentle little sigh. For a sigh like that Racey +would cheerfully have shot a sheriff's posse to pieces. + +"I left my shoes in my saddle pocket," she said, apologetically. "I--I +thought it would be safer." + +There was a sudden yell somewhere on Main Street. It sounded as if it +came from uncomfortably close to the Tweezy house. Then a sixshooter +cracked once, twice, and again. At the third shot Racey was running as +tight as he could set foot to the ground. + +Encumbered as he was with a double armful of girl and a fairly heavy +sackful of papers he yet made good time to the corner of the nearest +corral. The increasing riot in Main Street undoubtedly was a most +potent spur. + +"Which way's the hoss?" he gasped when the dark rail of the corral +fretted the sky before them. + +"You're heading straight," she replied, calmly. "Thirty feet more and +you'll run into him. Better set me down." + +He did--literally. He turned his foot on a tin can and went down +ker-flop. Forced to guard his box of caps with one hand he could not +save Molly Dale a smashing fall. + +"Ah-ugh!" guggled Molly, squirming on the ground, for she had struck +the pit of her stomach on a round rock the size of a football and the +wind was knocked out of her. + +Racey scrambled to his feet, and knowing that if Molly was able to +wriggle and groan she could not be badly hurt, picked up the sack and +scouted up Molly's horse. He found it without difficulty, and tied the +sack with the saddle strings in front of the horn. He loosed the horse +and led it to where Molly still lay on the ground. The poor girl was +sitting up, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth and +fighting for her breath with gasps and crows. + +But there was not time to wait till she should regain the full use of +her lungs--not in the face of the shouts and yells in Main Street. +Lord, the whole town was up. Lights were flashing in every house. +Racey stooped, seized Molly under the armpits, and heaved her bodily +into the saddle. + +"Hang onto the horn," he ordered, "and for Gosh sake don't make so +much noise!" + +Molly obeyed as best she could. He mounted behind her, and of course +had to fight the horse, which harboured no intention of carrying +double if it could help itself. Racey, however, was a rider, and he +jerked Molly's quirt from where it hung on the horn. Not more than +sixty seconds were wasted before they were travelling toward the lone +pine as tight as the horse could jump. + +At the pine Racey slipped to the ground and ran to untie his horse. + +"Can you hang on all right at a trot if I lead yore hoss?" he queried, +sharply, his fingers busy with the knot of the rope. + +"I cue-can and gug-guide him, too," she stuttered, picking up her +reins and making a successful effort to sit up straight. "Lul-look! At +Tut-Tweezy's huh-house!" + +He looked. There were certainly three lanterns bobbing about in the +open behind the house of Luke Tweezy. He knew too well what those +lights meant. The Marysville citizens were hunting for a hot trail. + +He swung up with a rush. + +"Stick right alongside me," he told her. "We'll trot at first till +we get behind the li'l hill out yonder. After that we can hit the +landscape lively." + +She spoke no word till they had rounded the little hill and were +galloping south. Then she said in her normal voice, "This isn't the +way home." + +"I know it ain't. We've got to lose whoever follows us before we skip +for home." + +"Of course," she told him, humbly. "I might have known. You always +think of the right thing, Racey." + +All of which was balm to a hitherto tortured soul. + +"That's all right," he said, modestly. + +"And how strong you are--carrying me and that heavy sack all that +distance." Both admiration and appreciation were in her tone. Any +man would have been made happy thereby. Racey was overjoyed. And the +daughter of Eve at his side knew that he was overjoyed and was made +glad herself. She did not realize that Eve invariably employed the +same method with our grandfather Adam. + +He reached across and patted her arm. + +"Yo're all right," he told her. "When we get out of this yo're going +to marry me." + +Her free hand turned under his and clasped his fingers. S6 they rode +for a space hand-in-hand. And Racey's heart was full. And so was hers. +If they forgot for the moment what dread possibilities the future held +who can blame them? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE LETTERS + + +"But what was yore idea in coming to Marysville a-tall?" + +"To get that release Father signed--I thought it might be in his +safe." + +"Anybody give you the idea it might be?" + +She shook her head. "Nobody." + +"You've got more brains than I have, for a fact. But how were you +figuring on getting into the safe?" + +"Oh, I brought a bunch of keys along. What are you laughing at? I +thought one might fit." + +"Keys for a safe! Say, don't you know you don't open safes with keys? +They've got combinations, safes have." + +"I didn't know it. How could I? I never saw a safe in my life till +I saw this one to-night. I thought they had locks like any other +ordinary--Oh, I think you're horrid to laugh!" + +"I'm not laughing. Lean over, and I'll show you.... There, I ain't +laughing, am I?" + +"Not now, but you were.... Not another one, Racey. Sit back where you +belong, will you? You can hold my hand if you like. But I wasn't such +a fool as you seem to think, Racey. I brought an extra key along in +case the others didn't fit." + +"Extra key?" + +"Surely--seven sticks of dynamite, caps, and fuse. Chuck had a lot he +was using for blowing stumps, so I borrowed some from his barn. He +didn't know I took it." + +"I should hope not," Racey declared, fervently. "You leave dynamite +alone, do you hear? Where is it now?" + +"Oh, I left it on the floor in Tweezy's house when I found I didn't +need it any longer." + +"Thank God!" breathed Racey, whose hair had begun to rise at the bare +idea of the explosives still being somewhere on her person. "What was +yore motive in hold in' up Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley?" + +"Was that who they were? I couldn't see their faces. Well, when I had +broken the lock and opened the back window and crawled through, I went +into the front room where I thought likely the safe would be, and I +was just going to strike a match when I heard a snap at the front +window as the lock broke. Maybe I wasn't good and scared. I paddled +into the other front room by mistake. Got turned around in the dark, I +suppose. And before I could open a window and get out I heard two men +in the front room I'd just left. I didn't dare open a window then. +They'd have heard me surely, so I just knelt down behind a bed. And +after a while, when one man was busy at the safe, the fat man came +into my room and sat down on a chair inside the door. Lordy, I hardly +dared breathe. It's a wonder my hair didn't turn white. Once I thought +they must have heard me--the time the fat man said 'rats'. Honestly, I +was so scared I was almost sick." + +"But you have nerve enough to try and hold them up." + +"I had to. When I found out they were going to rob the safe, I had to +do something. Why, they might have taken the very paper I wanted, and +somehow later Tweezy might have gotten it back. I couldn't allow that. +I knew that I must get at what was inside the safe before they did. I +just had to, so when the fat man got up from his chair and stood in +the doorway with his back to me, I just gritted my teeth and stood up +and said 'Hands up.'" + +"My Gawd, girl, you might 'a' been shot!" + +"I had a sixshooter," she said, tranquilly. "But I wouldn't have shot +first," she added, reflectively. + +Willy-nilly then he took her in his arms and held her tightly. + +"But I don't see why," he said after an interval, "you had to go off +on a wild-goose chase thisaway. Didn't I tell you I was going to fix +it up for you? Couldn't you 'a' trusted me enough to lemme do it my +own way?" + +"We had that--that quarrel in the kitchen, and I thought you didn't +like me any more, and--and wouldn't have any more to do with me and +that it was my job to do something to help out the family.... Please! +Racey! I can't breathe!" + +Another interval, and she resolutely pushed his arms down and held him +away from her with both hands on his shoulders. + +"Tell me," said she, her blue eyes plumbing the very depths of his +soul, "tell me you don't love anybody else." + +He told her. + +Later. "There was a time once when I thought you liked Luke Tweezy," +he observed, lazily. + +"How horrible," she murmured with a slight shudder as she snuggled +closer. + +And that was that. + +"I think, dearest," said Molly, raising her head from his shoulder +some twenty minutes later, "that it's light enough now to see what's +in the sack." + +So, in the brightness of a splendid dawn, snugly hidden on the +tree-covered flank of one of the Frying Pan Mountains, they opened the +bran sack and went through every paper it contained. + +There were deeds, mortgages, legal documents of every description. +They found the Dale mortgage, but they did not find the release +alleged to have been signed by Dale immediately prior to his death. + +"Of course that mortgage is recorded," said Racey, dolefully, staring +at the pile of papers, "so destroyin' that won't help us any. The +release he's carrying with him, and I don't see anything--" + +"Here's one we missed," said Molly Dale in a hopeless tone, picking up +a slip of paper from where it had fallen behind a saddle. The slip +of paper was folded several times. She opened it and spread it out +against her knee. "Why, how queer," she muttered. + +"Huh?" In an instant Racey was looking over her shoulder. + +When both had thoroughly digested the meaning of the writing on that +piece of paper they sat back and regarded each other with wide eyes. + +"This ought to fix things," breathed Molly. + +"Fix things!" cried Racey. "Cinch! We've got him like that." + +He snapped his fingers joyfully. + +Molly reached for the bran sack. "You only shook it out," she said. +"I'm going to turn it inside out. Maybe we'll find something else." + +They did find something else. They found a document caught in the end +seam. They read it with care and great interest. + +"Well," said Racey, when he came to the signatures, "no wonder Jack +Harpe and Jakey Pooley wanted to get into the safe. No wonder. If we +don't get the whole gang now we're no good." + +"And to think we never thought of such a thing." + +"I was took in. I never thought anything else. And it does lie just +right for a cow ranch." + +"Of course it does. You couldn't help being fooled. None of us had any +idea--" + +"I'd oughta worked it out," he grumbled. "There ain't any excuse for +my swallowing what Jack Harpe told me. Lordy, I was easy." + +"What do you care now? Everything's all right, and you've got me, +haven't you?" And here she leaned across the bran sack to kiss him. + +She could not understand why his return kiss lacked warmth. + + * * * * * + +"Sun's been up two hours," he announced. "And the hosses have had a +good rest. We'd better be goin'." + +"What are you climbing the tree for, then?" she demanded. + +"I want to look over our back trail," he told her, clambering into the +branches of a tall cedar. "I know we covered a whole heap of ground +last night, but you never can tell." + +Apparently you never could tell. For, when he arrived near the top of +the cedar and looked out across a sea of treetops to the flat at the +base of the mountain, he saw that which made him catch his breath and +slide earthward in a hurry. + +"What is it?" asked Molly in alarm at his expression. + +"They picked up our trail somehow," he answered, whipping up a blanket +and saddle and throwing both on her horse. "They're about three miles +back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground." + +"Saddle your own horse," she cried, running to his side. "I'll attend +to mine." + +"You stuff all the papers back in the sack. That's yore job. Hustle, +now. I'll get you out of this. Don't worry." + +"I'm not worrying--not a worry," she said, cheerfully, both hands busy +with Luke Tweezy's papers. "I'd like to know how they picked up the +trail after our riding up that creek for six miles." + +"I dunno," said he, his head under an upflung saddle-fender. "I shore +thought we'd lost 'em." + +She stopped tying the sack and looked at him. "How silly we are!" +she cried. "All we have to do is show these two letters to the posse +an'--" + +"S'pose now the posse is led by Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley," said he, +not ceasing to pass the cinch strap. + +Her face fell. "I never thought of that," she admitted. "But there +must be some honest men in the bunch." + +"It takes a whole lot to convince an honest man when he's part of a +posse," Racey declared, reaching for the bran sack. "They don't stop +to reason, a posse don't, and this lot of Marysville gents wouldn't +give us time to explain these two letters, and before they got us back +to town, the two letters would disappear, and then where would we be? +We'd be in jail, and like to stay awhile." + +"Let's get out of here," exclaimed Molly, crawling her horse even +quicker than Racey did his. + +Racey led the way along the mountain side for three or four miles. +Most of the time they rode at a gallop and all the time they took care +to keep under cover of the trees. This necessitated frequent zigzags, +for the trees grew sparsely in spots. + +"There's a slide ahead a ways," Racey shouted to the girl. "She's +nearly a quarter-mile wide, and over two miles long, so we'll have to +take a chance and cross it." + +Molly nodded her wind-whipped head and Racey snatched a wistful glance +at the face he loved. Renunciation was in his eyes, for that second +letter found caught in the bran sack's seam had changed things. He +could not marry her. No, not now. And yet he loved her more than ever. +She looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back--crookedly. + +"What's the matter?" she cried above the drum of the flying hoofs. + +"Nothing," he shouted back. + +He hoped she believed him. And bitter almonds were not as bitter as +that hope. + +Then the wide expanse of the slide was before them. Now some slides +have trails across their unstable backs, and some have not. Some are +utterly unsafe to cross and others can be crossed with small risk. +There was no trail across this particular slide, and it did not +present a dangerous appearance. Neither does quicksand--till you step +on it. + +Racey dismounted at the edge and started across, leading his horse. +Twenty yards in the rear Molly Dale followed in like manner. At every +step the footing gave a little. Once a rounded rock dislodged by the +forefoot of Racey's horse bounded away down the long slope. + +The slither of a started rock behind him made him turn his head with a +jerk. Molly's horse was down on its knees. + +"Easy, boy, easy," soothed Molly, coaxingly, keeping the bridle reins +taut. + +The horse scrambled up and plunged forward, and almost overran Molly. +She seized it short by the rein-chains. The horse pawed nervously and +tried to rear. More rocks skidded downward under the shove of the hind +hoofs. To Racey's imagination the whole slide seemed to tremble. + +Molly's face when the horse finally quieted and she turned around was +pale and drawn. Which was not surprising. + +"It's all right, it's all right, it's all right," Racey found himself +repeating with stiff lips. + +"Of course it is," nodded Molly, bravely. "There's no danger!" + +"No," said Racey. "Better not hold him so short. Don't wind that rein +round yore wrist! S'pose he goes down you'd go, too. Here, you lemme +take him. I'll manage him all right." + +"I'll manage him all right myself!" snapped Molly, up in arms +immediately at this slur upon her horsemanship. "You go on." + +Racey turned and went on. It was not more than a hundred yards to +where the grass grew on firm ground. Racey and his horse reached solid +earth without incident. Then--a scramble, a scraping, and a clattering +followed in a breath by the indescribable sound of a mass of rocks in +motion. + +Racey had wasted no time in looking to see what had happened. He knew. +At the first sound of disaster he had snapped his rope strap, freed +his rope and taken two half hitches round the horn. Then he leaped +toward the slide, shaking out his rope as he went. + +Twenty feet out and below him Molly Dale and her struggling horse were +sliding downward. If the horse had remained quiet--but the horse was +not remaining quiet and Molly's wrist was tangled in the bridle reins. + +In the beginning the movement was slow, but as Racey reached the edge +of the slide an extra strong plunge of the horse drove both girl and +animal downward two yards in a breath. Molly turned a white face +upward. + +"So long, Racey," she called, bravely, and waved her free hand. + +But Racey was going down to her with his rope in one hand. With the +other hand and his teeth he was opening his pocket-knife. The loose +stones skittered round his ankles and turned under his boot soles. He +took tremendous steps and, with that white face below him, lived an +age between each step. + +"Grab the rope above my hand!" he yelled, although by now she was not +a yard from him. + +Racey was closer to the end of his rope than he realized. At the +instant that her free hand clutched at the rope it tightened with a +jerk as the cow pony at the other end, feeling the strain and knowing +his business, braced his legs and swayed backward. Molly's fingers +brushed the back of Racey's hand and swept down his arm. Well it was +for him that he had taken two turns round his wrist, for her forearm +went round his neck and almost the whole downward pull of girl and +horse exerted itself against the strength of Racey Dawson's arm and +shoulder muscles. + +Molly's face and chin were pressed tightly against Racey's neck. Small +blame to her if her eyes were closed. The arm held fast by the bridle +was cruelly stretched and twisted. And where the rein was tight across +the back of her wrist, for he could reach no lower, Racey set the +blade of his pocket-knife and sawed desperately. It was not a sharp +knife and the leather was tough. The steel did not bite well. Racey +sawed all the harder. His left arm felt as if it were being wrenched +out of its socket. The sweat was pouring down his face. His hat jumped +from his head. He did not even wonder why. He must cut that bridle +rein in two. He must--he must. + +Snap! Three parts cut, the leather parted, Molly's left arm and +Racey's right fell limply. Molly's horse went down the slide alone. +Neither of them saw it go. Molly had fainted, and Racey was too spent +to do more than catch her round the waist and hold her to him in time +to prevent her following the horse. + +Smack! something small and hot sprinkled Racey's cheek. He looked +to the left. On a rock face close by was a splash of lead. Smack! +Zung-g-g diminuendo, as a bullet struck the side of a rock and buzzed +off at an angle. + +Racey turned his head abruptly. At a place where trees grew thinly on +the opposite side of the slide and at a considerably lower altitude +than the spot where he and Molly hung at the end of their rope shreds +of gray smoke were dissolving into the atmosphere. The range was +possibly seven hundred yards. The hidden marksman was a good shot to +drive his bullets as close as he had at that distance. + +Straight out from the place of gray smoke four men and four horses +were making their way across the slide. They were halfway across. But +they had stopped. The down rush of Molly's horse had apparently given +them pause. Now two men started ahead, one stood irresolute and +one started to retrace his steps. It is a true saying that he who +hesitates is lost. Straight over the irresolute man and his horse +rolled the dust cloud whose centre was Molly's horse. When the dust +cloud passed on it was much larger, and both the man and his horse had +disappeared. + +The man who had started to retreat continued to retreat, and more +rapidly. The two who had held on did not cease to advance, but they +proceeded very slowly. + +"If that feller with the Winchester don't get us we're all right for a +spell," Racey muttered. + +He knew that on their side of the slide for a distance of several +hundred yards up and down the side of the mountain and for several +miles athwart it the underbrush was impenetrable for horses and wicked +travelling for men. There had been a forest fire four years before, +and everyone knows what happens after that. + +In but one place, where a ridge of rock reared through the soil, was +it possible to cross the stretch of burned-over ground. Naturally +Racey had picked this one spot. Whether the posse had not known of +this rock ridge, or whether they had simply miscalculated its position +it is impossible to say. + +"Those two will shore be out of luck when they get in among the +stubs," he thought to himself, as he waited for his strength to come +back. + +But youth recovers quickly and Racey was young. It may be that +the lead that was being sent at him and Molly Dale was a potent +revivifier. + +Certainly within three or four minutes after he had cut the bridle +Racey began to work his way up the rope to where his patient and +well-trained horse stood braced and steady as the proverbial boulder. + +Monotonously the man behind the Winchester whipped bullet after bullet +into the rocky face of the slide in the immediate vicinity of Racey +Dawson and the senseless burden in the crook of his left arm. +Nevertheless, Racey took the time to work to the right and recover the +hat that a bullet had flicked from his head. + +Then he resumed his slow journey upward. + +Ages passed before he felt the good firm ground under his feet and +laid the still unconscious Molly on the grass behind a gray and +barkless windfall that had once been a hundred-foot fir. + +Then he removed his horse farther back among the stubs where it could +not be seen, took his Winchester from the scabbard under the left +fender and went back to the edge of the slide to start a return +argument with the individual who had for the last ten minutes been +endeavouring to kill him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +HUE AND CRY + + +"Did you hit him?" + +"I don't think so," replied Racey without turning his head. "Keep +down." + +"I am down." + +"How you feel?" + +"Pretty good--considering." + +"Close squeak--considerin'." + +"Yes," said she in a small voice, "it was a close squeak. You--you +saved my life, Racey." + +"Shucks," he said, much embarrassed, "that wasn't anythin'--I +mean--you--you know what I mean." + +"Surely, I know what you mean. All the same, you saved my life. Tell +me, was that man shooting at us all the time after I fainted until you +got me under cover?" + +"Not all the time, no." + +"But most of the time. Oh, you can make small of it, but you were very +brave. It isn't everybody would have stuck the way you did." + +Smack! Tchuck! A bullet struck a rock two feet below where Racey lay +on his stomach, his rifle-barrel poked out between two shrubs of +smooth sumac--another bored the hole of a gray stub at his back. + +He fired quickly at the first puff of smoke, then sent two bullets a +little to the left of the centre of the second puff. + +"Not much chance of hittin' the first feller," he said to Molly. "He's +behind a log, but that second sport is behind a bush same as me.... +Huh? Oh, I'm all right. I got the ground in front of me. He +hasn't. Alla same, we ain't stayin' here any longer. I think I saw +half-a-dozen gents cuttin' across the end of the slide. Give 'em time +and they'll cut in behind us, which ain't part of my plans a-tall. +Let's go." + +He crawfished backward on his hands and knees. Molly followed his +example. When they were sufficiently far back to be able to stand +upright with safety they scrambled to their feet and hurried to the +horse. + +"I'll lead him for a while," said Racey, giving Molly a leg up, for +the horse was a tall one. "He won't have to carry double just yet." + +So, with Racey walking ahead, they resumed their retreat. + +The ridge of rock cutting across the burned-over area could not +properly be called rimrock. It was a different formation. Set at an +angle it climbed steadily upward to the very top of the mountain. +In places weatherworn to a slippery smoothness; in others jagged, +fragment-strewn; where the rain had washed an earth-covering upon the +rock the cheerful kinnikinick spread its mantle of shining green. + +The man and the girl and the horse made good time. Racey's feet began +to hurt before he had gone a mile, but he knew that something besides +a pair of feet would be irreparably damaged if he did not keep going. +If they caught him he would be lynched, that's what he would be. If he +weren't shot first. And the girl--well, she would get at the least ten +years at Piegan City, _if_ they were caught. But "if" is the longest +and tallest word in the dictionary. It is indeed a mighty barrier +before the Lord. + +"Did you ever stop to think they may come up through this brush?" said +Molly, on whom the silence and the sad gray stubs on either hand were +beginning to tell. + +"No," he answered, "I didn't, because they can't. The farther down you +go the worse it gets. They'd never get through. Not with hosses. We're +all right." + +"Are we?" She stood up in her stirrups, and looked down through a +vista between the stubs. + +They had reached the top of the mountain. It was a saddle-backed +mountain, and they were at the outer edge of the eastern hump. Far +below was a narrow valley running north and south. It was a valley +without trees or stream and through it a string of dots were slipping +to the north. + +"Are we all right?" she persisted. "Look down there." + +At this he turned his head and craned his neck. + +"I guess," he said, stepping out, "we'd better boil this kettle a li'l +faster." + +She made no comment, but always she looked down the mountain side and +watched, when the stubs gave her the opportunity, that ominous string +of dots. She had never been hunted before. + +They crossed the top of the mountain, keeping to the ridge of rock, +and started down the northern slope. Here they passed out of the +burned-over area of underbrush and stubs and scuffed through brushless +groves of fir and spruce where no grass grew and not a ray of sunshine +struck the ground and the wind soughed always mournfully. + +But here and there were comparatively open spaces, grassy, drenched +with sunshine, and sparsely sprinkled with lovely mountain maples and +solitary yellow pines. In the wider open spaces they could see over +the tops of the trees below them and catch glimpses of the way they +must go. + +A deep notch, almost a cañon, grown up in spruce divided the mountain +they were descending from the next one to the north. This next one +thrust a rocky shoulder easterly. The valley where the horsemen rode +bent round this shoulder in a curve measured in miles. They could not +see the riders now. + +"There's a trail just over the hill," said Racey, nodding toward the +mountain across the notch. "It ain't been regularly used since the +Daisy petered out in '73, but I guess the bridge is all right." + +"And suppose it ain't all right?" + +"We'll have to grow wings in a hurry," he said, soberly, thinking +of the deep cleft spanned by the bridge. "Does this trail lead to +Farewell?" + +"Same thing--it'll take us to the Farewell trail if we wanted to go +there, but we don't. We ain't got time. We'll stick to this trail till +we get out of the Frying-Pans and then we'll head northeast for the +Cross-in-a-box. That's the nearest place where I got friends. And I +don't mind saying we'll be needing friends bad, me and you both." + +"Suppose that posse reaches the trail and the bridge before we do?" + +"Oh, I guess they won't. They have to go alla way round and we go +straight mostly. Don't you worry. We'll make the riffle yet." + +His voice was more confident than his brain. It was touch and go +whether they would reach the trail and the bridge first. The posse in +the valley--that was what would stack the cards against them. And if +they should pass the bridge first, what then? It was at least thirty +miles from the bridge to the Cross-in-a-box ranch-house. And there was +only one horse. Indeed, the close squeak was still squeaking. + +"Racey, you're limping!" + +"Not me," he lied. "Stubbed my toe, thassall." + +"Nothing of the kind. It's those tight boots. Here, you ride, and let +me walk." So saying, she slipped to the ground. + +As was natural the horse stopped with a jerk. So did Racey. + +"You get into that saddle," he directed, sternly. "We ain't got time +for any foolishness." + +Foolishness! And she was only trying to be thoughtful. Foolishness! +She turned and climbed back into the saddle, and sat up straight, her +backbone as stiff as a ramrod, and looked over his head and far away. +For the moment she was so hopping mad she forgot the danger they were +in. They made their way down into the heavy growth of Engelmann spruce +that filled the notch, crossed the floor of the notch, and began again +to climb. + +An hour later they crossed the top of the second mountain and saw far +below them a long saddle back split in the middle by a narrow cleft. +At that distance it looked very narrow. In reality, it was forty feet +wide. Racey stopped and swept with squinting eyes the place where he +knew the bridge to be. + +"See," he said, suddenly, pointing for Molly's benefit. "There's the +Daisy trail. I can see her plain--to the left of that arrowhead bunch +of trees. And the bridge is behind the trees." + +"But I don't see any trail." + +"Grown up in grass. That's why. It's behind the trees mostly, anyhow. +But she's there, the trail is. You can bet on it." + +"I don't want to bet on it." Shortly. She was still mad at him. He had +saved her life, he had succeeded in saving the family ranch, he had +put her under eternal obligations, but he had called her thought for +him foolishness. It was too much. + +Yet all the time she was ashamed of herself. She knew that she was +small and mean and narrow and deserved a spanking if any girl did. She +wanted to cuff Racey, cuff him till his ears turned red and his head +rang. For that is the way a woman feels when she loves a man and he +has hurt her feelings. But she feels almost precisely the same way +when she hates one who has. Truth it is that Love and Hate are close +akin. + +Down, down they dropped two thousand feet, and when they came out upon +the fairly level top of the saddle back Racey mounted behind Molly. + +"He'll have to carry double now," he explained. "She's two mile to the +bridge, and my wind ain't good enough to run me two mile." + +It was not his wind that was weak, it was his feet--his tortured, +blistered feet that were two flaming aches. Later they would become +numb. He wished they were numb now, and cursed silently the man who +first invented cowboy boots. Every jog of the trotting horse whose +back he bestrode was a twitching torture. + +"We'll be at the bridge in another mile," he told her. + +"Thank Heaven!" + +Silent and grass-grown lay the Daisy trail when they came out upon it +winding through a meagre plantation of cedars. + +"No one's come along yet," vouchsafed Racey, turning into the trail +after a swift glance at its trackless, undisturbed surface. + +He tickled the horse with both spurs and stirred him into a gallop. +There was not much spring in that gallop. Racey weighed fully one +hundred and seventy pounds without his clothes, Molly a hundred and +twenty with all of hers, and the saddle, blanket, sack, rifle, and +cartridges weighed a good sixty. On top of this weight pile many weary +miles the horse had travelled since its last meal and you have what it +was carrying. No wonder the gallop lacked spring. + +"Bridge is just beyond those trees," said Racey in Molly's ear. + +"The horse is nearly run out," was her comment. + +"He ain't dead yet." + +They rocked around the arrowhead grove of trees and saw the bridge +before them--one stringer. There had been two stringers and adequate +flooring when Racey had seen it last. The snows of the previous winter +must have been heavy in the Frying-Pan Mountains. + +Molly shivered at the sight of that lone stringer. + +"The horse is done, and so are we," she muttered. + +"Nothing like that," he told her, cheerfully. "There's one stringer +left. Good enough for a squirrel, let alone two white folks." + +"I--I couldn't," shuddered Molly. + +They had stopped at the bridge head, Racey had dismounted, and she, +was looking down into the dark mouth of the cleft with frightened +eyes. + +"It must be five hundred feet to the bottom," she whispered, her chin +wobbling. + +"Not more than four hundred," he said, reassuringly. "And that log +is a good strong four-foot log, and she's been shaved off with the +broadaxe for layin' the flooring so we got a nice smooth path almost +two feet wide." + +In reality, that smooth path retained not a few of the spikes that had +once held the flooring and it was no more than eighteen inches wide. +Racey gabbled on regardless. If chatter would do it, he'd get her mind +off that four-hundred-foot drop. + +"I cue-can't!" breathed Molly. "I cue-can't walk across on that +lul-log! I'd fall off! I know I would!" + +"You ain't gonna walk across the log," he told her with a broad grin. +"I'll carry you pickaback. C'mon, Molly, slide off. That's right. Now +when I stoop put yore arms round my neck. I'll stick my arms under +yore legs. See, like this. Now yo're all right. Don't worry. I won't +drop you. Close yore eyes and sit still, and you'll never know what's +happening. Close 'em now while I walk round with you a li'l bit so's +to get the hang of carryin' you." + +She closed her eyes, and he began to walk about carrying her. At least +she thought he was walking about. But when he stopped and she opened +her eyes, she discovered that the horse was standing on the other side +of the cleft. At first she did not understand. + +"How on earth did the horse get over?" she asked in wonder. + +"He didn't," Racey said, quietly, setting her down, "but we did. I +carried you across while you had yore eyes shut. I told you you'd +never know what was happenin'." + +She sat down limply on the ground. Racey started back across the +stringer to get the horse. He hurried, too. That posse they had seen +in the valley! There was no telling where it was. It might be four +miles away, or four hundred yards. + +"C'mon, feller," said Racey, picking up the reins of the tired horse. +"And for Gawd's sake pick up yore feet! If you don't that dynamite is +gonna make one awful mess at the bottom of the cañon." + +Dynamite! Mess! There was an idea. Although in order to spare Molly +an extra worry for the time being, he had told her they would push on +together, it had been his intention to hold the bridge with his rifle +while Molly rode alone to the Cross-in-a-box for help. But those +six sticks of dynamite would simplify the complex situation without +difficulty. + +He did not hurry the horse. He merely walked in front holding the +bridle slackly. The horse followed him as good as gold--and picked up +his feet at nearly every spike. Once or twice a hind hoof grazed a +spike-head with a rasping sound that sent Racey's heart bouncing up +into his throat. Lord, so much depended on a safe passage! + +For the first time in his eventful life Racey Dawson realized that he +possessed a full and working set of nerves. + +When they reached firm ground Racey flung the reins to Molly. + +"Unpack the dynamite," he cried. "It's in the slicker." + +With his bowie he began furiously to dig under the end of the stringer +where it lay embedded in the earth. Within ten minutes he had a hole +large enough and long enough to thrust in the whole of his arm. He +made it a little longer and a little wider, and at the end he drove an +offset. This last that there might be no risk of the charge blowing +out through the hole. + +When the hole was to his liking, he sat back on his haunches and +grabbed the dynamite sticks Molly held out to him. With strings cut +from his saddle, he tied the sticks into a bundle. Then he prepared +his fuse and cap. In one of the sticks he made a hole. In this hole he +firmly inserted the copper cap. Above the cap he tied the fuse to the +bundle with several lappings of a saddle-string. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "I guess that cap will stay put. You and the +hoss get out of here, Molly. Go along the trail a couple of hundred +yards or so. G'on. Get a move on. I'll be with you in a minute. Better +leave my rifle." + +Molly laid the Winchester on the grass beside him, mounted the horse, +and departed reluctantly. She did not like to leave Racey now. She +had burned out her "mad". She rode away chin on shoulder. The cedars +swallowed her up. + +Racey with careful caution stuffed the dynamite down the hole and into +the offset. Then he shovelled in the earth with his hands and tamped +it down with a rock. + +Was that the clack of a hoof on stone? Faint and far away another +hoof clacked. He reached up to his hatband for a match. There were +no matches in his hatband. Feverishly he searched his pockets. Not a +match--not a match anywhere! + +He whipped out his sixshooter, held the muzzle close to the end of the +fuse and fired. He had to fire three times before the fuse began to +sparkle and spit. + +Clearly it came to his ears, the unmistakable thudding of galloping +hoofs on turf. The posse was riding for the bridge full tilt. He +picked up his rifle and dodged in among the trees along the trail. +Forty yards from the mined stringer he met Molly riding back with a +scared face. + +"What is it?" she cried to him. "I heard shots! Oh, what is it?" + +"Go back! Go back!" he bawled. "I only cut that fuse for three +minutes." + +Molly wheeled the horse and fled. Racey ran to where a windfall lay +near the edge of the cleft and some forty yards from the stringer. +Behind the windfall he lay down, levered a cartridge into the chamber, +and trained his rifle on the bridge head. + +The galloping horsemen were not a hundred paces from the stringer when +the dynamite let go with a soul-satisfying roar. Rocks, earth, chunks +and splinters of wood flew up in advance of a rolling cloud of smoke +that obscured the cleft from rim to rim. + +A crash at the bottom of the narrow cañon told Racey what had happened +to that part of the stringer the dynamite had not destroyed. + +Racey lowered the hammer of his rifle to the safety notch just as +the posse began to approach the spot where the bridge had been. It +approached on foot by ones and twos and from tree to tree. Racey could +not see any one, but he could see the tree branches move here and +there. + +"I guess," muttered Racey, as he crawfished away from the windfall, "I +guess that settles the cat-hop." + + * * * * * + +The sun was near its rising the following day when Racey and Molly, +their one horse staggering with fatigue, reached the Cross-in-a-box. +Racey had walked all the distance he was humanly able to walk, but +even so the horse had carried double the better part of twenty miles. +It had earned a rest. + +So had Racey's feet. + + * * * * * + +"My Gawd, what a relief!" Racey muttered, and sat back and gingerly +wiggled his toes. + +"Damn shame you had to cut 'em up thataway," said Jack Richie, +glancing at Racey's slit boots. "They look like new boots." + +"It is and they are, but I couldn't get 'em off any other way, and +I'll bet I won't be able to get another pair on inside a month. Lordy, +man, did you ever think natural-born feet would swell like that?" + +"You better soak them awhile," said Jack Richie. "C'mon out to the +kitchen." + +"Shore feels good," said Racey, when his swelled feet were immersed in +a dishpan half full of tepid water. "Lookit, Jack, let Miss Dale have +her sleep out, and to-morrow sometime send a couple of boys with her +over to Moccasin Spring." + +"Whatsa matter with you and one of the boys doing it?" + +"Because I have to go to Piegan City." + +"Huh?" + +"Yep--Piegan City. I'm coming back, though, so you needn't worry about +losing the hoss yo're gonna lend me." + +"That's good. But--" + +"And if any gents on hossback _should_ drop in on you and ask +questions just remember that what they dunno won't hurt 'em." + +Jack Richie nodded understandingly. "Trust me," he said. "As I see it, +Miss Dale and you come in from the north, and--" + +"Only me--you ain't seen any Miss Dale--and I only stopped long enough +to borrow a fresh hoss and then rode away south." + +"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie. + +"In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll +know more than that. And so will a good many other folks." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE REGISTER + + +"Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside +the register's desk, "where is McFluke?" + +Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, +wide-set eyes did not flicker. He placed the tips of his fingers +together, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Racey between the +eyebrows. + +"McFluke?" he repeated. "I don't know the name." + +"I mean the murderer Jack Harpe sent to you to be taken care of," +explained Racey. + +Mr. Pooley continued to stare. For a long moment he made no comment. +Then he said, "Still, I don't know the name." + +"If you will lean back a li'l more," Racey told him, "you can look out +of the window and see two chairs in front of the Kearney House. On the +right we have Bill Riley, a Wells Fargo detective from Omaha, on the +left Tom Seemly from the Pinkerton Agency in San Francisco. They know +something but not everything. Suppose I should spin 'em _all_ my +_li'l_ tale of grief--what then, Mr. Pooley?" + +"Still--I wouldn't know the name McFluke," maintained Mr. Pooley. + +"I'm sorry, Mr. Pooley," said Racey, rising to his feet. "I shore am." + +"Don't strain yoreself," advised Mr. Pooley, making a brave rustle +among the papers on his desk. + +"I won't," Racey said, turning at the door to bestow a last! grin upon +Mr. Pooley. "So long. Glad I called." + +Mr. Pooley laughed outright. "G'by," he called after Racey as the door +closed. + +Mr. Pooley leaned far back in his chair. He saw Racey Dawson stop on +the sidewalk in front of the two detectives. The three conversed a +moment, then Racey entered the Kearney House. The two detectives +remained where they were. + +Mr. Pooley arose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +"You gotta get out of here!" It was Mr. Pooley speaking with great +asperity. + +"Why for?" countered our old friend McFluke, one-time proprietor of a +saloon on the bank of the Lazy. + +"Because they're after you, that's why." + +"Who's they?" + +"Racey Dawson for one." + +McFluke sat upright in the bunk. "Him! That ----!" + +"Yes, him," sneered Pooley. "Scares you, don't it? And he's got two +detectives with him, so get a move on. I don't want you anywhere on my +property if they do come sniffin' round." + +"I'm right comfortable here," declared McFluke, and lay down upon the +bunk. + +"You'd better go," said Mr. Pooley, softly. + +"Not unless I get some money first." + +"So that's the game, is it? Think I'll pay you to drift, huh? How +much?" + +"Oh, about ten thousand." + +"Is that all?" + +"Well, say fifteen--and not a check, neither." + +"No," said Mr. Pooley, "it won't be a check. It won't be anything, +you--worm." + +So saying Mr. Pooley laid violent hands on McFluke, yanked him out of +the bunk, and flung him sprawling on the floor. + +"Not one cent do you get from me," declared Mr. Pooley. "I never paid +blackmail yet and I ain't beginning now. I always told Harpe you'd +upset the applecart with yo're bullheaded ways. You stinking murderer, +it wasn't necessary to kill Old Man Dale! Suppose he did hit you, what +of it? You could have knocked him out with a bungstarter. But no, you +had to kill him, and get everybody suspicious, didn't you? Why--you, +you make me feel like cutting your throat, to have you upset my plans +this way!" + +McFluke raised himself on an arm. "I didn't upset yore plans none," he +denied, sulkily. "Everythin's comin' out all right. Hell, he wouldn't +play that day, anyway! Said he'd never touch a card or look at a +wheel again as long as he lived, and when I laughed at him he hit me. +Whatell else could I do? I hadda shoot him. I--" + +"Shut up, you and your 'I's' and 'He wouldn't' and 'I hadda!' If +you've told me that tale once since you came here you've told me forty +times. Get up and get out! Yore horse is tied at the corral gate. I +roped him on my way in. C'mon! Get up! or will I have to crawl yore +hump again?" + +But McFluke did not get up. Instead he scrabbled sidewise to the wall +and shrank against it. His eyes were wide, staring. They were fixed on +the doorway behind Mr. Pooley. + +"I didn't do it, gents!" cried McFluke, thrusting out his hands before +his face as though to ward off a blow. "I didn't kill him! I didn't! +It's all a lie! I didn't kill him!" + +Fat Jacob Pooley whirled to face three guns. His right hand fell away +reluctantly from the butt of his sixshooter. Slowly his arms went +above his head. Racey Dawson and his two companions entered the +room. The eldest of these companions was one of the Piegan City +town marshals. He was a friend of Jacob Pooley's. But there was no +friendliness in his face as he approached the register, removed his +gun, and searched his person for other weapons. Jacob Pooley said +nothing. His face was a dark red. The marshal produced a pair of +handcuffs. The register recoiled. + +"Not those!" he protested. "Don't put handcuffs on me!" + +"Put yore hands down," ordered the marshal. + +"Look here, I'll go quietly. I'll--" + +"Put yore hands _down_!" repeated the inexorable marshal. + +Jacob Pooley put his hands down. + +Racey and the other man were handcuffing McFluke, who was keeping up +an incessant wail of, "I didn't do it! I didn't, gents, I didn't!" + +"Oh, shut up!" ordered Racey, jerking the prisoner to his feet. "You +talk too much." + +"Where's yore Wells Fargo and Pinkerton detectives?" demanded Mr. +Pooley. + +"This gent is the Wells Fargo detective," replied Racey, indicating +the man who had helped him handcuff McFluke. "There ain't any +Pinkerton within five hundred miles so far as I know.... Huh? Them? +Oh, they were just drummers from Chicago I happened to speak to +because I figured you'd be expectin' me to after I'd told you who they +were. The real Wells Fargo, Mr. Johnson here, was a-watchin' yore +corral alla time, so when you got a friend of yores to pull them two +drummers into a poker game and then saddled yore hoss and went bustin' +off in the direction of yore claim we got the marshal and trailed +you." + +"You can't prove anything!" bluffed Mr. Pooley. + +"We were here beside the door listenin' from the time McFluke said he +was too comfortable to move out of here." Thus the marshal wearily. + +Mr. Pooley considered a moment. "Who snitched where Mac was?" he +asked, finally. + +"Nobody," replied Racey, promptly. + +"Somebody must have. Who was it?" + +"Nobody, I tell you. McFluke had to go somewhere, didn't he? He +couldn't hang around Farewell. Too dangerous. But the chances were +he wouldn't leave the country complete till he got his share. And as +nothing had come off it wasn't any likely he'd got his share. So he'd +want to keep in touch with his friends till the deal was put through. +It was only natural he'd drift to you. And when I come here to Piegan +City and heard you had hired a man to live on yore claim and then got +a look at him without him knowing it the rest was easy." + +"But what," inquired Mr. Pooley, perplexedly, "has Wells Fargo to do +with this business?" + +"Anybody that knows Bill Smith alias Jack Harpe as well as you do," +spoke up Mr. Johnson, grimly, "is bound to be of interest to Wells +Fargo." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE LAST TRICK + + +"I'd take it kindly if you gents would stick yore guns on the +mantel-piece," said Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy looked at each other. + +"I ain't wearing a gun," said Luke Tweezy, crossing one skinny knee +over the other. + +"But Mr. Harpe is," pointed out Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe jackknifed his long body out of his chair, which was placed +directly in front of an open doorway giving into an inner room, +crossed the floor, and placed his sixshooter on the mantel-piece. + +"What is this," he demanded, returning to his place "a trial?" + +"Not a-tall," the Judge made haste to assure him. "Just a li'l +friendly talk, thassall. I'm a-lookin' for information, and I've an +idea you and Luke can give it to me." + +"I'd like a li'l information my own self," grumbled Luke Tweezy. "When +are you gonna make the Dales vacate?" + +"All in good time," the Judge replied with a wintry smile. "I'll be +getting to that in short order. Here comes Kansas and Jake Rule now." + +"What you want with the sheriff?" Luke queried, uneasily. + +"He's gonna help us in our li'l talk," explained the Judge, smoothly. + +"I think I'll get my gun," observed Jack Harpe. + +He made as if to rise but sank back immediately for Racey Dawson had +suddenly appeared in the open doorway behind him and run the chill +muzzle of a sixshooter into the back of his neck. + +"Never sit with yore back to a doorway," advised Racey Dawson. "If +you'll clamp yore hands behind yore head, Jack, we'll all be the +happier. Luke, fish out the knife you wear under yore left armpit, lay +it on the floor and kick it into the corner." + +Luke Tweezy's knife tinkled against the wall at the moment that the +sheriff, his deputy, and two other men entered from the street. The +third man was Mr. Johnson, the Wells Fargo detective. The fourth man +wore his left arm in a sling and hobbled on a cane. The fourth man was +Swing Tunstall. + +"What kind of hell's trick is this?" demanded Jack Harpe, glaring at +the Wells Fargo detective. + +"It's the last trick, Bill," said Mr. Johnson. + +At the mention of which name Jack Harpe appeared to shrink inwardly. +He looked suddenly very old. + +"Take chairs, gents," invited Judge Dolan, looking about him in the +manner of a minstrel show's interlocutor. "If everybody's comfortable, +we'll proceed to business." + +"I thought you said this wasn't a trial," objected Luke Tweezy. + +"And so it ain't a trial," the Judge rapped out smartly. "The trial +will come later." + +Luke Tweezy subsided. His furtive eyes became more furtive than ever. + +"Go ahead, Racey," said Judge Dolan. + +Racey, still holding his sixshooter, leaned hipshot against the +doorjamb. + +"It was this way," he began, and told what had transpired that day in +the hotel corral when he had been bandaging his horse's leg and had +overheard the conversation between Lanpher and Jack Harpe and later, +Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"They's nothing in that," declared Jack Harpe with contempt, twisting +his neck to glower up at Racey. "Suppose I did wanna get hold of the +Dale ranch. What of it?" + +"Shore," put in Luke Tweezy. "What of it? Perfectly legitimate +business proposition. Legal, and all that." + +"Not quite," denied Racey. "Not the way you went about it. Nawsir. +Well, gents," he resumed, "what I heard in that corral showed plain +enough there was something up. Dale wouldn't sell, and they were bound +to get his land away from him. So they figured to have Nebraska Jones +turn the trick by playin' poker with the old man. When Nebraska--They +switched from Nebraska to Peaches Austin, plannin' to go through with +the deal at McFluke's from the beginning. And that was where Tweezy +come in. He was to get the old man to McFluke's, and with the help of +Peaches Austin cheat Dale out of the ranch." + +"That's a damn lie!" cried Tweezy. + +"I suppose you'll deny," said Racey, "that the day I saw you ride in +here to Farewell--I mean the day Jack Harpe spoke to you in front of +the Happy Heart, and you didn't answer him--that day you come in from +Marysville on purpose to tell Jack an' Lanpher about the mortgage +having to be renewed and that now was their chance. I suppose you'll +deny all that, huh?" + +"Yo're--yo're lyin'," sputtered Luke Tweezy. + +"Am I? We'll see. When playin' cards with old Dale didn't work they +caught the old man at McFluke's one day and after he'd got in a fight +with McFluke and McFluke downed him, they saw their chance to produce +a forged release from Dale." + +"Who did the forging?" broke in the Judge. + +"I dunno for shore. This here was found in Tweezy's safe." He held out +a letter to the Judge. + +Judge Dolan took the letter and read it carefully. Then he looked +across at Luke Tweezy. + +"This here," said he, tapping the letter with stiffened forefinger, +"is a signed letter from Dale to you. It seems to be a reply in the +negative to a letter of yores askin' him to sell his ranch." + +The Judge paused and glanced round the room. Then his cold eyes +returned to the face of Luke Tweezy who was beginning to look +extremely wretched. + +"Underneath the signature of Dale," continued the Judge, "somebody has +copied that signature some fifty or sixty times. I wonder why." + +"I dunno anything about it," Luke Tweezy denied, feebly. + +"We'll come back to that," the Judge observed, softly. "G'on, Racey." + +"I figure," said Racey, "that they'd hatched that forgery some while +before Dale was killed. The killing made it easier to put it on +record." + +"Looks that way," nodded the Judge. + +"Lookit here," boomed Jack Harpe, "you ain't got any right to judge us +thisaway. We ain't on trial." + +"Shore you ain't," asserted the Judge. "I always said you wasn't. This +here is just a talk, a friendly talk. No trial about it." + +"Here's another letter, Judge," said Racey Dawson. + +The Judge read the other letter, and again fixed Luke Tweezy with his +eye. + +"This ain't a letter exactly," said Judge Dolan. "It's a quadruplicate +copy of an agreement between Lanpher of the 88 ranch, Jacob Pooley of +Piegan City, and Luke Tweezy of Marysville, parties of the first part, +and Jack Harpe, party of the second part, to buy or otherwise obtain +possession of the ranch of William Dale, in the northeast corner of +which property is located an abandoned mine tunnel in which Jack +Harpe, the party of the second part, has discovered a gold-bearing +lode." + +"A mine!" muttered Swing Tunstall. "A gold mine! And I thought they +wanted it for a ranch." + +"So did I," Racey nodded. + +"I know that mine," said Jake Rule. "Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar +drove the tunnel, done the necessary labour, got their patent, and +sold out when they couldn't get day wages to old Dale for one pony +and a jack. But Dale never worked it. A payin' lode! Hell! Who'd 'a' +thought it?" + +"Old Salt an' Tom Loudon got a couple o' claims on the other side of +the ridge from Dale's mine," put in Kansas Casey. "They bought 'em off +of Slippery Wilson and his wife. Them claims oughta be right valuable +now." + +"They are," nodded Judge Dolan. "The agreement goes on to say that +Jack Harpe found gold-bearing lodes in both of Slippery's old tunnels, +that these claims will be properly relocated and registered--I guess +that's where Jakey Pooley come in--and all three mines will be worked +by a company made up of these four men, each man to receive one +quarter of the profits. This agreement is signed by Jack Harpe, Simon +Lanpher, and Jacob Pooley." + +"And after Pooley was arrested," contributed Racey Dawson, "the Piegan +City marshal went through his safe and found the original of this +agreement signed by Tweezy, Lanpher, and Harpe." + +Luke Tweezy held up his hand. "One moment," said he. "Where was the +agreement signed by Harpe, Pooley, and Lanpher found?" + +"In yore safe," replied Racey Dawson. + +"Did you find it there?" + +"Yep." + +"What were you doing at my safe?" + +"Now don't get excited, Luke. I happened to be in the neighbourhood of +yore house in Marysville about a month ago when I noticed one of yore +back windows open. I snooped in and there was Jack Harpe working on +yore combination with Jakey Pooley watchin' him. Jack Harpe was the +boy who opened the safe.... Huh? Shore, I know him and Jakey Pooley +sicked posses on my trail. Why not? They hadda cover their own tracks, +didn't they? But that ain't the point. What I can't help wondering is +why Harpe and Pooley was fussin' with the safe in the first place. +What do you guess, Luke?" + +Evidently Tweezy knew the answer. With a yelp of "Tried to cross me, +you--!" he flung himself bodily upon Jack Harpe. + +In a moment the two were rolling on the floor. It required four men +and seven minutes to pry them apart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + + +Molly Dale looked at Racey with adoring eyes. "How on earth did +you guess that the Bill Smith who robbed the Wells Fargo safe at +Keeleyville and killed the agent was Jack Harpe?" + +"Oh, that was nothing. You see, I'd heard somebody say--I disremember +exactly who now--that Jack Harpe's real name was Bill Smith, that he'd +shaved off his beard and part of his eyebrows to make himself look +different, and that he'd done something against the law to some +company in some town. I didn't know what company nor what town, but I +had somethin' to start with when McFluke was let loose. I figured out +by this, that, and the other that Jack Harpe had let McFluke loose. Aw +right, that showed Jack Harpe was a expert lock picker. He showed us +at Marysville that he was a expert on safe combinations. Now there +can't be many men like that. So I took what I knew about him to the +detective chiefs of three railroads. He'd done somethin' against +a company, do you see, and of course I went to three different +_railroad_ companies before I woke up and went to the Wells Fargo an' +found out that such a man as Jack Harpe named Bill Smith was wanted +for the Keeleyville job. So you see there wasn't much to it. It was +all there waitin' for somebody to find it." + +"But it lacked the somebody till you came along," she told him with +shining eyes. + +"Shucks." + +"No shucks about it. That we have our ranch to-day with a sure-enough +producing gold mine in one corner of it is all due to you." + +"Shucks, suppose now those handwritin' experts Judge Dolan got from +Chicago hadn't been able to prove at the time that the forgery and +the fifty or sixty copies of yore dad's name were written by the same +hand, ink, and pen? Suppose now they hadn't? What then? Where'd you +be, I'd like to know? Nawsir, you give them the credit. They deserve +it. Well, I'm shore glad yo're all gonna be rich, Molly. It's fine. +That's what it is--fine--great. Well, I've got to be driftin' along. +I'm going to meet Swing in town. We're riding south Arizona way +to-morrow." + +"Arizona!" + +"Yeah, we're going to give the mining game a whirl." + +"Why--why not give it a whirl up here in this country?" + +"Because there ain't another mine like yores in the territory. No, +we'll go south. Swing wants to go--been wanting to go for some time." + +"Bub-but I thought you were going to stay up here," persisted Molly, +her cheeks a little white. + +"Not--not now," Racey said, hastily. "So long, take care of yoreself." + +He reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then picked up his +hat and walked out of the house without another word or a backward +look. + + * * * * * + +"What makes me sick is not a cent out of Old Salt," said Racey, +wrathfully, as he and Swing Tunstall walked their horses south along +the Marysville trail. + +"What else could you expect?" said the philosopher Swing. "We +specified in the agreement that it was cows them jiggers was gonna run +on the range. We didn't say nothin' about a mine." + +"'We?'" repeated Racey. "'We?' You didn't have a thing to do with that +agreement. I made it. It was my fool fault we worked all those months +for nothing." + +"What's the dif?" Swing said, comfortably. "We're partners. Deal +yoreself a new hand and forget it. Tough luck we couldn't 'a' made a +clean sweep of that bunch, huh?" + +"Oh, I dunno. Suppose Peaches, Nebraska, and Thompson did get away. We +did pretty good, considerin'. You can't expect everything." + +"Alla same they'd oughta been a reward--for Jack Harpe, anyway. Wells +Fargo is shore getting mighty close-fisted." + +"Jack did better than I thought he would. He never opened his yap +about Marie being in that Keeleyville gang." + +"Maybe he didn't know for shore or else knowed better. Bull was in +that gang, too, and Bull got his throat cut. If Jack had done any +blattin' about Marie and Keeleyville he might 'a' had to stand trial +for murder right here in this county instead of going down to New +Mexico to be tried for a murder committed ten years ago with all that +means--evidence gone rusty with age and witnesses dead or in jail +themselves most like. Oh, he'll be convicted, but it won't be first +degree, you can stick a pin in that." + +"I wonder if he did kill Bull." + +"I wonder, too. Didja know who Bull really was, Swing?... Marie's +brother. Yep, she told me about it yesterday." + +"Her own brother, huh? That's a odd number. Alla same I'll bet she +don't miss him much." + +"Nor Nebraska, neither. _He'll_ never come back to bother her again, +that's a cinch. Who's that ahead?" + +"That" was Molly waiting for them at a turn in the trail. When they +came up to her she nodded to both men, but her smile was all for Racey +Dawson. He felt his pulse begin to beat a trifle faster. How handsome +she was with her dark hair and blue eyes. And at the moment those blue +eyes that were looking into his were deep enough to drown a man. + +"Can I see you a minute, Racey?" said she. + +Swing immediately turned his horse on a dime and loped along the back +trail. Left alone with Racey she moved her horse closer to his. Their +ankles touched. His hands were clasped on the saddle-horn. She laid +her cool hand on top of them. + +"Racey," she said, her wonderful eyes holding him, "why are you going +away?" + +This was almost too much for Racey. He could hardly think straight. "I +told you," he said, hoarsely. "We're goin' to Arizona--minin'." + +She flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. "You used to +like me, Racey," she told him. + +He nodded miserably. + +"Don't you like me any more?" she persisted. + +He did not nod. Nor did he speak. He stared down at the back of the +hand lying on top of his. + +"Look at me, boy," she directed. + +He looked. The fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his +fingers. + +"Look me in the eye," said she, "and tell me you don't love me." + +"I cuc-can't," he muttered in a panic. + +"Then why are you going away?" Her voice was gentle--gentle and +wistful. + +"Because yo're rich now, that's why," he replied, thickly, the words +wrung out in a rush. "You've lots o' money, and I ain't got a thing +but my hoss and what I stand up in. How can I love you, Molly?" + +"Lean over here, and I'll show you how," said Molly Dale. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Heart of the Range, by William Patterson White + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10473 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7bfe4c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10473 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10473) diff --git a/old/10473-8.txt b/old/10473-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fb61968 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10473-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12823 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Heart of the Range, by William Patterson White + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Heart of the Range + +Author: William Patterson White + +Release Date: December 16, 2003 [EBook #10473] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF THE RANGE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +[Illustration: "They picked up our trail somehow ... they're about +three miles back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground"] + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + +BY WILLIAM PATTERSON WHITE + +AUTHOR OF + +"_The Rider of Golden Bar_," "_Hidden Trails_," "_Lynch Lawyers_," +"_The Owner of the Lazy D_," "_Paradise Bend_," _etc_. + + +1921 + + + + +TO RANGER + +A GOOD HORSE AND A BETTER FRIEND + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + +I. THE HORSE THIEF + +II. THE YELLOW DOG + +III. THE TALL STRANGER + +IV. THE OLD LADY + +V. McFLUKE's + +VI. CHANGE OF PLAN + +VII. THE RIDDLE + +VIII. THE STARLIGHT + +IX. THROWING SAND + +X. THE BACK PORCH + +XI. THE LOOKOUT + +XII. THE DISCOVERY + +XIII. A BOLD BAD MAN + +XIV. THE SURPRISE + +XV. FIRE! FIRE! + +XVI. THE BAR S + +XVII. SIGNED PAPER + +XVIII. THE SHOWDOWN + +XIX. THE SHOOTING + +XX. DRAWING THE COVER + +XXI. GONE AWAY + +XXII. A CHECK + +XXIII. TAKING FENCES + +XXIV. DIPLOMACY + +XXV. STRATEGY + +XXVI. THE QUARREL + +XXVII. BURGLARY + +XXVIII. THE LETTERS + +XXIX. HUE AND CRY + +XXX. THE REGISTER + +XXXI. THE LAST TRICK + +XXXII. THE END OF THE TRAIL + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE HORSE THIEF + + +It was a warm summer morning in the town of Farewell. Save a dozen +horses tied to the hitching-rail in front of various saloons and the +Blue Pigeon Store and Bill Lainey, the fat landlord of the hotel, who +sat snoring in a reinforced telegraph chair on the sidewalk in the +shade of his wooden awning, Main Street was a howling wilderness. + +Dust overlay everything. It had not rained in weeks. In the blacksmith +shop, diagonally across the street from the hotel, Piney Jackson was +shoeing a mule. The mule was invisible, but one knew it was a mule +because Piney Jackson has just come out and taken a two-by-four from +the woodpile behind the shop. And it was a well-known fact that Piney +never used a two-by-four on any animal other than a mule. But this by +the way. + +In the barroom of the Happy Heart Saloon there were only two customers +and the bartender. One of the former, a brown-haired, sunburnt young +man with ingenuous blue eyes, was singing: + + "_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + An' merrily jump the stile O! + Yore cheerful heart goes all the day, + Yore sad tires in a mile O_!" + +Mr. Racey Dawson, having successfully sung the first verse, rested +both elbows on the bar and grinned at the bartender. That worthy +grinned back, and, knowing Mr. Dawson, slid the bottle along the bar. + +"Have one yoreself, Bill," Mr. Dawson nodded to the bartender. +"Whu--where's Swing? Oh, yeah." + +Mr. Dawson, head up, chest out, stepping high, and walking very +stiffly as befitted a gentleman somewhat over-served with liquor, +crossed the barroom to where bristle-haired Swing Tunstall sat on a +chair and slumbered, his head on his arms and his arms on a table. + +Mr. Dawson stooped and blew into Mr. Tunstall's right ear. Mr. +Tunstall began to snore gently. Growing irritated by this continued +indifference on the part of Mr. Tunstall, Mr. Dawson seized the chair +by rung and back and incontinently dumped Mr. Tunstall all abroad on +the saloon floor. + +Mr. Tunstall promptly hitched himself into a corner and drifted deeper +into slumber. + +Mr. Dawson turned a perplexed face on the bartender. + +"Now what you gonna do with a feller like that?" Mr. Dawson asked, +plaintively. + +Mr. Jack Richie, manager of the Cross-in-a-box ranch, entering at the +moment, temporarily diverted Mr. Dawson's attention. For Mr. Dawson +had once ridden for the Cross-in-a-box outfit. Hence he was moved +literally to fall upon the neck of Mr. Richie. + +"Lean on yore own breakfast," urged Mr. Richie, studiously dissembling +his joy at sight of his old friend, and carefully steering Mr. Dawson +against the bar. "Here, I know what you need. Drink hearty, Racey." + +"'S'on me," declared Mr. Dawson. "Everythin's on me. I gug-got money, +I have, and I aim to spend it free an' plenty, 'cause there's more +where I'm goin'. An' I ain't gonna earn it punchin' cows, neither." + +"Don't do anything rash," Mr. Richie advised, and took advantage of a +friend's privilege to be insulting. "I helped lynch a road-agent only +last month." + +"Which the huh-holdup business is too easy for a live man," opined Mr. +Dawson. "We want somethin' mum-more diff-diff-diff'cult, me an' Swing +do, so we're goin' to Arizona where the gold grows. No more wrastlin' +cows. No more hard work for us. _We're_ gonna get rich quick, we are. +What you laughin' at?" + +"I never laugh," denied Mr. Richie. "When yo're stakin' out claims +don't forget me." + +"We won't," averred Mr. Dawson, solemnly. "Le's have another." + +They had another--several others. + +The upshot was that when Mr. Richie (who was the lucky possessor of +a head that liquor did not easily affect) departed homeward at four +P.M., he left behind him a sadly plastered Mr. Dawson. + +Mr. Tunstall, of course, was still sleeping deeply and noisily. +But Mr. Dawson had long since lost interest in Mr. Tunstall. It is +doubtful whether he remembered that Mr. Tunstall existed. The two +had begun their party immediately after breakfast. Mr. Tunstall had +succumbed early, but Mr. Dawson had not once halted his efforts to +make the celebration a huge success. So it is not a subject for +surprise that Mr. Dawson, some thirty minutes after bidding Mr. Richie +an affectionate farewell, should stagger out into the street and ride +away on the horse of someone else. + +The ensuing hours of the evening and the night were a merciful blank +to Mr. Dawson. His first conscious thought was when he awoke at dawn +on a side-hill, a sharp rock prodding him in the small of the back and +the bridle-reins of his dozing horse wound round one arm. Only it was +not his horse. His horse was a red roan. This horse was a bay. It +wasn't his saddle, either. + +"Where's my hoss?" he demanded of the world at large and sat up +suddenly. + +The sharp movement wrung a groan from the depths of his being. The +loss of his horse was drowned in the pains of his aching head. Never +was such all-pervading ache. He knew the top was coming off. He knew +it. He could feel it, and then did--with his fingers. He groaned +again. + +His tongue was dry as cotton, and it hurt him to swallow. He stood up, +but as promptly sat down. In a whisper--for speech was torture--he +began to revile himself for a fool. + +"I might have known it," was his plaint. "I had a feelin' when I took +that last glass it was one too many. I never did know when to stop. +I'd like to know how I got here, and where my hoss is, and who belongs +to this one?" + +He eyed the mount with disfavour. He had never cared for bays. + +"An' that ain't much of a saddle, either," he went on with his +soliloquy. "Cheap saddle--looks like a boy's saddle--an' a old +saddle--bet Noah used one just like it--try to rope with that saddle +an' you'd pull the horn to hellen gone. Wonder what's in that +saddle-pocket." + +He pulled himself erect slowly and tenderly. His knees were very +shaky. His head throbbed like a squeezed boil, but--he wanted to learn +what was in that saddle-pocket. Possibly he might obtain therein a +clue to the horse's owner. + +He slipped the strap of the pocket-flap, flipped it open, inserted his +fingers, and drew forth a small package wrapped in newspaper and tied +with the blue string affected by the Blue Pigeon Store in Farewell. + +Mr. Dawson balanced the package on two fingers for a reflective +instant, then he snapped the string and opened the package. + +"Socks an' a undershirt," he said, disgustedly, and started to say +more, but paused, for there was something queer about that undershirt. +His head was still spinning, and his eyes were sandy, but he perceived +quite plainly that there were narrow blue ribbons running round the +neck of that undershirt. He unrolled the socks and found them much +longer in the leg than the kind habitually worn by men. Mr. Dawson +agitatedly dived his hand once more into the saddle-pocket. And this +time he pulled out a tortoise-shell shuttle round which was wrapped +several inches of lingerie edging. But Mr. Dawson did not call it +lingerie edging. He called it tatting and swore again. + +"That settles it," he said, cheerlessly. "I've stole some woman's +cayuse." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE YELLOW DOG + + +It was a chastened Racey Dawson that returned to Farewell. He went +directly to the blacksmith shop. + +"'Lo, Hoss Thief," was Piney Jackson's cheerful greeting. + +"Whose is it?" demanded Racey Dawson, wiping his hot face. "Whose hoss +have I stole?" + +"Oh, you'll catch it," chuckled the humorous Piney. "Yep, you betcha. +You've got a gall, you have. Camly prancing out of a saloon an' +glooming onto a lady's hoss. What kind o' doin's is that, I'd like to +know?" + +"You blasted idjit!" cried the worried Racey. "Whose hoss is this?" + +"I kind o' guessed maybe something disgraceful like this here would +happen when I seen you and yore friend sashay into the Happy Heart. +And the barkeep said you had two snifters and a glass o' milk, too. +Honest, Racey, you'd oughta be more careful how you mix yore drinks." + +"Don't try to be a bigger jack than you are," Racey adjured him in +a tone that he strove to make contemptuous. "You think yo're awful +funny--just too awful funny, don't you? I'm askin' you, you fish-faced +ape, whose hoss this is I got here?" + +"Don't you know?" grinned Piney, elevating both eyebrows. "Lordy, I +wouldn't be in yore shoes for something. Nawsir. She'll snatch you +baldheaded, she will. The old lady was wild when she come out an' +found her good hoss missing. And she shore said what she thought of +you some more when she seen she had to ride home on that old crow's +dinner of a moth-eaten accordeen you left behind." + +Racey Dawson was too reduced in spirit to properly take umbrage at +this insult to his horse. He could only repeat his request that Piney +make not of himself a bigger fool than usual. And when Piney did +nothing but laugh immoderately, Racey grinned foolishly. + +"If my head didn't ache so hard," he assured the chortling blacksmith, +"I'd shore talk to you, but--Say, lookit here, Piney, quit yore +foolin', will you? Who owns this hoss, anyway?" + +"Here comes Kansas," said Piney. "Betcha five even he arrests you for +a hoss thief." + +"Gimme odds an' I'll go you," Racey returned, promptly. + +"Even," stuck out Piney. + +"Naw, he might do it. You Farewell jiggers hang together too hard for +me to take any chances. 'Lo, Kansas." + +"Howdy, Racey," nodded Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. "How long you +been rustlin' hosses?" + +"A damsight longer'n I like," Racey replied, frankly. "Who _does_ own +this hoss?" + +"Y' oughta asked that question yesterday," said Kansas, severely, but +with a twinkle in his black eyes that belied his tone. "This here +would be mighty serious business for you if the Sheriff was in town. +Jake's so particular about being legal an' all. Yessir, Racey, +old-timer, I expect you'd spend some time in the calaboose--if you +wasn't lynched previous." + +"Don't scare the poor feller," pleaded Piney in a tone of deepest +compassion. "He'll be cryin' in a minute." + +"In a minute I'll be doing somethin' besides cry if you fellers don't +stop yore funning. This here is past a joke, this is, and--" + +"Shore it's past a joke," Kansas concurred, warmly, "an' I ain't +funning, not for a minute. You go give that hoss back, Racey, or +you'll be sorry." + +"Well, for Gawd's sake tell me who to give it back to!" bawled Racey, +and immediately batted his eyes and gingerly patted the back of his +head. + +"Head ache?" queried Kansas. "I expect it might after last night. You +go give that hoss back like a good boy." + +So saying Kansas Casey turned his back and retreated rapidly in the +direction of the Starlight Saloon. + +Racey Dawson glared vindictively after the departing deputy. Then he +switched his angry blue eyes to the blacksmith's smiling countenance. + +"You can all," said Racey Dawson, distinctly, "go plumb to hell." + +He turned the purloined pony on a dime and loped up the street, +followed by the ribald laughter of Piney Jackson. + +"They think they're so terrible funny," Racey muttered, mournfully, +as he dismounted and tied at the hitching rail in front of the Happy +Heart. "Now if I can only find Swing--" + +But Swing Tunstall, it appeared on consulting the bartender, had gone +off hunting him (Racey). The latter did not appeal to the bartender to +divulge the name of the horse's owner. He had, he believed, furnished +the local populace sufficient amusement for one day. He had a small +drink, for he felt that he needed a bracer, and with the liquor he +imbibed inspiration. + +Miss Blythe, Mike Flynn's partner in the Blue Pigeon Store! She would +know whose horse it was, for certainly the horse's owner had bought +the undershirt and the stockings at the Blue Pigeon. Furthermore, +Miss Blythe looked like a right-minded individual. She would take no +pleasure in devilling a man. Not she. + +Racey Dawson set down his glass and hurried to the Blue Pigeon Store. +Miss Blythe, at his entrance, ceased checking tomato cans and came +forward. + +"Ma'am," said Racey, "will you come to the door a minute? No, no, +don't be scared!" he added as the lady drew back a step. "I'm kind +of in trouble, an' I want you to help me out. I'm--my name's Racey +Dawson, an' I used to ride for the Cross-in-a-box before I got a job +up at the Bend. Jack Richie knows me. I ain't crazy--honest." + +For Miss Blythe continued to look doubtful. "I--" she began. + +"Lookit," he interrupted, "yesterday I got a heap drunk an' I rode off +on somebody's hoss without meaning to--I mean I thought it was my hoss +and it wasn't. An' I thought maybe you'd tell me who the hoss belongs +to so's I can return him and get mine back. She took mine, they tell +me. Not that I blame her a mite," he added, hastily. + +Pretty Miss Blythe smiled suddenly. "I did hear something about a +switch in horses yesterday afternoon," she admitted. "But I thought +Mr. Flynn said Tom Dowling was the man's name. Certainly I remember +you now, Mr. Dawson, although at first your--your beard--" + +"Yeah, I know," he put in, hurriedly. "I ain't shaved since I left the +Bend, and I slept mostly on my face last night, but it's li'l ol' me +all right behind the whiskers and real estate. Yeah, that's the hoss +yonder--the one next the pinto." + +"I know the horse," said Miss Blythe, drawing back from the doorway. +"It belongs to the Dales over at Medicine Spring on Soogan Creek." + +"Oh, I know _them_," Racey declared, confidently (he had been at the +Dales' precisely once). "The girl married Chuck Morgan. Shore, Mis' +Dale's hoss, huh? I'll take it right back soon's I get shaved. I +s'pose I'll have a jomightyful time explaining it to the old lady." + +"It isn't the mother's horse. It's the daughter's. She was in town +yesterday." + +"You mean Chuck's wife, Mis' Morgan?" + +"I mean _Miss_ Molly Dale, the _other_ daughter." + +"I didn't know they had another daughter," puzzled Racey, thinking of +what Piney Jackson had said anent an "old lady." "They must 'a' kept +her in the background when I was there that time. What is she--a old +maid?" + +"Oh, middle-aged, perhaps," was the straight-faced reply. + +"Shucks, I might have known it," grumbled Racey; "middle-aged old +maid! I know what they're like. I had one once for a school-teacher. I +can feel her lickings yet. She was the contrariest female I ever met. +Shucks, I--Well, if I gotta, I gotta. Might's well get it over with +now as later. Thanks, ma'am, for helping me out." + +Racey Dawson shambled dejectedly forth to effect the feeding of Miss +Molly Dale's horse at the hotel corral. For his own breakfast he went +to Sing Luey's Canton Restaurant. Because while Bill Lainey offered +no objections to feeding the horse, Mrs. Lainey utterly refused to +provide snacks at odd hours for good-for-nothing, stick-a-bed punchers +who were too lazy to eat at the regular meal-time. So there, now. + +"But I ain't gonna shave," he told himself, as he disposed of fried +steak and potatoes sloshed down by several cups of coffee. "If she's a +old maid like they say it don't matter how tough I look." + +He was reflectively stirring the grounds in the bottom of his sixth +cup when a small and frightened yellow dog dashed into the restaurant +and fled underneath Racey's table, where he cowered next to Racey's +boots and cuddled a lop-eared head against Racey's knee. + +Racey had barely time to glance down and discover that the yellow +nondescript was no more than a pup when a burly youth charged into +the restaurant and demanded in no uncertain tones to know where that +adjective dog had hidden himself. + +Racey took an instant dislike to the burly youth, still--it was his +dog. And it is a custom of the country to let every man, as the saying +is, skin his own deer. He that takes exception to this custom and +horns in on what cannot rightfully be termed his particular business, +will find public opinion dead against him and his journey unseasonably +full of incident. + +Racey moved a leg. "This him, stranger?" + +The burly youth (it was evident that he was not wholly sober) glared +at Racey Dawson. "Shore it's him!" he declared. "Whatell you hidin' +him for? Get outa the way!" + +Whereupon the burly youth advanced upon Racey. + +This was different. Oh, quite. The burly youth had by his brusque +manner and rude remarks included Racey in his (the burly youth's) +business. + +Racey met the burly youth rather more than halfway. He hit him so hard +on the nose that the other flipped backward through the doorway and +landed on his ear on the sidewalk. + +Racey followed him out. The burly youth, bleeding copiously from the +nose, sat up and fumbled uncertainly for his gun. + +"No," said Racey with decision, aiming his sixshooter at the word. +"You leave that gun alone, and lemme tell you, stranger, while we're +together, that I want to buy that pup of yores. A gent like you ain't +fit company for a self-respecting dog to associate with. Nawsir." + +"You got the drop," grumbled the burly youth. + +"Which is one on you," Racey observed, good-humouredly. + +"Maybe I'll be seein' you again," suggested the other. + +"Don't lemme see you first," advised Racey. "Never mind getting up. +Just sit nice and quiet like a good boy, and keep the li'l hands +spread out all so pretty with the thumbs locked over yore head. 'At's +the boy. How much for yore dog, feller?" + +"What you done to my dog?" A woman's voice broke on Racey's ears. But +he did not remove his slightly narrowed eyes from the face of the +burly youth. + +"What you done to my dog?" The question was repeated, and the speaker +came close to the burly youth and looked down at him. Now that the +woman was within his range of vision Racey perceived that she was the +Happy Heart lookout, a good-looking creature with brown hair and a +lithe figure. + +The girl's fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed +whitely against the pink. Two red spots flared on the white skin of +her cheeks. + +"Dam yore soul!" swore the lady. "I want my dog! How many tunes I +gotta ask you, huh? Where is he? Say somethin', you dumb lump of slum +gullion!" + +"He ain't yore dog!" denied the burly youth. "He never was yores! He's +mine, you--!" + +Which last was putting it pretty strongly, even for the time, the +place, and the girl. She promptly swung a brisk right toe, kicked the +burly youth under the chin, and flattened him out. + +"That'll learn you to call me names!" she snarled. "So long as I act +like a lady, I'm a-gonna be treated like one, and I'll break the neck +of the man who acts different, and you can stick a pin in that, you +dirty-mouthed beast!" + +Muttering profanely true to form, the aforementioned beast essayed to +rise. But here again Racey and his ready gun held him to the ground in +a sitting position. + +"You leave her alone," commanded Racey. "You got what was coming to +yuh. Let it go at that. The lady says it's her dog, anyway." + +"It's my dog, I tell yuh! I--" + +"Yo're a liar!" averred the girl. "You kicked the dog out when he was +sick, and I took him in and tended him and got him well. If that don't +make him my dog what does?" + +"Correct," said Racey. "Call him." + +The girl put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Forth from +the Canton came the dog on the jump and bounced into the girl's arms +and began to lick her ear with despatch and enthusiasm. + +"You see how it is," Racey indicated to the man on the ground. "It's +the lady's dog. You can go now." + +The burly youth stared stupidly. + +"You heard what I said," Racey told him, impatiently. "G'on. Go +some'ers else. Get outa here." + +"Say," remarked the burly youth in what was intended to be a menacing +growl, "this party ain't over yet." + +"Ain't you been enough of a fool already to-day?" interrupted Racey. +"You ain't asking for it, are you?" + +"You can't run no blazer on me," denied the other, furiously. + +Racey promptly holstered his sixshooter. "Now's yore best time," he +said, quietly. + +When the smoke cleared away there was a rent in the sleeve of Racey's +shirt and the burly youth sat rocking his body to and fro and groaning +through gritted teeth. For there was a red-hot hole in his right +shoulder which hurt him considerably. + +Racey Dawson gazed dumbly down at the muzzle of his sixshooter from +which a slim curl of gray smoke spiralled lazily upward. Then his eyes +veered to the man he had shot and to the man's sixshooter lying on the +edge of the sidewalk. It, too, like his own gun, was thinly smoking at +the muzzle. The burly youth put a hand to his shoulder. The fingers +came away red. Racey was glad he had not killed him. He had not +intended to. But accidents will happen. + +He stepped forward and kicked the burly youth's discarded sixshooter +into the middle of the street. He looked about him. The girl and her +dog had vanished. + +Kansas Casey had taken her place apparently. From windows and doorways +along the street peered interested faces. One knew that they were +interested despite their careful lack of all expression. It is never +well to openly express approval of a shooting. The shooter undoubtedly +has friends, and little breaches of etiquette are always remembered. + +Racey Dawson looked at Kansas Casey and shoved his sixshooter down +into its holster. + +"It was an even break," announced Racey. + +"Shore," Kansas nodded. "I seen it. There'll be no trouble--from us," +he added, significantly. + +The deputy sheriff knelt beside the wounded man. Racey Dawson went +into the Happy Heart. He felt that he needed a drink. When he came out +five minutes later the burly youth had been carried away. Remained a +stain of dark red on the sidewalk where he had been sitting. Piggy +Wadsworth, the plump owner of the dance-hall, legs widespread and arms +akimbo, was inspecting the red stain thoughtfully. He was joined by +the storekeeper, Calloway, and two other men. None of them was aware +of Racey Dawson standing in front of the Happy Heart. + +"Was it there?" inquired Calloway. + +"Yeah," said Piggy. "Right there. I seen the whole fraycas. Racey +stood here an'--" + +At this point Racey Dawson went elsewhere. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE TALL STRANGER + + +"You'll have to manage it yoreself." Lanpher, the manager of the 88 +ranch, was speaking, and there was finality in his tone. + +"You mean you don't wanna appear in the deal a-tall," sneered his +companion. + +Racey Dawson, who had been kneeling on the ground engaged in bandaging +a cut from a kick on the near foreleg of the Dale pony when the two +men led their horses into the corral, craned his neck past the pony's +chest and glanced at Lanpher's tall companion. For the latter's words +provoked curiosity. What species of deal was toward? Having ridden for +Lanpher in the days preceding his employment by the Cross-in-a-box +and consequently provided with many opportunities for studying the +gentleman at arm's-length, Racey naturally assumed that the deal was a +shady one. Personally, he believed Lanpher capable of anything. +Which of course was unjust to the manager. His courage was not quite +sufficient to hold him abreast of the masters in wickedness. But he +was mean and cruel in a slimy way, and if left alone was prone to make +life miserable for someone. Invariably the someone was incapable of +proper defense. From Farewell to Marysville, throughout the length +and breadth of the great Lazy River country, Lanpher was known +unfavourably and disliked accordingly. + +To his companion's sneering remark Lanpher made no intelligible reply. +He merely grunted as he reached for the gate to pull it shut. His +companion half turned (his back had from the first been toward +Racey Dawson), and Racey perceived the cold and Roman profile of a +long-jawed head. Then the man turned full in his direction and behold, +the hard features vanished, and the man displayed a good-looking +countenance of singular charm. The chin was a thought too wide and +heavy, a trait it shared in common with the mouth, but otherwise the +stranger's full face would have found favour in the eyes of almost any +woman, however critical. + +Racey Dawson, at first minded to reveal his presence in the corral, +thought better of it almost immediately. While not by habit an +eavesdropper he felt no shame in fortuitously overhearing anything +Lanpher or the stranger might be moved to say. Lanpher merited no +consideration under any circumstances, and the stranger, in appearance +a similar breed of dog as far as morals went, certainly deserved no +better treatment. So Racey remained quietly where he was, and was glad +that besides the pony to whom he was ministering there were several +others between him and the men at the gate. + +"Why don't you wanna appear in this business?" persisted the stranger, +pivoting on one heel in order to keep face to face with Lanpher. + +"I gotta live here," was the Lanpher reply. + +"Well, ain't I gotta live here, too, and I don't see anything round +here to worry me. S'pose old Chin Whisker does go on the prod. What +can he do?" + +"'Tsall right," mumbled Lanpher, shutting the gate and shoving home +the bar. "You don't know this country as well as I do. I got trouble +enough running the 88 without borrowing any more." + +"Now I told you I was gonna get his li'l ranch peaceable if I could. I +got it all planned out. I don't do anything rough unless I gotto. But +I'm gonna get old Chin Whisker out o' there, and you can stick a pin +in that." + +"'Tsall right. 'Tsall right. You wanna remember ol' Chin Whisker ain't +the only hoss yo're trying to ride. If you think that other outfit +is gonna watch you pick daisies in their front yard without doing +anything, you got another guess. But I'll do what I said--and no +more." + +"I s'pose you think that by sticking away off yonder where the grass +is long nobody will suspicion you. If you do, yo're crazy. Folks ain't +so cross-brained as all that." + +"Not so dam loud!" Lanpher cautioned, excitedly. + +"Say, whatsa matter with you?" demanded the stranger, leaning back +against the gate and spreading his long arms along the top bar. "Which +yo're the most nervous gent I ever did see. The hotel ain't close +enough for anybody to hear a word, and there's only hosses in the +corral. Get a-hold of yoreself. Don't be so skittish." + +"I ain't skittish. I'm sensible. I know--" Lanpher broke off abruptly. + +"What do you know?" + +"What yo're due to find out." + +"Now lookit here, Mr. Lanpher," said the stranger in a low, cold tone, +"you said those last words a leetle too gayful to suit me. If yo're +planning any skulduggery--don't." + +"I ain't. Not a bit of it. But I got my duty to my company. I can't +get mixed up in any fraycas on yore account, because if I do my ranch +will lose money. That's the flat of it." + +"Oh, it is, huh? Yore ranch will lose money if you back me up, hey? +And you ain't thinkin' nothin' of yore precious skin, are yuh? Oh, +no, not a-tall. I wonder what yore company would say to the li'l deal +between you and me that started this business. I wonder what they'd +think of Mr. Lanpher and his sense of duty. Yeah, I would wonder a +whole lot." + +"Well--" began Lanpher, lamely. + +"Hell!" snarled the stranger. "You make me sick! Now you listen to me. +Yo're in this as deep as I am. If you think you ain't, try to pull +yore wagon out. Just try it, thassall." + +"I ain't doing none of the work, that's flat," Lanpher denied, +doggedly. + +"You gotta back me up alla same," declared the stranger. + +"That wasn't in the bargain," fenced Lanpher. + +"It is now," chuckled the stranger. "If I lose, you lose, too. +Lookit," he added in a more conciliatory tone, "can't you see how it +is? I need you, an' you need me. All I'm asking of you is to back +me up when I want you to. Outside of that you can sit on yore +shoulder-blades and enjoy life." + +"We didn't bargain on that," harked back Lanpher. + +"But that was then, and this is now. Which may not be logic, but it +_is_ necessity, an' Necessity, Mr. Lanpher, is the mother of all kinds +of funny things. So you and I we got to ride together." + +Lanpher pushed back his hat and looked over the hills and far away. +The well-known carking care was written large upon his countenance. + +Slowly his eyes slid round to meet for a brief moment the eyes of his +companion. + +"I can't answer for my men," said Lanpher, shortly. + +"Can you answer for yoreself?" inquired the stranger quickly. + +"I'll back you up." Grudgingly. + +"Then that's all right. You can keep the men from throwing in with the +other side, anyway, can't you?" + +"I can do that much." + +"Which is quite a lot for a ranch manager to be able to do," was the +stranger's blandly sarcastic observation. "C'mon. We've gassed so much +I'm dry as a covered bridge. I--What does Thompson want now? 'Lo, +Punch." + +"'Lo, Jack. Howdy, Lanpher." Racey could not see the newcomer, but +he recognized the voice. It was that of Punch-the-breeze Thompson, +a gentleman well known to make his living by the ingenious +capitalization of an utter lack of moral virtue. "Say, Jack," +continued Thompson, "Nebraska has been plugged." + +"Plugged?" Great amazement on the part of the stranger. + +"Plugged." + +"Who done it?" + +"Feller by the name of Dawson." + +"Racey Dawson?" nipped in Lanpher. + +"Yeah, him." + +Lanpher chuckled slightly. + +"Why the laugh?" asked Jack Harpe. + +"I'd always thought Nebraska could shoot." + +"Nebraska is supposed to be some swift," admitted the stranger. "How'd +it happen, Punch?" + +Thompson told him, and on the whole, gave a truthful account. + +"What kind of feller is this Dawson?" the stranger inquired after a +moment's silence following the close of the story. + +"A skipjack of a no-account cow-wrastler," promptly replied Lanpher. +"He thinks he's hell on the Wabash." + +"Allasame he must be old pie to put the kybosh on Nebraska thataway." + +"Luck," sneered Lanpher. "Just luck." + +"Is he square?" probed the stranger. + +"Square as a billiard-ball," said Lanpher. "Why, Jack, he's so crooked +he can't lay in bed straight." + +At which Racey Dawson was moved to rise and declare himself. Then the +humour of it struck him. He grinned and hunkered down, his ears on the +stretch. + +"Well," said the stranger, refraining from comment on Lanpher's +estimate of the Dawson qualities, "we'll have to get somebody in +Nebraska's place." + +"I'm as good as Nebraska," Punch-the-breeze Thompson stated, modestly. + +"No," the stranger said, decidedly. "Yo're all right, Punch. But even +if we can get old Chin Whisker drunk, the hand has gotta be quicker +than the eye. Y' understand?" + +Thompson, it appeared, did understand. He grunted sulkily. + +"We'll have to give Peaches Austin a show," resumed the stranger. +"Nemmine giving me a argument, Punch. I said I'd use Austin. C'mon, +le's go get a drink." + +The three men moved away. Racey Dawson cautiously eased his long body +up from behind the pony. With slightly narrowed eyes he stared at the +gate behind which Jack Harpe and his two friends had been standing. + +"Now I wonder," mused Racey Dawson, "I shore am wonderin' what kind of +skulduggery li'l Mr. Lanpher of the 88 is a-trying to crawl out of and +what Mr. Stranger is a-trying to drag him into. Nebraska, too, huh? I +was wondering what that feller's name was." + +He knelt down again and swiftly completed the bandaging of the cut on +the pony's near fore. + +As he rode round the corner of the hotel to reach Main Street he saw +Luke Tweezy single-footing into town from the south. The powdery dust +of the trail filled in and overlaid the lines and creases of Luke +Tweezy's foxy-nosed and leathery visage. Layers of dust almost +completely concealed the original colour of the caked and matted hide +of Luke Tweezy's well-conditioned horse. It was evident that Luke +Tweezy had come from afar. + +In common with most range riders Racey Dawson possessed an automatic +eye to detail. Quite without conscious effort his brain registered +and filed away in the card-index of his subconscious mind the picture +presented by the passing of Luke Tweezy, the impression made +thereby, and the inference drawn therefrom. The inference was almost +trivial--merely that Luke Tweezy had come from Marysville, the town +where he lived and had his being. But triviality is frequently +paradoxical and always relative. If Dundee had not raised an arm to +urge his troopers on at Killiekrankie the world would know a different +England. A single thread it was that solved for Theseus the mystery of +the Cretan labyrinth. + +Racey Dawson did not like Luke Tweezy. From the sparse and sandy +strands of the Tweezy hair to the long and varied lines of the Tweezy +business there was nothing about Mr. Tweezy that he did like. For Luke +Tweezy's business was ready money and its possibilities. He drove hard +bargains with his neighbours and harder ones with strangers. He bought +county scrip at a liberal discount and lent his profits to the needy +at the highest rate allowed by law. + +Luke Tweezy's knowledge of what was allowed by territorial law was not +limited to money-lending. He had been admitted to the bar, and no case +was too small, too large, or too filthy for him to handle. + +In his dislike of Luke Tweezy Racey Dawson was not solitary. Luke +Tweezy was as generally unpopular as Lanpher of the 88. But there +was a difference. Where Lanpher's list of acquaintances, nodding and +otherwise, was necessarily confined to the Lazy River country, Luke +Tweezy knew almost every man, woman, and child in the territory. +It was his business to know everybody, and Luke Tweezy was always +attending to his business. + +He had nodded and spoken to Racey Dawson as they two passed, and Racey +had returned the greeting gravely. + +"Slimy ol' he-buzzard," Racey Dawson observed to himself and reached +for his tobacco. + +But there was no tobacco. The sack that he knew he had put in his vest +pocket after breakfast had vanished. Lack of tobacco is a serious +matter. Racey wheeled his mount and spurred to the Blue Pigeon Store. + +Five minutes later, smoking a grateful cigarette, he again started +to ride out of town. As he curved his horse round a freight wagon in +front of the Blue Pigeon he saw three men issue from the doorway of +the Happy Heart Saloon. Two of the men were Lanpher and the stranger. +The third was Luke Tweezy. The latter stopped at the saloon +hitching-rail to untie his horse. "See yuh later, Luke," the stranger +flung over his shoulder to Luke Tweezy as he passed on. He and Lanpher +headed diagonally across the street toward the hotel. It seemed odd to +Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy by no word or sign made acknowledgment +of the stranger's remark. + +Racey tickled his mount with the rowels of one spur and stirred him +into a trot. Have to be moving along if he wanted to get there some +time that day. He wished he didn't have to go alone, so he did. The +old lady would surely lay him out, and he wished for company to share +his misery. Why couldn't Swing Tunstall have stayed reasonably in +Farewell instead of traipsing off over the range like a tomfool. Might +not be back for a week, Swing mightn't. Idiotic caper (with other +adjectives) of Swing's, anyway. Why hadn't he used his head? Oh, +Racey Dawson was an exceedingly irritable young man as he rode out of +Farewell. The aches and pains were still throbbingly alive in his own +particular head. The immediate future was not alluring. It was a hard +world. + +When he and his mount were breasting the first slight rise of the +northern slope of Indian Ridge--which ridge marks with its long, +broad-backed bulk the southern boundary of the flats south of Farewell +and forces the Marysville trail to travel five miles to go two--a +rider emerged from a small boulder-strewn draw wherein tamaracks grew +thinly. + +Racey stared--and forgot his irritation and his headache. The draw +was not more than a quarter-mile distant, and he perceived without +difficulty that the rider was a woman. She quirted her mount into +a gallop, and then seesawed her right arm vigorously. Above the +pattering drum of her horse's hoofs a shout came faintly to his ears. +He pulled up and waited. + +When the woman was close to him he saw that it was the good-looking, +brown-haired Happy Heart lookout, the girl whose dog he had protected. +She dragged her horse to a halt at his side and smiled. And, oddly +enough, it was an amazingly sweet smile. It had nothing in common with +the hard smile of her profession. + +"I'm sorry I had to leave without thanking you for what you done for +me back there," said she, with a jerk of her head toward distant +Farewell. + +"Why, that's all right," Racey told her, awkwardly. + +"It meant a lot to me," she went on, her smile fading. "You wouldn't +let that feller hurt me or my dog, and I think the world of that dog." + +"Yeah." Thus Racey, very much embarrassed by her gratitude and quite +at a loss as to the proper thing to say. + +"Yes, and I'm shore grateful, stranger. I--I won't forget it. That dog +he likes me, he does. And I'm teaching him tricks. He's awful cunnin'. +And company! Say, when I'm feeling rotten that there dog _knows_, and +he climbs up in my lap and licks my ear and tries his best to be a +comfort. I tell you that dog likes me, and that means a whole lot--to +me. I--I ain't forgetting it." + +Her face was dark red. She dropped her head and began to fumble with +her reins. + +"You needn't 'a' come riding alla way out here just for this," chided +Racey, feeling that he must say something to relieve the situation. + +"It wasn't only this," she denied, tiredly. "They was something else. +And I couldn't talk to you in Farewell without him and his friends +finding it out. That's why I borrowed one of Mike Flynn's hosses an' +followed you thisaway--so's we could be private. Le's ride along. I +expect you was going somewhere." + +They rode southward side by side a space of time in silence. Racey +had nothing to say. He was too busy speculating as to the true +significance of the girl's presence. What did she want--money? These +saloon floozies always did. He hoped she wouldn't want much. For he +ruefully knew himself to be a soft-hearted fool that was never able to +resist a woman's appeal. He glanced at her covertly. Her little chin +was trembling. Poor kid. That's all she was. Just a kid. Helluva life +for a kid. Shucks. + +"Lookit here," said Racey, suddenly, "you in hard luck, huh? Don't you +worry. Yore luck is bound to turn. It always does. How much you want?" + +So saying he slid a hand into a side-pocket of his trousers. The girl +shook her head without looking at him. + +"It ain't money," she said, dully. "I make enough to keep me going." +Then with a curious flash of temper she continued, "That's always the +way with a man, ain't it? If he thinks yo're in trouble--Give her some +money. If yo're sick--Give her money. If yo're dyin'--Give her money. +Money! Money! Money! I'm so sick of money I--Don't mind me, stranger. +I don't mean nothing. I'm a--a li'l upset to-day. I--it's hard for me +to begin." + +Begin! What was the girl driving at? + +"Yes," said she. "It's hard. I ain't no snitch. I never was even when +I hadn't no use for a man--like now. But--but you stuck up for me +and my dog, and I gotta pay you back. I gotta. Listen," she pursued, +swiftly, "do you know who that feller was you shot?" + +"No." Racey shook his head. "But you don't owe me anything. Forget it. +I dunno what yo're drivin' at, and I don't wanna know if it bothers +you to tell me. But if I can do anything--anything a-tall--to help +you, why, then tell me." + +"I know," she nodded. "You'd always help a feller. Yo're that kind. +But I'm all right. That jigger you plugged is Tom Jones." + +The girl looked at Racey Dawson as though the name of Tom Jones should +have been informative of much. But, Fieldings excluded, there are many +Tom Joneses. Racey did not react. + +"Dunno him," denied Racey Dawson. "I heard his name was Nebraska." + +"Nebraska is what the boys call him," she said. "He used to be foreman +of the Currycomb outfit south of Fort Seymour." + +"I've heard of Nebraska Jones and the Currycomb bunch all right," he +admitted, soberly. "And I'd shore like to know _what_ was the matter +with Nebraska to-day." + +"So would I. _You_ were lucky." + +Racey nodded absently. The Currycomb outfit! That charming aggregation +of gunfighters had borne the hardest reputation extant in a +neighbouring territory. Regarding the Currycomb men had been +accustomed to speak behind their hands and under their breaths. For +the Currycomb politically had been a power. Which perhaps was the +_reason_ why, although the rustling of many and many a cow and the +killing of more than one man were laid at their unfriendly door, +nothing had ever been proved against them. + +They had prospered exceedingly, these Currycomb boys, till the +election of an opposition sheriff. Which election had put heart into +the more decent set and a crimp in the Currycomb. It did not matter +that legally the Currycomb possessed a clean bill of health. The +community had decided that the Currycomb must be abolished. It +was--cow, cayuse, and cowboy. + +While some had remained on the premises at an approximate depth +beneath the grass of two feet (for the ground was hard), the other +Currycombers had scattered wide and far and their accustomed places +knew them no more. + +Now it seemed that at least one of the Currycomb boys, and that one +the most notorious character of the lot, had scattered as far as +Farewell and obtruded his personality upon that of Racey Dawson. +Nebraska Jones! A cold smile stretched the corners of Racey's mouth as +he thought on what he had done. He had beaten to the draw the foreman +of the Currycomb. Which undoubtedly must have been the first time +Nebraska had ever been shaded. + +The girl was watching his face. "Don't begin to get the notion you +beat him to it," she advised, divining his thought. "He was stunned +sort of that first time, an' the second time his gun caught a little. +Nebraska is slow lightnin' on the pull. Keep thinkin' you was lucky +like you done at first." + +Racey laughed shamefacedly. "Yo're too much of a mind reader for me. +But what you telling all this to me for? I ain't the sheriff with a +warrant for Nebraska Jones." + +"I'm telling you so you'll know what to expect. So you'll get out of +town and stay out. Because, shore as yo're a foot high, you won't live +a minute longer than is plumb necessary if you don't." + +"I beat Nebraska once, and he won't get well of that lead in the +shoulder so jo-awful soon." + +"Can you beat a shot in the dark? Can you dodge a knife in the night? +It ain't a question of Nebraska Jones himself. It's the gang he's +managed to pick up in this town. They are meaner than a nest of cross +rattlesnakes. I know 'em. I know what they'll do. Right this minute +they're fixing up some way to give you yore come-uppance." + +"Think so?" + +"Think so! Say, would I come traipsing out here just for my health--or +yores? Figure it out." + +"Seems like you know a lot about Nebraska and his gang," he cast at a +venture, glancing at her sharply. + +"I lived with Nebraska--for a while," she said, matter-of-factly, +giving him a calm stare. "Li'l Marie knows all they is to know about +Nebraska Jones--and a little bit more. Which goes double for his +gang." + +"Shucks," Racey grunted contemptuously. "Does he and his gang run +Farewell? I'd always thought Farewell was a man's size town." + +"They're careful," explained the girl. "They got sense enough not +to run any blazers they can't back to the limit. Yeah, they're +careful--now." + +"Now, huh? Later, when they've filled their hands and there's more of +'em playin' they might not be so careful, huh, Marie?" + +"Unless yo're a heap careful right now you won't have a thing to do +with 'later,'" she parried. "You do like I say, Mister Man. I ain't a +bit anxious to see you wiped out." + +"Wiping me out would shore cramp my style," he admitted. "I--" + +At this juncture hoofbeats sounded sharply on the trail behind them. +Racey turned in a flesh, his right hand dropping. But it was only +Lanpher and the stranger riding out of a belt of pines whose deep and +lusty soughing had drowned the noise of their approach. + +Lanpher and his comrade rode by at a trot. The former mumbled a +greeting to Racey but barely glanced at the girl. Women did not +interest Lanpher. He was too selfishly stingy. The stranger was more +appreciative. He gave the girl a stare of frank admiration before he +looked at Racey Dawson. The latter perceived that the stranger's eyes +were remarkably black and keen, perceived, too, that the man as he +rode past and on half turned in the saddle for a second look at the +girl. + +"Who's yore friend?" asked Marie, an insolent lift to her upper lip +and a slightly puzzled look in her brown eyes as her gaze followed the +stranger and Lanpher. + +"Friend?" said Racey. "Speaking personal, now, I ain't lost either of +'em." + +"I know who Lanpher is," she told him, impatiently. "I meant the +other." + +"I'll never tell yuh. I dunno him." + +"I think I've seen him somewhere--sometime. I can't remember where or +how--I see so many men. There! I almost had it. Gone again now. Don't +it make you sick when things get away from you like that? Makes you +think yo're a-losing yore mind almost." + +"He looked at you almighty strong," proffered Racey. "Maybe _he'll_ +remember. Why don't you ask him?" + +"Maybe I will at that," said she. + +"Didja know he was a friend of Nebraska's?" he asked, watching her +face keenly. + +She shook her head. "Nebraska knows a lot of folks," she said, +indifferently. + +"He knows Punch-the-breeze Thompson, too." + +"Likely he would, knowing Nebraska. He belongs to Nebraska's bunch." + +"What does Nebraska do for a living?" + +"Everybody and anything. Mostly he deals a game in the Starlight." + +"What does Peaches Austin work at?" he pursued, thinking that it might +be well to learn what he could of the enemy's habits. + +"He deals another game in the Happy Heart." + +"'The hand is quicker than the eye,'" he quoted, cynically, recalling +what the stranger had said to Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"Oh, Peaches is slick enough," said she, comprehending instantly. "But +Nebraska is slicker. Don't never sit into no game with Nebraska Jones. +Lookit here," she added, her expression turning suddenly anxious, "did +I take my ride for nothing?" + +"Huh?... Oh, that! Shore not. You bet I'm obliged to you, and I hope I +can do as much for you some day. But I wasn't figuring on staying here +any length of time. Swing--he's my friend--and I are going down to try +Arizona a spell. We'll be pulling out to-morrow, I expect." + +"Then all you got to look out for is to-night. But I'm telling you you +better drag it to-morrow shore." + +Racey smiled slowly. "If it wasn't I got business down south I'd +admire to stay. I ain't leaving a place just because I ain't popular, +not nohow. I'm over twenty-one. I got my growth." + +"It don't matter why you go. Yo're a-going. That's enough. It's a good +thing for you you got business, and you can stick a pin in that." + +"I'll have to do something about them friends of his alla same, before +I go," Racey said, thoughtfully. + +"Huh?" Perplexedly. + +"Yeah. If they're a-honing to bushwhack me for what I did to Nebraska, +it ain't fair for me to go sifting off thisaway and not give 'em +some kind of a run for their alley. Look at it close. You can see it +ain't." + +"I don't see nothing--" + +"Shore you do. It would give 'em too much of a chance to talk. They +might even get to saying they ran me out o' town. And the more I think +of it the more I'm shore they'll be saying just that." + +"But you said you was going away. You said you had business in +Arizona." + +"Shore I have, and shore I'm going. But first I gotta give Nebraska's +friends a chance to draw cards. A chance, y' understand." + +"You'll be killed," she told him, white-lipped. + +"Why, no," said he. "Not never a-tall. Drawing cards is one thing and +playing the hand out is a cat with another kind of tail. I got hopes +they won't get too rough with me." + +"Well, of all the stubborn damn fools I ever saw--" began the girl, +angrily. + +At which Racey Dawson laughed aloud. + +"That's all right," she snapped. "You can laugh. Might 'a' knowed you +would. A man is such a plumb idjit. A feller does all she can to show +him the right trail out, and does he take it? He does not. He laughs. +That's what he does. He laughs. He thinks it's funny. You gimme a +pain, you do!" + +On the instant she jerked her pony round, whirled her quirt +cross-handed, and tore down the back-trail at full gallop. + +"Aw, hell," said Racey, looking after the fleeing damsel regretfully. +"I clean forgot to ask her about the rest of Nebraska's friends." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE OLD LADY + + +"Hope Old Man Dale is home," said Racey to himself when he saw ahead of +him the grove of cottonwoods marking the location of Moccasin Spring. +"But he won't be," he added, lugubriously. "I never did have any +luck." + +He passed the grove of trees and opened up the prospect of house and +stable and corral with cottonwood and willow-bordered Soogan Creek in +the background. + +"Changed some since I was here last," he muttered in wonder. For +nesters as a rule do not go in for flowers and shrubs. And here, +besides a small truck garden, were both--all giving evidence of much +care and attention. + +Racey dismounted at the corral and approached the kitchen door. A +fresh young voice in the kitchen was singing a song to the brave +accompaniment of a twanging banjo: + + "_When I was a-goin' down the road + With a tired team an' a heavy load, + I cracked my whip an' the leader sprung, + An' he almost busted the wagon tongue. + Turkey in the straw, ha! ha! ha! + Turkey in_--" + +The singing stopped in the middle of a line. The banjo went silent +in the middle of a bar. Racey looked in at the kitchen door and saw, +sitting on a corner of the kitchen table, a very pretty girl. One knee +was crossed over the other, in her lap was the mute banjo, and she was +looking straight at him. + +Racey, heartily and internally cursing himself for having neglected to +shave, pulled off his hat and achieved a head-hob. + +"Good morning," said the pretty girl, putting up a slim tanned hand +and tucking in behind a well-set ear a strayed lock of black hair. + +"Mornin'," said Racey, and decided then and there that he had never +before seen eyes of such a deep, dark blue, or a mouth so alluringly +red. + +"What," said the pretty girl, laying the banjo on the table and +sliding down till her feet touched the floor, "what can I do for you?" + +"Nun-nothin'," stuttered the rattled Racey, clasping his hat to his +bosom, so that he could button unseen the top button of his shirt, +"except cuc-can you find Miss Dale for me. Is she home?" + +"Mother's out. So's Father, I'm the only one home." + +"It's yore sister I want, _Miss_ Dale--yore oldest sister." + +"You must mean Mrs. Morgan. She lives--" + +"No, I don't mean her. Yore _oldest_ sister, Miss. Her whose hoss was +taken by mistake in Farewell yesterday." + +"That was my horse." + +"Yores! But they said it was an _old_ lady's hoss! Are you shore it--" + +"Of course I'm sure. Did you bring him back?... Where?... The corral?" + +The girl walked swiftly to the window, took one glance at the bay +horse tied to the corral gate, and returned to the table. + +"Certainly that's _my_ horse," she reiterated with the slightest of +smiles. + +Racey Dawson stared at her in horror. Her horse! He had actually run +off with the horse of this beautiful being. He had thereby caused +inconvenience to this angel. If he could only crawl off somewhere and +pass away quietly. At the moment, by his own valuation, any one buying +him for a nickel would have been liberally overcharged. Her horse! +"I--I took yore hoss," he spoke up, desperately. "I'm Racey Dawson." + +"So you're the man--" she began, and stopped. + +He nodded miserably, his contrite eyes on the toes of her shoes. Small +shoes they were. Cheerfully would he have lain down right there on the +floor and let her wipe those selfsame shoes upon him. It would have +been a positive pleasure. He felt so worm-like he almost wriggled. +Slowly, oh, very slowly, he lifted his eyes to her face. + +"I--I was drunk," he confessed, hoping that an honest confession would +restrain her from casting him into outer darkness. + +"I heard you were," she admitted. + +"I thought it was yore oldest sister's pony," he bumbled on, feeling +it incumbent upon him to say something. "They told me something about +an old lady." + +"Jane Morgan's the only other sister I have. Who told you this wild +tale?" + +"Them," was his vague reply. He was not the man to give away the +jokers of Farewell. Old lady, indeed! Miss Blythe to the contrary +notwithstanding this girl was not within sight of middle-age. "Yeah," +he went on, "they shore fooled me. Told me I'd taken an old maid's +hoss, and--" + +"Oh, as far as that goes," said the girl, her long eyelashes demurely +drooping, "they told you the truth. I'm an old maid." + +"You? Shucks!" Hugely contemptuous. + +"Oh, but I am," she insisted, raising her eyes and tilting sidewise +her charming head. "I'm not married." + +"Thank--" he began, impulsively, but choked on the second word and +gulped hard. "I mean," he resumed, hastily, "I don't understand why I +never saw you before. I was here once, but you weren't around." + +"When were you here?... Why, that was two years ago. I was only a kid +then--all legs like a calf. No wonder you didn't notice me." + +She laughed at him frankly, with a bewildering flash of white teeth. + +"I shore must 'a' been blind," he said, truthfully. "They ain't any +two ways about _that_." + +Under his admiring gaze a slow blush overspread her smooth cheeks. She +laughed again--uncertainly, and burst into swift speech. "My manners! +What have I been thinking of? Mr. Dawson, please sit down, do. I know +you must be tired after your long ride. Take that chair under the +mirror. It's the strongest. You can tip it back against the wall if +you like. I'll get you a cup of coffee. I know you're thirsty. I'm +sorry Mother and Father aren't home, but Mother drove over to the Bar +S on business and I don't know where Father went!" + +"I ain't fit to stay," hesitated Racey, rasping the back of his hand +across his stubbly chin. + +"Nonsense. You sit right down while I grind the coffee. I'll have you +a potful in no time. I make pretty good coffee if I do say it myself." + +"I'll bet you do." + +"But my sister Jane makes better. You'll get some of hers at dinner." + +"Dinner?" He stared blankly. + +"Of course, dinner. When Mother and Father are away I always go down +there for my meals. It's only a quarter-mile down stream. Shorter if +you climb that ridge. But it's so stony I generally go along the creek +bank where I can gallop.... What? Why, of course you're going with +me. Jane would never forgive me if I didn't bring you. And what would +Chuck say if you came this far and then didn't go on down to his +house? Don't you suppose he enjoys seeing his old friends? It was only +last week I heard him wonder to Father if you were ever coming back to +this country. How did you like it up at the Bend?" + +"Right fine," he told her, settling himself comfortably in the chair +she had indicated. "But a feller gets tired of one place after a +while. I thought maybe I'd come back to the Lazy River and get a job +ridin' the range again." + +"Aren't there any ranches round the Bend?" she asked, poking up the +fire and setting on the coffee-pot. + +"Plenty, but I--I like the Lazy River country," he told her. "Fort +Creek country for yores truly, now and hereafter." + +In this fashion did the proposed journey to Arizona go glimmering. His +eye lingered on the banjo where it lay on the table. + +"Can you play it?" she asked, her eye following his. + +"Some," said he. "Want to hear a camp-meeting song?" + +She nodded. He rose and picked up the banjo. He placed a foot on the +chair seat, slid the banjo to rest on his thigh, swept the strings, +and broke into "Inchin' Along". Which ditty made her laugh. For it is +a funny song, and he sang it well. + +"That was fine," she told him when he had sung it through. "Your voice +sounds a lot like that of a man I heard singing in Farewell yesterday. +He was in the Happy Heart when I was going by, and he sang _Jog on, +jog on the footpath way_. If it hadn't been a saloon I'd have gone in. +I just _love_ the old songs." + +"You do?" said he, delightedly, with shining eyes. "Well, Miss Dale, +that feller in the saloon was me, and old songs is where I live. I +cut my teeth on 'The Barley Mow' and grew up with 'Barbara Allen'. My +mother she used to sing 'em all. She was a great hand to sing and she +taught me. Know 'The Keel Row?'" + +She didn't, so he sang it for her. And others he sang, too--"The Merry +Cuckoo" and "The Bailiff's Daughter". The last she liked so well that +he sang it three times over, and they quite forgot the coffee. + +Racey Dawson was starting the second verse of "Sourwood Mountain" when +someone without coughed apologetically. Racey stopped singing and +looked toward the doorway. Standing in the sunken half-round log that +served as a doorstep was the stranger he had seen with Lanpher. + +There was more than a hint of amusement in the black eyes with which +the stranger was regarding Racey. The latter felt that the stranger +was enjoying a hearty internal laugh at his expense. As probably he +was. Racey looked at him from beneath level brows. The lid of the +stranger's right eye dropped ever so little. It was the merest of +winks. Yet it was unmistakable. It recalled their morning's meeting. +More, it was the tolerant wink of a superior to an inferior. A wink +that merited a kick? Quite so. + +The keen black eyes veered from Racey to the girl. The man removed his +hat and bowed with, it must be said, not a little grace. Miss Dale +nodded coldly. The stranger smiled. It was marvellous how the magic of +that smile augmented the attractive good looks of the stranger's full +face. It was equally singular how that self-same smile rendered more +hawk-like than ever the hard and Roman profile of the fellow. It was +precisely as though he were two different men at one and the same +time. + +"Does Mr. Dale live here?" inquired the stranger. + +"He does." A breath from the Boreal Pole was in the two words uttered +by Miss Dale. + +The stranger's smile widened. The keen black eyes began to twinkle. He +made as if to enter, but went no farther than the placing of one foot +on the doorsill. + +"Is he home?" + +"He isn't." Clear and colder. + +"I'm shore sorry," grieved the stranger, the smile waning a trifle. "I +wanted to see him." + +"I supposed as much," sniffed Miss Dale, uncordially. + +"Yes, Miss," said the stranger, undisturbed. "When will he be back, if +I might ask?" + +"To-night--to-morrow. I'm not sure." + +"So I see," nodded the stranger. "Would it be worth while my waitin'?" + +"That depends on what you call worth while." + +"You're right. It does. Standards ain't always alike, are they." +He laughed silently, and pulled on his hat. "And it's a good thing +standards ain't all alike," he resumed, chattily. "Wouldn't it be a +funny old world if they were?" + +The smile of him recognized Racey briefly, but it rested upon and +caressed the girl. She shook her shoulders as if she were ridding +herself of the touch of hands. + +The stranger continued to smile--and to look as if he expected a +reply. But he did not get it. Miss Dale stared calmly at him, through +him. + +Slowly the stranger slid his foot from the doorsill to the doorstep; +slowly, very slowly, his keenly twinkling black gaze travelled over +the girl from her face to her feet and up again to finally fasten upon +and hold as with a tangible grip her angry blue eyes. + +"I'm sorry yore pa ain't here," he resumed in a drawl. "I had some +business. It can wait. I'll be back. So long." + +The stranger turned and left them. + +From the kitchen window they watched him mount his horse and ford the +creek and ride away westward. + +"I don't like that man," declared Miss Dale, and caught her lower lip +between her white teeth. "I wonder what he wanted?" + +"You'll find out when he comes back." Dryly. + +"I hope he never comes back. I never want to see him again. Do you +know him?" + +"Not me. First time I ever saw him was this morning in Farewell. He +was with Lanpher. When I was coming out here he and Lanpher caught up +with me and passed me." + +"He didn't bring Lanpher here with him anyhow." + +"He didn't for a fact," assented Racey Dawson, his eyes following the +dwindling figures of the rider and his horse. "I wonder why?" + +"I wonder, too." Thus Miss Dale with a gurgling chuckle. + +Both laughed. For Racey's sole visit to the Dale place had been made +in company with Lanpher. The cause of said visit had been the rustling +and butchering of an 88 cow, which Lanpher had ill-advisedly essayed +to fasten upon Mr. Dale. But, due to the interference of Chuck Morgan, +a Bar S rider, who later married Jane Dale, Lanpher's attempt had been +unavailing. It may be said in passing that Lanpher had suffered both +physically and mentally because of that visit. Of course he had +neither forgiven Chuck Morgan nor the Bar S for backing up its +puncher, which it had done to the limit. + +"I quit the 88 that day," Racey Dawson told the girl. + +"I know you did. Chuck told me. Look at the time, will you? Get your +hat. We mustn't keep Jane waiting." + +"No," he said, thoughtfully, his brows puckered, "we mustn't keep Jane +waitin'. Lookit, Miss Dale, as I remember yore pa he had a moustache. +Has he still got it?" + +Miss Dale puzzled, paused in the doorway. "Why, no," she told him. "He +wears a horrid chin whisker now." + +"He does, huh? A chin whisker. Let's be movin' right along. I think +I've got something interesting to tell you and yore sister and Chuck." + +But they did not move along. They halted in the doorway. Or, rather, +the girl halted in the doorway, and Racey looked over her shoulder. +What stopped them short in their tracks was a spectacle--the spectacle +of an elderly chin-whiskered man, very drunk and disorderly, riding in +on a paint pony. + +"Father!" breathed Miss Dale in a horror-stricken whisper. + +And as she spoke Father uttered a string of cheerful whoops and topped +off with a long pull at a bottle he had been brandishing in his right +hand. + +"Please go," said Miss Dale to Racey Dawson. + +He hesitated. He was in a quandary. He did not relish leaving her +with--At that instant Mr. Dale decided Racey's course for him. Mr. +Dale pulled a gun and, still whooping cheerily, shook five shots into +the atmosphere. Then Mr. Dale fumblingly threw out his cylinder and +began to reload. + +"I'd better get his gun away from him," Racey said, apologetically, +over his shoulder, as he ran forward. + +But the old man would have none of him. He cunningly discerned an +enemy in Racey and tried to shoot him. It was lucky for Racey that the +old fellow was as drunk as a fiddler, or certainly Racey would have +been buried the next day. As it was, the first bullet went wide by a +yard. The second went straight up into the blue, for by then Racey had +the old man's wrist. + +"There, there," soothed Racey, "you don't want that gun, Nawsir. Not +you. Le's have it, that's a good feller now." + +So speaking he twisted the sixshooter from the old man's grasp and +jammed it into the waistband of his own trousers. The old man burst +into frank tears. Incontinently he slid sidewise from the saddle and +clasped Racey round the neck. + + "_I'm wild an' woolly an' full o' fleas + I'm hard to curry below the knees_--" + +Thus he carolled loudly two lines of the justly popular song. + +"Luke," he bawled, switching from verse to prose, "why didja leave me, +Luke?" + +Strangely enough, he did not stutter. Without the slightest difficulty +he leaped that pitfall of the drunken, the letter L. + +"Luke," repeated Racey Dawson, struck by a sudden thought. "What's +this about Luke? You mean Luke Tweezy?" + +The old man rubbed his shaving-brush adown Racey's neck-muscles. "I +mean Luke Tweezy," he said. "Lots o' folks don't like Luke. They say +he's mean. But they ain't nothin' mean about Luke. He's frien' o' +mine, Luke is." + +"Mr. Dawson," said Molly Dale at Racey's elbow, "please go, I can get +him into the house. You can do no good here." + +"I can do lots o' good here," declared Racey, who felt sure that he +was on the verge of a discovery. "Somebody is a-trying to jump yore +ranch, and if you'll lemme talk to him I can find out who it is." + +"Who--how?" said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright +and embarrassment engendered by her father's condition the true +significance of Racey's remark was not immediately apparent. + +"Yore ranch," repeated Racey, sharply. "They're a-tryin' to steal it +from you. You lemme talk to him, ma'am. Look out! Grab his bridle!" + +Miss Dale seized the bridle of her father's horse in time to prevent +a runaway. She was not aware that the horse's attempt to run away had +been inspired by Racey surreptitiously and severely kicking it on +the fetlock. This he had done that Miss Dale's thoughts might be +temporarily diverted from her father. Anything to keep her from +shooing him away as she so plainly wished to do. + +Racey began to assist the now-crumpling Mr. Dale toward the house. +"What's this about Luke Tweezy?" prodded Racey. "Did you see him +to-day?" + +"Shore I seen him to-day," burbled the drunken one. "He left me at +McFluke's after buyin' me the bottle and asked me to stay there till +he got back. But I got tired waitin'. So I come along. I--hic--come +along." + +Limply the man's whole weight sagged down against Racey's supporting +arm, and he began to snore. + +"Shucks," muttered Racey, then stooping he picked up the limp body in +his arms and carried it to the house. + +"He's asleep," he called to Miss Dale. "Where'll I put him?" + +"I'll show you," she said, with a break in her voice. + +She hastily tied the now-quiet pony to a young cottonwood growing at +the corner of the house and preceded Racey into the kitchen. + +"Here," she said, her eyes meeting his a fleeting instant as she threw +open a door giving into an inner room. "On the bed." + +She turned back the counterpane and Racey laid her snoring parent on +the blanket. Expertly he pulled off the man's boots and stood them +side by side against the wall. + +"Had to take 'em off now, or his feet would swell so after you'd never +get 'em off," he said in justification of his conduct. + +She held the door open for him to leave the room. She did not look at +him. Nor did she speak. + +"I'm going now," he said, standing in the middle of the kitchen. "But +I wish you wouldn't shut that door just yet." + +"I--Oh, can't you see you're not wanted here?" Her voice was shaking. +The door was open but a crack. He could not see her. + +"I know," he said, gently. "But you don't understand how serious this +business is. I had good reason for believing that somebody is trying +to steal yore ranch. From several things yore dad said I'm shorer than +ever. If I could only talk to you a li'l while." + +At this she came forth. Her eyes were downcast. Her cheeks were red +with shamed blood. She leaned against the table. One closed fist +rested on the top of the table. The knuckles showed white. She was +trembling a little. + +"Where and what is McFluke's?" he asked. + +"Oh, that's where he got it!" she exclaimed, bitterly. + +"I guess. If you wouldn't mind telling me where McFluke's is, ma'am--" + +"It's a little saloon and store on the Marysville road at the Lazy +River ford." + +"It's new since my time then." + +"It's been in operation maybe a year and a half. What makes you think +someone is trying to steal our ranch?" + +"Lots o' things," he told her, briskly. "But they ain't gonna do it if +I can help it. Don't you fret. It will all come out right. Shore it +will. Can't help it." + +"But tell me how--what you know," she demanded. + +"I haven't time now, unless you're coming with me to see Chuck." + +"I can't--now." + +"Then you ask Chuck later. I'll tell him all about it. You ask him. So +long." + +Racey hurried out and caught up his own horse. He swung into the +saddle and spurred away down stream. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +McFLUKE'S + + +"They been after him to sell a long time," said Chuck Morgan, rolling a +cigarette as he and Racey Dawson jogged along toward McFluke's at the +ford of the Lazy. + +"Who?" asked Racey. + +"I dunno. Can't find out. Luke Tweezy is the agent and he won't give +the party's name." + +"Has Old Salt tried to buy him out?" + +"Not as I know of. Why should he? He knows he won't sell to anybody." + +"Have they been after you, too?" + +"Not yet. Dad Dale's the lad they want special. My ranch would be a +good thing, but it ain't noways necessary like Dale's is to anybody +startin' a big brand. Lookit the way Dale's lays right across the +valley between them two ridges like a cork in a bottle. A mile wide +here, twenty mile away between Funeral Slue and Cabin Hill she's a +good thirty mile wide--one cracking big triangle of the best grass +in the territory. All free range, but without Dale's section and his +water rights to begin with what good is it?" + +"Not much," conceded Racey. + +"And nobody would dast to start a brand between Funeral Slue and Cabin +Hill," pursued Chuck. "Free range or not, it as good as belongs to the +Bar S." + +"Old Salt used to run quite a bunch round Cabin Hill and another north +near the Slue." + +"He does yet--one or two thousand head in all, maybe. Oh, these +fellers ain't foolish enough to crowd Old Salt that close. They know +Dale's is their best chance." + +Racey's eyes travelled, from one ridge to the other. "How come they +allowed Dale to take up a six-forty?" he inquired. + +"They didn't," was the answer. "The section is made up of four claims, +his'n, Jane's, Molly's, an' Mis' Dale's. But they're proved up now, +and made over to him all regular. That's how come." + +"Haven't Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar got a claim some'ers over +yonder on Dale's land?" inquired Racey, looking toward the northerly +ridge. + +"They had, but they got discouraged and sold out to Dale the same time +Slippery Wilson and his wife traded in their claims on the other side +of the ridge to Old Salt and Tom Loudon. None of 'em's worth anything, +though." + +Racey nodded. "Dale ever drink much?" was his next question. + +"He used to before he come here. But he took the cure and quit. +To-day's the first bust-up he's had since he hit this country." + +"That's it, then. Luke gave him the redeye so's he'd be easy meat for +the butcher. Does he ever gamble any?" + +"Shore--before he came West. Jane done told me how back East in +McPherson, Kansas, he used to go the limit forty ways--liquor, cards, +the whole layout o' hellraising. But his habits rode him to a frazzle +final and he knuckled under to tooberclosis, and they only saved his +life by fetchin' him West. All of us thought he was cured for good." + +"Now Luke Tweezy has started him off so's Nebraska--Peaches Austin, I +mean, can get in his fine work. It's plain enough." + +"Shore," assented Chuck Morgan. "Yonder's McFluke's," he added, +nodding toward two gray-brown log and shake shacks and a stockaded +corral roosting on the high ground beyond the belt of cottonwoods +and willows marking the course of the Lazy. "Them's his stables and +corral," went on Chuck. "The house she's down near the river. Can't +see her on account of the cottonwoods." + +"And they can't see us count of the cottonwoods. So--" + +"Unless he's at the corral." + +"I'll take the chance, Chuck. You stay here--down that draw is a good +place. I'll go on alone. McFluke don't know me. Maybe I can find out +something, see. Bimeby you come along--half-hour, maybe. You don't +know me, either. I'll get into conversation with you. You follow my +lead. We'll pull McFluke in if we can. Between the two of us--Well, +anyhow, we'll see what he says." + +Chuck Morgan nodded, and turned his horse aside toward the draw. + +Ten minutes later the water of the Lazy River was sluicing the dust +from the legs and belly of Racey Dawson's horse. Racey spurred up the +bank and rode toward the long, low building that was McFluke's store +and saloon. + +There were no ponies standing at the hitching-rail in front of the +place. For this Racey was devoutly thankful. If he could only catch +McFluke by himself. + +As Racey dismounted at the rail a man came to the open doorway of the +house and looked at him. He was a heavy-set man, dewlapped like a +bloodhound, and his hard blue eyes were close-coupled. The reptilian +forehead did not signify a superior mentality, even as the slack, +retreating chin denoted a minimum of courage. It was a most +contradictory face. The features did not balance. Racey Dawson was not +a student of physiognomy, but he recognized a weak chin when he saw +it. If this man were indeed McFluke, then he, Racey Dawson, was in +luck. + +Without a word the man turned from the doorway. Racey heard him +walking across the floor. And for so heavy a man his step was +amazingly light. Racey went into the house. The room he entered was +a large one. In front of a side wall tiered to the low ceiling with +shelves bearing a sorry assortment of ranch supplies was the store +counter. Across the back of the room ran the long bar. Behind the bar, +flanking the door giving into another room, were two shelves heavily +stocked with rows of bottles. + +The man that had come to the door was behind the bar. His hands were +resting on top of it, and he was staring fixedly and fishily at +Racey Dawson. There was no welcome in his face. Nor was there any +unfriendliness. It was simply exceedingly expressionless. + +Racey draped himself against the bar. "Liquor," said he. + +Having absorbed a short one, he poured himself a second. "Have one +with me," he nodded to the man. + +"All right." The man's tone was as expressionless as his face. "Here's +hell." He filled and drank. + +Racey looked about the room. + +"Where's Old Man Dale?" he asked, casually. + +"He got away on me," replied the man. "He--Say!"--with sudden +suspicion--"who are you?" + +"Are you McFluke?" shot back Racey. + +The man nodded slowly, suspicion continuing to brighten his hard blue +eyes. + +"Then what didja let him get away for?" persisted Racey. "Luke Tweezy +said he left him here, and he said he'd stay here. That was yore +job--to see he _stayed_ here." + +"Who are--" began the suspicious McFluke. + +"Nemmine who I am," rapped out Racey, who believed he had formed a +correct estimate of McFluke. "I'm somebody who knows more about this +deal than you do, and that's enough for you to know. Why didn't you +hold Old Man Dale?" + +"I--He got away on me," knuckled down McFluke. "I was in the kitchen +gettin' me some coffee, and when I come back he had dragged it." + +"Luke Tweezy will be tickled to death with you," said Racey Dawson. +"What do you s'pose he went to all that trouble for?" + +"I couldn't help it, could I? I ain't got eyes in the back of my head +so's I can see round corners an' through doors. How'd I know Old Man +Dale was gonna slide off? When I left him he was all so happy with +his bottle you'd 'a' thought he'd took root for life. Anyway, Peaches +Austin oughta come before the old man left. He was supposed to come, +and he didn't. If anything slips up account o' this it's gotta be +blamed on Peaches." + +"Yeah, I guess so. And Peaches ain't been here yet?" + +"Not yet, and I wish to Gawd he was never comin'." + +The man's tone was so earnest that Racey looked at him, startled. + +"Why not?" he asked, coldly. + +"Because I don't wanna get my head blowed off, that's why." + +"Aw, maybe it won't come to that. Maybe Luke will win out." + +"It ain't only Luke Tweezy who's gotta win out, and you know it. And +they's an 'if' the size of Pike's Peak between us and winning out. I +tell you, I don't like it. It's too damn dangerous." + +"Shore, it's dangerous," assented Racey, slowly revolving his glass +between his thumb and fingers, and wondering how far he dared go with +this McFluke person. "But a gent has to live." + +"He don't have to get himself killed doin' it," snarled McFluke, +swabbing down the bar. "Who's that a-comin'?" + +He went to the doorway to see for himself who it was that rode so +briskly on the Marysville trail. "Peaches Austin!" he sneered. "He's +only about three hours late." + +It was now or never. Racey risked all on a single cast. + +"What did the boss say when him and Lanpher got here and found old +Dale gone?" he asked, carelessly. + +"He raised hell," replied McFluke. "But Lanpher wasn't with him. Yuh +know old Dale hates Lanpher like poison. Well, I told Jack, like I +tell you, that if anything slips up account o' this, Peaches Austin +can take the blame." + +Racey nodded indifferently and slouched sidewise so that he could +watch the doorway without dislocating his neck. McFluke, his back +turned, still stood in the doorway. Racey lowered a cautious hand and +loosened his sixshooter in its holster. He wished that he had taken +the precaution to tie it down. It was impossible to foresee what the +next few minutes might bring forth. Certainly the coming of Peaches +Austin was most inopportune. + +Peaches Austin galloped up. He dismounted. He tied his horse. He +greeted cheerily the glowering McFluke. The latter did not reply in +kind. + +"This is a fine time for you to get here," he growled. "A fi-ine +time." + +"Shut up, you fool!" cautioned Peaches in a low voice. "Ain't you got +no better sense, with the old man--" + +"Don't let the old man worry you," yapped McFluke. "The old man has +done flitted. And Jack's been here and _he's_ done flitted." + +"Whose hoss is that?" demanded Peaches, evidently referring to Racey's +mount. + +"One of the boys," replied McFluke. "One o' Jack's friends. C'mon in." + +Entered then Peaches Austin, a lithe, muscular person with pale +eyes and a face the colour of a dead fish's belly. He stared +non-committally at Racey Dawson. It was evident that Peaches Austin +was taking no one on trust. He nodded briefly to Racey, and strode to +the bar. McFluke went behind the bar. + +"Ain't I seen you in Farewell, stranger?" Peaches Austin asked, +shortly. + +"You might have," returned Racey. "I'm mighty careless where I +travel." + +"Known Jack long?" Peaches was becoming nothing if not personal. + +"Long enough," smiled Racey. + +"Lookit here, who are you?" + +"That's what's worryin' McFluke," dodged Racey, wishing that he could +see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands. + +But McFluke was employing his hands in nothing more dangerous than the +fetching of a bottle from some recess under and behind the bar. Now he +laughed. + +"He ain't tellin' all he knows," he said to Peaches Austin. "Don't be +so damn suspiciony, Peaches. He's a friend of Jack's, I tell you. He +knows all about the deal." + +"That don't make him no friend of Jack's," declared Peaches, +stubbornly. "I--" + +At which juncture Peaches' flow of language was interrupted by the +sudden entrance of Chuck Morgan. Chuck, after a sweeping glance round +the room, headed straight for the bar. + +"McFluke," said Chuck, halting a yard from the bar, "did you sell any +redeye to Old Man Dale to-day?" + +"What's that to you?" demanded McFluke, truculently. + +"Why, this," replied Chuck, producing a sixshooter so swiftly that +McFluke blinked. "You listen to me," he resumed, harshly. "It don't +matter whether you sold it to him or not. He _got_ it here, and that's +the main thing. I'm telling you if he gets any more I'm gonna make you +hard to find." + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" inquired McFluke. + +"Don't do that," Racey said, suddenly, as his hand shot out and pinned +fast the right wrist of Peaches Austin. "C'mon outside now, where we +can talk. Right through the door. To yore left. Aw right, now they +can't hear us. Lookit, they ain't any call for a gunplay, none +whatever. This gent is only laying down the law to Mac. And here you +have to get serious right away. See how easy Mac takes it. He ain't +doing a thing, not a thing. Good as gold, Mac is. Can't you see how +a killing thisaway, and a fellah like Morgan, too, would maybe put +a crimp in this place for good? Have some sense, man. We need +McFluke's." + +"He hadn't oughta drawed on Mac," said Peaches, his pale eyes, shifty +as a cat's, darting incessantly between Racey and the doorway. + +"He didn't shoot him. And he ain't. You lemme attend to this, will +you? I'll get him away quiet and peaceable--if I can. But you keep out +of it. Y'understand?" + +Peaches Austin gnawed his lower lip. "I never did like Chuck Morgan," +he grumbled. "It was a good chance." + +"A good chance to get yoreself lynched. Shore. It was all that." + +"Say, I'd like to know where you come in, stranger. Jack never said +anything to me about any feller yore size." + +"Jack is like me. He ain't tellin' all he knows. And while we're +talking about Jack, I'll tell you something. And that's to keep away +from Farewell for three-four days." + +"Why for?" + +"So's to give Jack a chance to cool off. He's hotter than a wet wolf +'cause you didn't turn up here on time." + +"I ain't afraid of Jack." + +"'Course you ain't. But you know how Jack is. Even if it don't come to +a showdown, there'll be words passed. And I don't wanna run any risk +of you quitting the outfit. Every man is needed. You be sensible and +stick here with McFluke three-four days like I say, and after that +c'mon in to Farewell. In the meantime, I'll see Jack and tell him +how it happened you didn't get here on time. And how did it happen, +anyway?" + +Peaches Austin looked this way and that before replying. + +"I shore don't like to tell how it happened," he said. "Sounds so +babyish like. But my hat blowed off over this side of Injun Ridge a +ways and when I leaned down to pick her up, my hoss started, my hand +slipped, and I went off on my head kerblam. And do you know, I'll bet +I was three hours a-running from hell to breakfast before I caught +that hoss where he was feedin' in a narrow draw. I'm all tired out +yet. They ain't no strength in my legs." + +"I'll fix it up with Jack," Racey lied with a wonderfully straight +face. "Don't you worry." + +"I ain't worryin'," Peaches denied, irritably. "I ain't afraid of +Jack, I tell you." + +"Shore," soothed Racey, who, having formed an estimate of Peaches, +ranked him scarcely higher than McFluke and treated him accordingly. +"Shore, I know you ain't. But alla same you need considerable of a +coolin' off yoreself. Just you stay out here now and watch me get +Morgan away." + +Racey nodded blithely to Peaches Austin, and turned to go into the +house. He saw that Chuck Morgan had come outside, that he had brought +McFluke with him, and was observing events with a cold and calculating +eye. + +"I tell you I couldn't help his getting the whiskey," McFluke was +whining. "It ain't my fault if somebody gives it to him, is it?" + +"Of course not," chimed in Racey, briskly. "Mac means all right. +He didn't know there was any law against providing old Dale with +whiskey." + +"They is a law," insisted Chuck Morgan, belligerently, his gun trained +unswervingly on McFluke's broad stomach. "They is a law. I made it. +And it goes. Peaches," he added, raising his voice, "don't you slide +round the house now. If you move so much as a yard from where yo're +standing I ventilate McFluke immediate." + +"I wouldn't do that," said Racey, mildly. + +"I got my eye on you, too," declared Chuck. "What I said to Peaches +goes for you, and don't you forget it." + +"I ain't likely to, not me. All I want you to do is go some'ers else +peaceful. You ain't figuring on living here, are you?" + +Chuck uttered a short, hard laugh. McFluke's back was toward Racey. +Peaches Austin was behind him, thirty feet away. Racey's left eyelid +drooped. His head moved almost imperceptibly toward his horse. + +"I'm going now," said Chuck. + +"I'll go with you just to see you on yore way sort of," said Racey. + +"You was going with me anyway sort of," Chuck told him. "Yo're the +only _man_ round here so far's I can see, and I ain't taking any +chances on you, not a chance. Yo're going down the trail a spell with +me. Later you can come back. Keep yore hands where they are." + +Quickly Chuck shoved McFluke to one side, rushed forward, and +possessed himself of Racey's gun. "Crawl yore hoss," he commanded. + +Racey obeyed without a word. Chuck climbed into his own saddle without +losing the magic of the drop and without losing sight for an instant +of McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Take the trail south," said Chuck Morgan, and backed his horse in a +wide half-circle. + +Racey did as he was ordered. Three minutes later he was joined by his +friend. Until the trail took them down into a draw grown up in spruce +Chuck's gun remained very much in evidence. Any unbiased spectator +without a knowledge of the facts would have said that he was keeping a +close watch on Racey Dawson. + +Once out of sight of the house of McFluke, Chuck sheathed his +sixshooter with a jerk and returned Racey's gun. + +"You did fine at the last," Racey said, admiringly, as he bolstered +his weapon. "But what did you jump McFluke for thataway at first? That +come almighty near kicking the kettle over, that play did." + +"I know," said Chuck, shamefacedly, "and when I rode up to the shack +I hadn't intended anything like that. But when I saw that slickery +juniper McFluke standing there behind the bar so fat and sassy, it +come over me all of a sudden what he'd done to the Dale family by +letting old Dale have whiskey, that I couldn't help myself. Gawd, I +wanted to knock him down and tromp his face flat as a floor. It ain't +as if McFluke ain't been told about old Dale's failing. I warned him +when he first came here last year not to let old Dale have redeye on +any account." + +"I know," nodded Racey, soberly, "but you want to remember his giving +old Dale whiskey ain't the particular cow we're after. There's more to +it than that, a whole lot more. We've got to be a li'l careful, +Chuck, and go a li'l slow. If we go having a fraycas now they'll get +suspicious and go fussbudgettin' round like a hound-dog after quail." + +"Just as if they won't suspicion something's up soon as Peaches Austin +gets back to Farewell." + +"Peaches Austin ain't going back to Farewell right away. I've fixed +Peaches for a few days. And a few days is all I need to find out what +I want to. And even after Peaches does float in will he know me after +I've changed my shirt, dirtied my hat, and got me a clean shave twice +over? He ain't got no idea what I look like under the whiskers. He +wasn't living in Farewell before I went north, so all he knows about +me is my voice and my hoss. It will shore be the worst kind of luck if +I can't keep Peaches from hearing the one and seeing the other until +after I'm ready. You leave it to yore uncle, Chuck. He knows." + +"He's a great man, my uncle," assented Chuck, and struck a derisive +tongue in his cheek. "What did you find out from McFluke--anything?" + +"Anything? Gimme a match and I'll tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CHANGE OF PLAN + + +"It's a long way to Arizona," offered Racey Dawson, casually--too +casually. + +Swing Tunstall's bristle-haired head jerked round. Swing bent two +suspicious eyes upon his friend. "You just find it out?" he queried. + +"No, oh, no," denied Racey. "I've been thinking about it some time." + +"Thinking!" sneered Swing. "That's a new one--for you." + +"Nemmine," countered Racey. "It ain't catchin'--to _you_." + +"_Is_ that so?" yammered Swing, now over his head as far as repartee +was concerned. "Is _that_ so? What you gassing about Arizona for +thisaway? You gonna renig on the trip?" + +"I'll bet there's plenty of good jobs we can find right here in +Farewell," dodged Racey. "_And_ vicinity," he amended. "Yep, Swing, +old-timer, I'll bet the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box would hire us just +too quick. Shore they would. It ain't every day they get a chance at a +jo-darter of a buster like--" + +"Like the damndest liar in four states meaning you," cut in Swing. + +"You're right," admitted Racey, promptly. "When I was speaking of a +jo-darter I meant you, so I was a liar. I admit it. I might 'a' known +you wouldn't appreciate my kind words. Besides being several other +things, you're an ungrateful cuss. Gimme the makin's." + +"Smoke yore own, you hunk of misery. You had four extra sacks in yore +warbags this morning." + +"_Had_? So you been skirmishin' round my warbags, have you? How many +of those sacks did you rustle?" + +"I left two." + +"Two! Two! Say, I bought that tobacco myself for my own personal use, +and not for a lazy, loafing, cow-faced lump of slumgullion to glom and +smoke. Why don't you spend something besides the evening now and then? +Gawda-mighty, you sit on yore coin closer than a hen with one egg! +I'll gamble that Robinson Crusoe spent more money in a week than you +spend in four years. Two sacks of my smoking. You got a gall like a +hoss. There was my extra undershirt under those sacks. It's a wonder +you didn't smouch that, too." + +"It didn't fit," replied Swing Tunstall, placidly constructing a +cigarette. "Too big. Besides, all the buttons was off, and if they's +anything I despise it's a undershirt without any buttons. Sort of +wandering off the main trail though, ain't we, Racey? We was talking +about Arizona, wasn't we?" + +"We was not," Racey contradicted, quickly. "We was talking about a job +here in Fort Creek County. T'ell with Arizona." + +"T'ell with Arizona, huh? You're serious? You mean it?" + +"I'm serious as lead in yore inwards. 'Course I mean it. Ain't I been +saying so plain as can be the last half-hour?" + +"You're saying so is plain enough. And so is the whyfor." + +"The whyfor?" + +"Shore, the whyfor. Say, do you take me for a damfool? Here you use up +the best part of two days on a trip I could make in ten hours going +slow and eating regular. Who is she, cowboy, who is she?" + +"What you talking about?" + +"What am I talking about, huh? I'd ask that, I would. Yeah, I would +so. Is she pretty?" + +"Poor feller's got a hangover," Racey murmured in pity. "I kind o' +thought it must be something like that when he began to talk so funny. +Now I'm shore of it. You tie a wet towel round yore head, Swing, and +take a good pull of cold water. You'll feel better in the morning." + +"So'll I feel better in the morning if you jiggers will close yore +traps and lemme sleep," growled a peevish voice in the next room--on +the Main Street side. + +"As I live," said Racey in a tone of vast surprise, "there's somebody +in the next room." + +"Sounds like the owner of the Starlight," hazarded Swing Tunstall. + +"It is the owner of the Starlight," corroborated the voice, "and I +wanna sleep, and I wanna sleep _now_." + +"We ain't got any objections," Racey told him. "She's a fine, free +country. And every gent is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit +of happiness, three things no home should be without." + +"Shut up, will you?" squalled the goaded proprietor of the Starlight +Saloon. "If you wanna make a speech go out to the corral and don't +bother regular folks." + +"Hear that, Swing?" grinned Racey, and twiddled his bare toes +delightedly. "Gentleman says you gotta shut up. Says he's regular +folks, too. You be good boy now and go by-by." + +"_Shut up_!" + +"Here, here, Swing!" cried Racey, struck by a brilliant idea. "What +you doing with that gun?" + +"I--" began the bewildered Swing who had not even thought of his gun +but was peacefully sitting on his cot pulling off his boots. + +"Leave it alone!" Racey interrupted in a hearty bawl. "Don't you go +holding it at the wall even in fun. It might go off. You can't tell. +You're so all-fired careless with a sixshooter, Swing. Like enough +you're aiming right where the feller's bed is, too," he added, +craftily. + +Ensued then sounds of rapid departure from the bed next door. A door +flew open and slammed. The parting guest padded down the stairs in his +socks, invoking his Maker as he went. + +"And that's the last of him," chuckled Racey. + +"Oh, you needn't think I'm forgetting," grumbled Swing Tunstall, +sliding out of his trousers and folding them tidily beside his boots. +"You soft-headed yap, have you gotta let a woman spoil everything?" + +"Spoil everything?" + +"You don't think I'm going alla way to Arizona by myself, nobody to +talk to nor nothing, do you? Well, I ain't. You can stick a pin in +that." + +Racey immediately sprang up, seized his friend's limp hand, and pumped +it vigorously. "Bless you for them kind words," he said. "I knew you'd +stick by me. I knew I could depend on old Swing to do the right thing. +To-morrow you and I will traipse out and locate us a couple of jobs." + +Swing doubled a leg, flattened one bare foot against Racey's chest, +straightened the leg, and deposited Racey upon his own proper cot with +force and precision. + +"Don't you come honey-fuglin' round me," warned Swing. "And I didn't +say anything about sticking by you, neither. And when it comes to the +right thing you and me don't think alike a-tall. I--" + +"I wish you'd pull yore kicks a few," interrupted Racey, rubbing his +chest. "You like to busted a rib." + +"Not the way you landed," countered the unfeeling Swing. "You're +tryin' to get off the trail again. Here you and me plan her all out to +go to--" + +"You bet," burst in Racey, enthusiastically. "We planned to go to +either the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box and get that job. Shore we did. +You got a memory like all outdoors. Swing. It plumb amazes me how +clear and straight you keep everything in that head of yores. Yep, it +shore does." + +Hereupon, in the most unconcerned manner, Racey Dawson began to blow +smoke rings toward the ceiling. + +Swing Tunstall sank sulkily down upon an elbow. "Whatsa use?" said +Swing Tunstall. "Whatsa use?" + +It was then that someone knocked upon their chamber door. + +"Come in," said Racey Dawson. + +The door opened and Lanpher's comrade of the attractive smile and the +ruthless profile walked into the room. He closed the door without +noise, spread his legs, and looked upon the two friends silently. + +"I heard you talking through the wall," he said in a studiedly low +tone, a tone that, heard through a partition, would have been but an +indistinguishable murmur. + +"Hearing us talk through walls seems to be a habit in this hotel," +commented Racey, tactfully following the other's lead in lowness of +tone. + +"I couldn't help hearing," apologized the stranger--he was vestless +and bootless. Evidently he had been on the point of retiring when the +spirit moved him to visit his fellow-guests. "I'd like to talk to +you." + +"You're welcome," said Racey, hospitably yanking his trousers from the +only chair the room possessed. "Sit down." + +The stranger sat. Racey Dawson, sitting on the bed, his knees on a +level with his chin, clasped his hands round his bare ankles and +accorded the stranger his closest attention. To the casual observer, +however, Racey looked uncommonly dull and sleepy, even stupid. But not +too stupid. Racey possessed too much native finesse to overdo it. + +It was apparent that the stranger did not recognize him. Which was not +surprising. For, at the Dale ranch, Racey had been wearing all his +clothes and a beard of weeks. Now he was clean-shaven and attired in +nothing but a flannel shirt. True, the stranger must have heard him +singing to Miss Dale. But a singing voice is far different from a +speaking voice, and Racey had not uttered a single conversational word +in the stranger's presence. Now he had occasion to bless this happy +chance. + +Swing Tunstall, slow to take a cue, and still suffering with the +sulks, continued to lie quietly, his head supported on a bent arm, and +smoke. But he watched the stranger narrowly. + +The stranger tilted back his chair, and levering with his toes, +teetered to and fro in silence. + +"I heard you say you were looking for a job in the morning," the +stranger said suddenly to Racey. + +"You heard right," nodded Racey. + +"Are you dead set on working for the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box?" + +"I ain't dead set on working for anybody. Work ain't a habit with +either of us, but so long as we got to work the ranches with good +cooks have the call, and the Bar S and Richie's outfit have special +good cooks." + +The stranger nodded and began to smooth down, hand over hand, +his tousled hair. It was very thick hair, oily and coarse. When +sufficiently smoothed it presented that shiny, slick appearance so +much admired in the copper-toed, black walnut era. + +Not till each and every lock lay in perfect adjustment with its +neighbour did the stranger speak. + +"Cooks mean a whole lot," was his opening remark. "A good one can come +mighty nigh holding a outfit together. Money ain't to be sneezed at, +neither. Good wages paid on the nail run the cook a close second. How +would you boys like to work for me?" + +The stranger, as he asked the question, fixed Racey with his black +eyes. The puncher felt as if a steel drill were boring into his brain. +But he returned the stare without appreciable effort. Racey Dawson was +not of those that lower their eyes to any man. + +"I take it," drawled Racey, "that you're fixing to install all the +comforts of home you were just now talking about--a good cook and +better wages for the honest working-man?" + +"Naturally I am." The stranger's eyes shifted to Swing Tunstall's +face. + +"Yeah--naturally." Thus Racey Dawson. The stranger's eyes returned +quickly to Racey. There had been a barely perceptible pause between +the two words uttered by Racey Dawson. Pauses signify a great deal at +times. This might be one of those times and it might not. The stranger +couldn't be sure. From that moment the stranger watched Racey Dawson +even as the proverbial cat watches the mouse hole. + +Racey knew that the stranger was watching him. And he knew why. So he +smiled with bland stupidity and nodded a foolish head. + +"What wages?" he inquired. + +"Fifty per," was the reply. + +"Where?" + +"Southeast of Dogville--the Rafter H ranch." + +"The Rafter H, huh? I thought that was Haley's outfit." + +"I expect to buy out Haley," explained the stranger, smoothly. "My +name's Harpe, Jack Harpe. What may I call you gents?... Dawson _and_ +Tunstall, eh? I--" + +"Haley ain't much better than a nester," interrupted Racey. "He don't +own more'n forty cows. What you want with two punchers for a small +bunch like that--and at fifty per?" + +"I know she ain't much of a ranch now," admitted Jack Harpe. "But +everything has to have a beginning. I'm figuring on a right smart +growth for the Rafter H within the next year or two." + +"Figuring on opposition maybe?" probed Racey Dawson. + +"You never can tell." + +"You can if you go to cutting any of Baldy Barbee's corners. Haley's +little bunch never bothers Baldy none, but a man-size outfit so close +to the south thataway would shore give him something to think about. +Then there's the Anvil ranch east of the B bar B. They'll begin to +scratch their heads, you bet. Hall, too, maybe, although he is a good +ways to the east." + +"She's all free range," said Jack Harpe. "I guess I got as good a +right here as the next gent." + +"Providing you can make the next gent see yore side of the case," +suggested Racey. + +"Most folks are willing to listen to reason," stated Jack Harpe. + +"I ain't so shore," doubted Racey. "You ain't looked at the whole of +the layout yet. How about the 88 ranch?" + +"'The 88?'" repeated Jack Harpe in a tone of surprise. "What'll I have +to do with the 88, I'd like to know?" + +"I dunno," said Racey, his eyes more stupid than ever. "I was just +a-wonderin'." + +Jack Harpe laughed without a sound. It seemed to be a habit of his to +laugh silently. + +"You saw me with Lanpher, didn't you? Well, Lanpher and I are just +friends, thassall. My cattle won't graze far enough south to overlap +on the 88 anywheres." + +"Nor the Bar S?" suggested Racey. + +"Nor the Bar S." + +"That's sensible." Thus Racey, watching closely Jack Harpe from under +lowered lids. + +Did his last remark strike a glint from the other man's eyes? He +thought it did. Certainly Jack Harpe's eyes had narrowed suddenly and +slightly. + +"Yeah," Jack Harpe said, "I ain't counting on having any fussing with +either the 88 or the Bar S. Of course Baldy Barbee and the Anvil are +different. Dunno how they'll take it. Dunno that I care--much." + +"Which is why you're payin' fifty per." + +Jack Harpe nodded. "Yep. Gotta be prepared for them fellers--Baldy +Barbee and the Anvil outfit." + +"You're right," assented Racey Dawson. "Mustn't let 'em catch you +napping. You would look foolish then, wouldn't you?" He broke off with +a sounding laugh and slapped a silly leg. + +"How about it, gents?" inquired Jack Harpe. "Are you riding for me or +not?" + +"You wanting to know right now this minute?" + +"I don't have to know right now, because I won't be ready for you to +begin for two or three weeks, but knowing would help my plans a few. I +gotta figure things out ahead." + +"Shore, shore. Let you know day after to-morrow, or sooner, maybe. +How's that?" + +"Good enough. Remember yore wages start the day you say when, even if +you don't begin work for a month yet. All I'd ask is for you to stay +round town where I can get hold of you easy. G'night." + +With this the stranger slid from the chair, opened the door part +way, and oozed into the hall. He closed the door without a sound. +He regained his own room in equal silence. Racey did not hear the +shutting of the other's door, but he heard the springs of the cot +squeak under Jack Harpe's weight as he lay down. + +Swing Tunstall framed a remark with his lips only. Racey Dawson shook +his head. The partition was too thin and Jack Harpe's ears were too +long and sharp for him to risk even the tiniest of whispers. With his +hand he made the Indian sign for "to-morrow," stretched out his long +legs, yawned--and fell almost instantly asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RIDDLE + + +"We'd oughta closed with Jack Harpe last night," said Swing Tunstall, +easing his muscular body down on a broken packing-case that sat +drunkenly beside the posts of the hotel corral. "What's the sense of +putting things off thataway, Racey? Now we'll lose two days' wages for +nothing." + +"I had a reason," declared Racey Dawson, threading a new rawhide +string through one of the silver conchas on his split-ear bridle. "I +wanted to talk it over good with you first." + +"Why for? What's there to talk over, I'd like to know? Why--" + +"Because," interrupted Racey, "there's something up, if you ask me." + +"What for a reason is that?" demanded the irritated Swing. "That ain't +a reason, no good reason, anyway. I'm telling you flat, y' understand, +that so long as we gotta take root here instead of going to Arizona +like we'd planned it out--so long's yo're gonna renig on the play +like I say, the best thing we can do is string our chips with Jack +Harpe's." + +"That yore idea of a bright thing to do, huh?" questioned Racey, his +nimble fingers busy with the rawhide. + +"I done told you," said Swing with dignity. + +"Poor, poor Swing," murmured Racey as though to the bridle's address. +"The Gawd-forsaken young feller. It must be the devil and all to go +through life in such shape as he's in. All right in lots of ways, too. +He eats like a hawg, drinks like a fish, and snores like a ripsaw, so +you can see there's something almost human about him. But he hasn't +any brains, not a brain. He never has anything on his mind but his +hair and a hat. Yep, she's a sad, sad case. Lordy, Swing, old-timer, I +feel sorry for you. You got my sympathy. I'll always stick up for you +though. I won't let--" + +"This here," cut in Swing, "has gone far enough. If you got anything +to say, say it." + +"I been saying it. Ain't it sunk in yet? Hand me that axe, and I'll +make another try." + +"Stop yore fool lallygaggin'," Swing exclaimed, impatiently. "Let's +have the whole sermon. Gawd, yo're worse'n a woman. Gab, gab, gab! +Nothing but. C'mon, tie the string to the latch, and slam the door. +This tooth has been aching a long, long while." + +"It's thisaway, Swing," Racey said, soberly. "There ain't any manner +of use going into something we ain't got the whole straight of." + +"What you talking about--the straight of?" + +"Yep, the straight of. Don't you see anything funny about this +jigger's offer?" + +"Looks like a fair proposition to me. Fifty per shore listens well." + +"As if that's all of it." + +"Well, what's a li'l fussin' round with Baldy Barbee and the Anvil +folks?" + +"Nothin a-tall, _that_ ain't. But the li'l green pea ain't under +_that_ shell. Listen here, Swing, old-timer, I got a long and gashly +tale of wickedness to pour into those lily-white mule ears of yores. +Yep, if it wasn't me a-telling it I'll bet you'd think it was a fairy +tale." + +"I might even so," said the sceptical Swing. "But I don't mind. I'm +good-natured to-day. I feel just like being lied to. Turn yore wolf +loose." + + * * * * * + +"What do you feed it on?" inquired solemn-faced Swing when he had +heard Racey to the bitter end. + +"Feed which on what?" demanded the unsuspicious Racey. + +"Yore imagination." + +"Say, lookit here--" + +"Yeah, I know. Oh, aw right, aw right, I didn't go for to make you +mad. I believe it. Every word. You're getting so dam touchy nowadays, +Racey, they's no living with you. I swear they ain't. Why, if a feller +so much as doubts one of yore reg'lar fish stories you gotta crawl his +hump. Aw right, I believe you. How big was he again? Ugh-h-h! Uncle! +Uncle! Get off my stummick! I said 'Uncle,' didn't I? Damitall, that +left ear of mine will never be the same again. You rammed it into a +rock with more points than a barb-wire fence. Nemmine no more foolin' +now. Are you shore you got Peaches fixed for three-four days? 'Cause +if you ain't--pop goes the weasel." + +"This weasel ain't gonna pop. Not this trip. Peaches will stay put. +Don't you fret. By the time he does drift in we'll know all we need to +know, I guess." + +"We," sniffed Swing. "Did I hear you say 'we'? Ain't you taking a +awful lot for granted?" + +"Shut up. I couldn't keep you out of this with a ten-foot pole. Yo're +like Tom Kane thataway--always wantin' in where it's warm. Aw right, +that's settled. Lookit, we know there's some crooked work on the +towpath going on, and that Lanpher and Harpe are in it up to their +hocks. We know that Nebraska is one of Harpe's friends, and we know +that _after_ my fuss with Nebraska, Harpe comes to you and me and +offers us jobs--jobs at fifty per, wages to start when we say when, +and no work for a while, yet we're to stay round town till he wants us +to start in. And he talks of maybe a li'l trouble in the future with +Baldy Barbee and the Anvil boys, and he mentions Baldy and the Anvil +several times, and the last time wasn't necessary. And, furthermore, +he don't say anything a-tall about this Chin Whisker gent, who's old +Dale or I'm Dutch. So there y'are, and plain enough," added Racey, +holding up the bridle and turning it about. "From what Harpe said to +Lanpher, we know he's bound to get old Dale's ranch come hell or high +water. But he don't say anything about that to us. No, not him. It's +all Barbee and the Anvil, and he's as friendly as a dog with fleas. +His actions don't fit with the facts, and when a man's actions don't +do that they'll stand watchin', him and them both." + +"Fifty per ain't to be sneezed at." Swing, whose heart had been set on +Arizona, was not prepared to give in without an argument. Besides, he +invariably objected on principle to anything Racey might see fit to +propose. Which was humanly natural, but more than maddening--to Racey. + +"Shore not--unless it sets us against our friends." + +"What you talkin' about?" persisted the wilfully blinded Swing. +"Neither Baldy Barbee nor the Anvil outfit are any friends of mine. I +don't even know 'em to speak to." + +"But I tell you it ain't Baldy Barbee and the Anvil, you wooden-headed +floop. If it was them, why would Lanpher be in it? And Nebraska? And +Thompson? And Peaches Austin? I dunno exactly what it all means. But +whatever it is, it's gotta do with the country round Farewell--with +the ranches on the Lazy. Aw right. Besides Dale's and Morgan's there's +three ranches, ain't they, on the Lazy near Farewell?" + +Racey Dawson held up three fingers, doubling a thumb and forefinger +behind them. + +"Three ranches," he continued, "and the manager of one is in cahoots +with this Harpe of many strings." Here he doubled down his pinky +and waved the remaining two fingers in the face of his friend. "Two +ranches are left, the Cross-in-a-box and the Bar S. Jack Richie is +manager of the Cross-in-a-box. I used to ride for Jack, and he's my +friend. You dunno him, but you can take my word he's the pure quill +forty ways. Then there's the Bar S. Who's foreman of that? Tom Loudon. +You worked with him up at Scotty MacKenzie's Flyin' M ranch on the +Dogsoldier, and I've knowed him ever since I come to this country. +I ain't doing anything to make me bad friends with Tom Loudon. Then +there's Dale, this Chin Whisker party. He's a good feller, and had +a heap of hard luck, too. I ain't working against him, you betcha. +Nawsir. And if I don't miss my guess you don't, either." + +"Aw, hell! They ain't no rat in that hole. Yo're seem' a heap o' smoke +where they ain't even a lighted match. I don't wanna do anything +against either Richie's outfit nor the Bar S, nor old Dale, but I +ain't satisfied--" + +"You ain't! Good Gawdamighty! Ain't I been tellin' you? Ain't I been +explaining of it all in words of one syllable? Can't you see Harpe's +trying to pull us in with him is just a trick to get us shot by our +friends? Because his jumping old Dale's ranch will shore start a war +and you can gamble it's just as dangerous to be shot by yore friends +as it is by the enemy. Here I'm telling you over and over and you +ain't satisfied yet! I've heard of fellers like you, but I never +believed it was possible. Like the whiffle-tit, they were just a damn +lie. But it's all true. Swing, old settler, if you had a quarter-ounce +more sense you'd be half-witted." + +"If I had a quarter-ounce more sense I'd quit you cold like that." So +saying Swing Tunstall rose to his feet and shuffled a guileful step or +two closer to Racey. The movement of his right arm passed unnoticed by +Racey. But the lighted cigarette that, following his movement, slipped +down Racey's back between his shirt collar and his neck did not pass +unnoticed. + +Racey hopped up with a sharp exclamation and shucked himself out of +his shirt with the utmost despatch. He did not stop at the shirt, but +tore off his undershirt likewise. + +"Better luck than I hoped for," Swing remarked from a safe distance. +"I didn't think it would slide down inside yore undershirt, too. Burn +you much, Racey, dear? You look awful cute standin' there with nothing +on but yore pants. All you need now is a pair of wings and a bow +n'arrer and you'd be a dead ringer for Cupid growed up. And there's +Mis' Lainey and Mis' Galloway looking at you from their kitchen +windows. They can hear what yo're saying, too. Fie, for shame." + +But Racey Dawson had gathered up his clothing and fled to the back +of the corral. Muttering to himself he was pulling on his shirt when +Swing joined him--at a safe distance. + +"Helluva trick to play on a feller," grumbled Racey. + +"Served you right," was the return. "You hadn't oughta called me +half-witted. Do you know you look just like a turtle in his shell with +yore shirt half on half off thataway?" + +"Aw, go sit on yoreself!" + +At this juncture fat Bill Lainey wheezed round the corner of the +corral. + +"What you been doin', Racey?" inquired the hotel-keeper. "Taking a +bath?" + +"Naw, I ain't been taking a bath!" Racey denied ungraciously. "I do +this for fun and my health twice a day--once on Sundays." + +"Well, it must 'a' been a heap funny whatever it was, or Swing +wouldn't be laughin' so hard. Yeah. Lookit, Racey--I meant to catch +you at breakfast, but you was through before I got back from Mike +Flynn's--lookit, I wish you'd go a li'l slow when yo're roughhousin' +round in my place. Rack Slimson, my most payin' customer, hadda sleep +on the dinin' room table all night because you druv him out of his +room." + +"Bill, that was a joke," Racey intoned, solemnly. "I didn't like the +way the feller snored. Likewise he had too much to say. So naturally I +had to make him take it on the run. What else could I do? I ask you, +what else could I do?" + +"Don't you believe him, Bill," cut in Swing, fearful that Racey would +get credit for an effort at humour where, in his own estimation, none +was due. "Racey hasn't got the guts to pick a fuss with a pack rat. It +was me that chased Rack Slimson downstairs." + +"That's right," Racey assented, smoothly, suddenly mindful both of a +peculiar gleam in Bill Lainey's eye and a chance sentence uttered by +the hasher in his hearing at breakfast. "That's right. It was Swing +Tunstall what made so free and outrageous with Rack Slimson. You +go and crawl Swing's hump, Bill. Lord knows he needs it. He's been +getting awful brash and uppity lately. No living with him. Give him +hell, Bill." + +"I don't wanna give nobody hell. Live at peace is my motto. All I +wanna know is who's gonna settle for six cups, eleven sassers, ten +plates, and a middle-size pitcher Rack Slimson busted when he rolled +off the table with 'em durin' the night. I don't think Rack oughta +hafta pay, because he wouldn't 'a' had to sleep there on the table +only bein' druv out thataway he couldn't help it like." + +"Huh--how much, Bill?" inquired Swing in a still small voice, and +thrust his hand within his pocket. + +"Well, seein' as it's you, Swing," was the prompt reply, "I'll only +say ten dollars and six bits. And that's dirt cheap. Honest, I'll bet +it'll cost me fifteen dollars and a half to replace 'em, what with the +scandalous prices we got now." + +"And I hope that'll make you a better boy, Swing," said Racey, +observing with relish the transfer of real money from Swing's hand to +the landlord's palm. "There's such a thing, Swing, old settler, as +being too quick, as whirling too wide a loop as the man said when he +roped the locomotive. And it all costs money. Yep, sometimes as much +as ten dollars and six bits." + +"... and one and one and two makes ten and six bits makes +ten-seventy-five," totalled Swing Tunstall, "and that makes all +square." + +"Correct," said Bill Lainey, stuffing the money into a wide trousers +pocket. "'Bliged to you, Swing. I wish all the gents paid up as prompt +as you do." + +"Oh, you needn't be surprised," chipped in the ready Racey. "Swing's a +fair-minded boy. He'll do what's right every time, once you show him +where he's wrong. Yeah. Say, Bill, has Nebraska Jones many friends in +this town?" + +"More than enough," was the enigmatic reply. + +"'Enough,' huh? Enough for what?" + +"For whatever's necessary, Racey. But I ain't talking about Nebraska +and his friends. Not me. I got a wife and family to support, and +they's enough trouble running a hotel without picking up any more by +letting yore tongue waggle too much." + +"Yo're right, Bill. Yore views do you credit. Is it against the law to +tell a feller where Nebraska's friends hang out when they're in town?" + +"The dance hall and the Starlight," replied Bill Lainey, promptly. + +"Might you happen to know any of their names, Bill?" + +"What you wanna do, Racey, is look out for a jigger named Coffin," +declared Lainey, coming flatly to the point. "Doc Coffin. Yop. Then +they's Punch-the-Breeze Thompson, Honey Hoke, and Peaches Austin. +They's a few more, but they ain't the kind to take the lead in +anything. They always follow. But Coffin, Thompson, Hoke, and Austin +are the gents to keep yore eye peeled for. I ain't talking about 'em, +y' understand. I ain't got a word to say against 'em, not a word. If I +was you, though, and I wanted to live longer and healthier Doc Coffin +is the one you wanna watch special--a heap special." + +"Thanks, Bill, I--" + +"No thanks needed," fended off the hotel-keeper, hastily. "I ain't +said nothin', and don't you forget it." + +"I won't. Is the Starlight's owner, Rack Slimson, any friend of +Nebraska's, too?" + +"We-ell, I dunno as he's a boom companion exactly, but Nebraska and +his bunch spend a pile of money in the Starlight, a pile of money. A +feller would be safe in saying that Rack Slimson's sympathy is with +Nebraska." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE STARLIGHT + + +"Where you going?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"Over the hills and far away to pick the wild violets," chanted Racey. +"You wanna come along? Better not. Them violets are just too awful +wild. Dangerous. Yeah. Catch yore death." + +"You idjit! You plumb fool! Can't you let well enough alone? Ain't you +satisfied till yo're ticklin' the mule's hind leg? If yo're crowded, +hop to it. Make 'em hard to find. But why go a-huntin' trouble? Whatsa +sense? What--" + +"Always get the jump on trouble, Swing. Always. Then you'll find +trouble don't wear so many guns after all and is a heap slower about +pulling 'em than you thought likely." + +"But if they're all four of 'em together now, and you--" + +"I ain't said I was going to do anything, have I? Gawda-mighty, Swing, +I only want to go and ask how Nebraska's gettin' along. Only tryin' to +be neighbourly. Yeah. Neighbourly." + +Racey Dawson nodded his head as one does when a subject is closed, +hitched up his chaps, and started blithely round the hotel. Swing +Tunstall followed in haste, caught up with his friend and fell into +step at his side. + +"This ain't any of yore muss, Swing," Racey said, mildly. + +"It's gonna be," was the determined reply. "You shut up." + +Racey grinned at nothing and stuck his tongue in his cheek. A warmly +pleasant glow permeated his being. It was good to have a friend like +Swing Tunstall--one who would not interfere but who would be in alert +readiness for any contingency. And Racey was well aware that in his +impending visit to the Starlight the contingencies were apt to be many +and varied. + +"It's so early in the day I don't guess none of 'em will be in the +dance hall yet," murmured Swing Tunstall. + +"I'm gonna drop in on the Starlight first, anyway," said Racey. "It's +nearer." + +Through a side window they inspected the Starlight and the customers +thereof. Only two customers were visible. These, a long man and a +short man, stood at the bar, their backs to the window and their hands +cupped lovingly round glasses of refreshment. The tall man was talking +to the bartender. + +"This getting up so early in the mornin' is a fright," they heard +him complain. "But bunking with a invalid shore does keep you on the +jump." + +He and his companion drank. Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall glided +rapidly along the wall to a side entrance. When the tall man and the +short man set down their glasses Racey Dawson was leaning against the +bar at a range of approximately six feet. Swing Tunstall stood at his +back and slightly to the right. Thus that, should necessity warrant a +resort to lethal weapons, Racey might not mask the latter's fire. + +"Liquor," said Racey to the bartender. + +The latter, an expert at his trade, with a jerk of both wrists slid +two glasses and a bottle down the bar so that a glass stopped in front +of each man and the bottle came to a standstill between them. Racey +spun a dollar on the bar. The bartender nonchalantly swept the dollar +into the cash drawer and resumed his chit-chat with the tall man. At +which Racey's eyes narrowed slightly. But he made no comment. + +Pouring out a short drink, he passed the bottle to his comrade. When +Swing had filled Racey took the bottle, drove home the cork with the +heel of his hand, and carefully tucked away the bottle in the inner +pocket of his vest. + +"It won't ride any too well," he observed to Swing, "but it ain't +gonna be there a great while, I guess." + +"You bet it ain't gonna be there a great while!" horned in the +outraged bartender. "You put that bottle back on the bar!" + +"Why, I gave you a dollar," said Racey, nervously, hesitantly, "and +you kept the change. I supposed, of course, you was selling me the +bottle." + +"You supposed wrong!" As he spoke the bartender's right hand moved +toward the shelf that Racey knew must be under the top of the bar. +"That dollar was for yore two drinks." + +"You mean to say yo're charging four bits apiece for those drinks!" + +"Shore I am." As yet the bartender's hand had remained beneath the bar +top. + +"But two bits is the regular price," objected Racey, weakly. + +"Four bits is the price to you," was the truculent statement, sticking +out his chin. "_Put that bottle back on the bar_!" + +As he gave the order his right shoulder hunched upward, and his +face set like iron. He had what is known as a "fighting" face, this +Starlight bartender. It was evident that he banked largely on that +face. It had served him well in the past. + +"One dollar is my regular price for a bottle," Racey said gently +as the bartender's hand suddenly nipped into sight clutching a +sixshooter, "but if you want it back, take it." + +Racey's fingers gripped the bottle-neck and fetched it forth. But +instead of placing it on the top of the bar as requested, he continued +the motion, as it were, and smote the bartender across the head +with it. Being a quart bottle and reasonably full of liquid, the +bartender's chin came down with a chug on the bar. Then he slumped +quietly to the floor behind the bar. The sixshooter relinquished by +his nerveless fingers remained on top of the bar between the whiskey +glasses. + +Racey stared speculatively at the long man and the short man. They in +turn regarded him with something like respect. The long man wore a +drooping, streaky-yellow horseshoe of a moustache dominated by a long +and melancholy nose. Flanking the base of this sorrowful nose was a +pair of eyes hard and bright and the palest of blue. + +The short man was a blobby-nosed creature, who sported a three days' +growth of red beard and a quid of chewing in the angle of a heavy jaw. +Now he revolved the tobacco with a furtive tongue and spat thickly +upon the floor. + +Without removing his eyes from the two aforementioned gentlemen Racey +reached for the bartender's gun. "Hadn't oughta be trusted with +firearms," he observed, pleasantly, referring to what lay behind the +bar. "Too venturesome. Yeah." + +He thoughtfully lowered the hammer of the sixshooter and rammed it +down to the trigger-guard behind the waistband of his trousers. + +"Do you gents know anybody named Doc Coffin?" inquired Racey. + +"I'm him," nodded the tall man, the pale eyes beginning to glitter. + +"Then maybe you can tell me how Nebraska Jones is gettin' along?" + +"You worrying about his health?" put in the short man. + +"I dunno as I'd say 'worrying' exactly," disclaimed Racey, easily. +"You can take it I'm just askin', that's all." + +"Nebraska had oughta be as well as ever he was in about a month," +supplied Doc Coffin. "And," he added, significantly, "I dunno but what +he'd oughta be able to shoot as well as ever." + +"I don't doubt it a mite," said Racey with a smile. "Question is, will +he?" + +The short man gave a short, harsh laugh. "He will, you can gamble on +that," he averred, and spat again. + +"That's good hearing," Racey said, looking quite pleased. "Of course I +was only judging by past performances." + +"His gun caught," Doc Coffin explained, kindly. + +"Why don't he try filing off his foresight?" inquired Racey, chattily. +"Or else he could shoot through his holster. Lots of folks do business +that way. I suppose now you'll be seeing Nebraska in a day or two +maybe." + +"I might," admitted Doc Coffin. + +"Friend of his?" purred Racey. + +"I might be." Doc Coffin's spare frame grew somewhat rigid. + +"Well," Racey drawled softly, "I heard Nebraska's friends are looking +for me. I'm here to save 'em the trouble of strainin' their eyes." + +"So that's it, huh?" Doc Coffin grinned, as he spoke, like a grieving +wolf. "They ain't no hurry, is they?" + +"I expect I'll be round Farewell a spell," said Racey. + +"Then they ain't no hurry," Doc Coffin told him smoothly. + +"None a-tall," contributed the short man. + +"That's the way to look at it," laughed Racey. "I shore don't care +anything about bein' pushed. Have a drink on me." + +He slid in their direction the bottle with which he had knocked down +the bartender, and, accompanied and imitated by Swing Tunstall, +departed from that place crabwise. + +When they were gone Doc Coffin looked at his companion. + +"Asking for it, Honey," said Doc Coffin. "Just asking for it." + +Then he went behind the bar, seized the senseless bartender by the +ankles and skidded him out on the barroom floor. The man whom Doc +Coffin had addressed as Honey (his other name was Hoke) spread his +legs and whistled when he glimpsed the three-inch cut running fore and +aft along the top of the bartender's skull. Blood from that cut had +dribbled and oozed over the major portion of the bartender's face and +shirt. For it had been the bartender's luck to hook his chin on the +edge of the lowest shelf when he dropped and he had perforce remained +crown upward. + +Doc Coffin stood back and stared at the stertorously breathing lump on +the floor with a cold eye. + +"Ain't he a mess?" he observed. "Ain't he a mess? I expect he'll be +right down peevish about it when he comes to." + +"Think so?" Honey Hoke was not quite sure of the point of Doc's +remark. + +"Yeah, I think so. I'm shore he will when I tell him how he was +kicked." + +"Kicked?" + +"Shore kicked. Kicked after he was down." + +"How?" + +"Didn't you see that feller Dawson kick Bull when he was down? Where +was yore eyes?" + +"That's the way of it, huh? Well, it _might_ save trouble if Bull was +to go on the prod real vicious." + +"Yo're whistlin'. They ain't no manner of reason for doin' a job +yoreself if you can get somebody else to do it for you." + +When Bull came to he was lying on his cot in his little cubby hole +adjoining the back room of the Starlight. Over across from the bed Doc +Coffin was looking out of the grimy window. Behind the closed door +giving egress to the back room certain folk were busy at faro. "King +win, ten lose," the dealer was saying. + +Doc Coffin turned at the rustle of Bull's slight movement. Doc nodded +grimly. + +"How's the head?" he inquired. + +Bull put up a hand to the bandage encircling his bullet head and swore +feelingly. + +"Guess it does hurt some," was Doc's comment. "Doc Alton took +three stitches. Lucky you was still senseless. He had to use a +harness-needle." + +Bull heartily damned Doc Alton, his methods, the faro players in the +next room, himself, and wound up with a blistering curse directed +against mankind in general and Racey Dawson in particular. + +"Tha's right, Bull," Doc Coffin applauded dryly. "Cuss him out. Give +him hell. Must do you a lot of good." + +Bull was understood to consign Doc Coffin to the region of lost souls. + +"I'd go a leetle slow," advised Doc Coffin, gently. "Just a leetle +slow if I was you. Yo're on yore back now, but you'll be getting all +right in a li'l while, and it's just possible, Bull, I might take it +into my head to ask you what you meant by all them cuss words yo're +throwin' at me." + +There was an icy glint in the pale blue eyes of Doc Coffin. Bull shut +up and subsided. + +"What," queried Doc Coffin after a momentary silence, "was the matter +with you?" + +"With me?" + +"Shore, with you. Who'm I talking to? What was the matter with you, +anyway? Don't you know any better'n to go up against a jigger like +that Dawson man? Yo're too cripplin' slow with a gun, feller." + +"Well, I--" + +"Y'oughta had him twice while he was swinging that bottle.... Yeah, +twice, I'm tellin' you. You had time enough. But not you. You just +stood there like a bump on a log and let him hit you. Yo're a +fine-lookin' example of a two-legged man, you are. If you ain't +careful, Bull, some two-year-old infant is gonna come along and spit +in yore eye." + +"He was so damn quick," alibied Bull. "I wasn't expectin' it." + +"A whole lot of folks are underground because they didn't expect to +get what they got. Yo're lucky to be lyin' there with only a headache. +Still, alla same, he needn't 'a' kicked you." + +"Huh? Kicked me? You mean to say he kicked me? Dawson kicked me?" + +"Shore I mean to say Dawson kicked you. Kicked you when you was lyin' +there down and out and senseless." + +A moment Bull lay quietly. Then when the full import of Doc Coffin's +words had percolated through and through his brain he pulled himself +to a sitting posture and swung a leg to the floor. Doc Coffin was +beside him instantly. + +"Lie down, you idjit!" commanded Doc Coffin, and with no gentle hand +shoved Bull down upon his pillow. "Whadda you think yo're gonna do?" + +"I'm goin' out and fill that ---- full of lead." + +"Oh, you are, huh? Yo're gonna do all that? Tha's fine. Do you want a +quiet burial or a regular funeral?" + +"Say--" + +"Say yoreself, and say something sensible while yo're about it." + +"Nobody can kick me and get away with it!" Bull declared, +passionately. "I'll--" + +"Maybe you will, but not in a hurry. You start out after him now, and +you wouldn't last as long as a short drink in a roomful of drunkards. +Didn't you hear about Dawson's li'l run-in with Nebraska?" + +"Hell, I _seen_ it!" + +"You seen it, huh? And you _know_ what he done to you to-day, and +still you wanna paint for war now and immediate? No, Bully, not +a-tall. You listen to me. I got a better plan. A whole lot better +plan. Lookit...." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THROWING SAND + + +After leaving the Starlight, on their way back to the hotel, Racey +said to Swing Tunstall: "Might as well tell Jack Harpe now we ain't +gonna ride for him, huh?" + +"Oh, shore," Swing sighed resignedly. "Have it yore own way! Have it +yore own way! I never seen such a feller as you for gettin' his own +way in all my life." + +"Yo're young yet--maybe you will," said Racey, consolingly. "So don't +get discouraged." + +They did not find Jack Harpe at the hotel, nor was he at the Happy +Heart. But in the saloon Luke Tweezy was drinking by himself at one +end of the bar. Perhaps the money-lender would know the whereabouts of +Jack Harpe. + +"'Lo, Luke," was Racey's greeting. "Seen Jack Harpe around anywheres?" + +Luke Tweezy's thin and sandy eyebrows lifted up in what would pass +with almost any one for surprise. "Who?" + +"Jack Harpe." + +"Dunno him." Indifferently--too indifferently. + +"You dunno him--long, slim feller, black hair and eyes, and a hawky +kind of nose? Jack Harpe. Shore you know him. Why, I seen--" Racey +broke off abruptly. + +"Yeah," prompted Luke Tweezy after an interval. "You seen--what?" + +"I don't see why you dunno him," parried Racey (it was a weak parry, +but the best he could encompass at the moment). "I thought you knowed +him. Somebody told me you did. My mistake. No harm done. Have a drink, +Luke." + +"Who told you I knowed this here now Jack Harpe?" probed Luke Tweezy, +when he had smacked his lips over a second drink. + +"I don't remember now," evaded Racey Dawson. "What does it matter?" + +"It don't matter," was the answer--the miffed answer it seemed to +Racey. "It don't matter a-tall. Have one on me, boys. Don't be afraid +to fill 'em up. They's plenty more on the back shelf when this one's +empty." + +They filled and drank, filled and drank. Swing thought that he had +never seen Racey overtaken by liquor so quickly. In no time he was +telling Luke Tweezy the most intimate details of his private life. +Swing knew that these details were a string of lies. But Luke Tweezy +could not know that. He put an affectionate hand on Racey's shoulder +and begged for more. He got it. + +When Racey ran down and reverted to the bottle, Luke Tweezy generously +purchased a second and invited him and his friend to a vacant table +in the corner of the room. It was an amazing sight. Luke Tweezy the +money-lender, the man who was supposed to still possess the first +dollar he ever earned, had actually bought three eighths of one bottle +of whiskey and the whole of another. + +Racey Dawson greatly desired to laugh. But he didn't dare. He was too +busy being drunk and getting drunker. Swing Tunstall, slow in the +uptake as usual, perceived nothing beyond the fact that Luke Tweezy +had suddenly become a careless spendthrift till halfway down the +second bottle when Luke said: + +"Shore is funny how you thought I knowed this Jack Harpe." + +"Yuh-yeah," assented Racey, and overset a glass in such a way that +four fingers of raw liquor splashed into Luke Tweezy's lap. "S'funny +all right--an' that's fuf-funnier," he added as Luke and his chair +scraped backward to avoid the drip. "D'I wet yuh all up, Lul-luke? +Mum-my min-mis-take. I'm makin' lul-lots of mistakes to-day." + +Luke Tweezy twisted his leathery features into his best smile. "It +don't matter," he told Racey. "Not a-tall. I--uh--who was it told you +I knowed this Jack Harpe?" + +"Dud-don't remember," denied Racey. + +"Think," urged Luke Tweezy. + +"Am thu-thinkin'," Racey said, crossly. "What you wanna know for?" + +"I don't like to have folks talkin' so loose and free about me," was +the Tweezy explanation. + +"Duh-hic-quite right," hiccuped Racey Dawson. "An' you are, too, y'old +catawampus. You a friend o' mim-mine, Lul-luke?" + +"Shore," said Luke, with an eye out for another upset glass. + +"Then lend me huh-hundred dollars, Lul-Luke." + +"Lend you a hundred dollars! On what security?" + +"My wuh-word," Racey strove to say with dignity. "Ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--but I ain't got a hundred dollars with me to-day." + +"Bub-but you can gug-get it," Racey insisted, weaving his head from +side to side in a snake-like manner. + +"We-ell, I dunno. You see, Racey--" + +"I nun-need the money," interrupted Racey. "I'm broke--bub-broke +bad. Swing's broke, too. That's too bad--I mean that's two bub-boke +brad--whistle twice for the crossing--I mean--Aw, hell, I know +whu-what I mean if-fif you don't. You lul-lend me that mum-money, +Lul-Luke, like a good feller." + +Luke Tweezy shook a regretful head. "I'm shore sorry you and Swing are +busted, Racey, I'd do anything for you I could in reason. You know +damwell I would, but money's tight with me just now. I ain't really +got a cent I can lend. Got a mortgage comin' due next month, but that +ain't now, of course." + +"Of course not. Huh-how could you think it was now? Huh-how could you, +Lul-Luke? Dud-do you know the child ain't a year old yet?" + +"Child? What child?" Luke Tweezy began to look alarmed. + +"What child?" frowned Racey Dawson, sitting up very straight and +throwing a chest. "That child over there by the doorway--there in the +streak o' sush-shine. Aw, the cute li'l feller! See him playin' with +Windy Taylor's spurs. Ain't he cunnin'?" + +"With most of 'em it's elephants and snakes an' such," proffered Luke +Tweezy. + +"Yeah," assented Swing Tunstall. "A kid is something new." + +"Thu-then you can't lend me that money?" Racey inquired, querulously. + +"No, Racey, I can't. Honest, I'd like to. Nothin' I'd like better. +Only the way I'm fixed just now it's plain flat impossible." + +"Then I s'puh-s'puh-s'pose I'll have to touch the Bar S folks or the +Cross-in-a-box. I gotta have money. Gug-gotta. They're my friends. +They'll give it to mum-me. Shore they will gimme all I want. They're +all my _friends_, I tell you!" + +As Racey uttered the word "friends" his toe pressed Swing Tunstall's +instep. + +"They're Swing's friends, too," continued Racey. "Ain't they, +Sus-Swing?" Again the Dawson toe bore down upon the Tunstall foot. + +"Shore they are," chimed in Swing, watching his friend closely--so +closely that he was able to catch the extremely slight nod of +approbation given by Racey. + +"Thu-there's Tom Loudon an' Tim Pup-pup-page of the Bub-bar S," +stuttered Racey, gazing blearily at Luke Tweezy. "Bub-best fuf-friends +I ever had, them tut-two fellers. An' Old Man Sus-Saltoun. There's a +pup-prince for you. Gug-give you the shirt off his bub-back." + +Which last was stretching it rather. For Old Man Saltoun, while not +precisely stingy, was certainly not the most generous person in the +territory. Nor did it escape Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy eyed him +sharply as he made the remark. At once Racey began to roll his head +from side to side and rock his body to and fro, and laugh crazily. + +"The Bub-bub-bar S is the bub-best ranch in the worl'." Again Racey +took up the thread of his discourse. "I tell you that outfit is great +friends o' mine. Juh-juh-just tut-to shuh-show yuh, Lul-luke. Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun let three punchers go lul-last week an' then turned +round an' gives us both jobs. That's huh-how we stand with Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun." + +"That's fine," complimented Luke Tweezy. + +"An' that ain't all," Racey galloped on, one toe pressing Swing's +instep. "I'm gonna tell him, Swing. He ain't no friend o' Jack +Harpe's. If I tell you you won't tell nobody, Lul-Luke, wuh-will yuh?" + +Luke was understood to state that no clam could be tighter-mouthed. + +"I knowed you wouldn't tell, Lul-luke," Racey declared, solemnly, +reaching across the table and affectionately pawing the Tweezy sleeve. +"I mum-maybe dud-drunk, but I know a friend when I see him. Yuh +bub-bet I do. Lul-lookit, Luke, lean over--" Here Racey pressed +heavily on Swing's instep. Then, when Luke leaned forward, Racey did +the same and possessed himself of the money-lender's ear by the simple +method of gripping it tightly between fingers and thumb. "Lul-luke," +resumed Racey, "Jack Harpe's offered us a job, too, an' we're gonna +take him up instead of the Bar S. Huh-how's that?" + +Racey released the Tweezy ear, leaned back in his chair, and breathed +triumphantly through his nose. + +Luke Tweezy likewise leaned back as far as his chair would permit, +and fingered tenderly a tingling ear. "Whatcha gonna take Harpe's job +for?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you liked the Bar S such a lot." + +"We do," chirped Racey, laying a long finger beside his nose and +pressing again the Tunstall instep. "That's why we're gonna ride for +Jack Harpe." Grinning at the mystification of Luke Tweezy, he leaned +forward and whispered, "We got a idea we can help the Bar S most by +bein' where we can watch Jack--and his outfit." + +Luke Tweezy sat up very suddenly. Swing clapped a hand over Racey's +mouth and shoved him backward. + +"Shut up!" commanded Swing. "He dunno what he's talkin' about, the +poor drunk." + +Thus did Swing Tunstall come up to the scratch right nobly. Racey +could have hugged him. Instead he bit him. This in order that Swing +should pull his hand away in a natural manner. Having achieved his +purpose, Racey smiled sottishly at Luke Tweezy. + +"But what's Jack Harpe done?" Luke Tweezy inquired swiftly. + +"It ain't what he's done," Racey replied. "It's what he's gug-gonna +do. He's out to cuc-colddeck the Bub-bar S, an' they nun-know it." + +Whereupon Swing began to shake him severely. "Stop yore ravin!" he +commanded, and contrived to bang Racey's head against the wall with a +bump that went a long way toward curing the pain of Racey's bite. + +Racey, with real tears in his eyes, looked up at Swing and guggled, +"I'm sho shleepy!" Then he laid his head upon his arms and slept. Luke +Tweezy did not attempt to awaken him. Swing Tunstall advised against +it. Luke Tweezy and he had a parting drink together. Then the +money-lender took what was left of the second bottle of whiskey--the +first was but a memory--to the bar and endeavoured to chivvy a rebate +out of the bartender. But such a procedure was decidedly not the Happy +Heart's method of doing business. Luke Tweezy, much to his disgust, +for he never drank except in the way of trade, was forced to carry his +bottle with him when he went. + +Swing, sapient young person, walked casually to the window and watched +Luke Tweezy cross the street to Calloway's store. Then he returned to +Racey's table. Racey turned his tousled head sidewise and whispered +from a corner of his mouth, "Help me out to Tom Kane's stable. He's +out o' town, and there won't anybody bother us." + +"C'mon, Racey, come alive," urged Swing Tunstall, making a great +business of shaking awake his drunken friend. "You don't wanna stay +here no longer. I know a fine place where you can sleep it off." + +Ten minutes later Racey and Swing were sitting comfortably on a pile +of hay in Tom Kane's new stable. Racey pulled off his boots, flopped +down on the hay, and clasped his hands behind his head. He wiggled his +toes luxuriously and laughed. + +"Gawd," said he. "Think o' that old skinflint buying nearly two +bottles of whiskey! Bet that'll lay heavy on his mind for as much as a +month. What you lookin' at me like that for?" + +"Yeah, I'd ask if I was you. I shore would. What was yore bright idea +of tellin' Luke Tweezy we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe so's to watch +him?" + +"So he'd know it." + +"So he'd know it! So he'd know it! The man sits there and says '_so +he'd know it_'! And you call me a thickskull! Which yore head has got +mine snowed under thataway. Can't you see, you droolin' fool, that now +they'll know as much as we do?" + +"No, oh, no," Racey denied with a superior smile. "Not never a-tall. I +ain't saying they mightn't know as much as you do by yoreself. But not +while you got the benefit of my brains they won't know as much as we +do. 'Tain't possibil." + +"And what did you bite me for?" pursued Swing, disregarding the slur. +"Hell's bells, if you'd bit Luke I wouldn't have a word to say, but +why pick on me?" + +"Well, you bumped my head so hard I saw sparks, so we're even. Say, +stop squallin' about yore hand! I didn't bite you half as hard as I +might have. Not half. You can still use the hand all right, can't you? +Yeah. Well, then, you ain't got anything to cry about, not a thing." + +"Talk sense, will you? You got us into a fine mess, you have. A fi-ine +mess." + +"Guess I fooled him, all right," Racey said with irritating +complacency. + +"What was you trying to do, anyway?" Swing snarled, glaring at his +friend. "What was the notion of tearin' off all them confidences about +bein' busted and yore dear friends at the Bar S and how you and me +was gonna play detective? And to think Providence lets a +what-you-may-call-it like you go on living! It ain't reasonable." + +"That business of telling Luke we was busted," grinned Racey, "and +asking him for a loan was just so I could work up roundabout and +natural like to how the Bar S bunch was my personal friends and how +we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe and watch him on their account. I +wanted him to know those things, and I couldn't slam out and tell him +dry so, could I? It wouldn't sound natural. It would make him think +the wrong way, you bet. Luke Tweezy ain't a plumb fool, for all he +made the mistake of denying he knowed Jack Harpe. That was a bad one." + +"Yeah, but--" + +"Lookit, Swing, we know that when Lanpher spoke of a front yard there +in the hotel corral he meant the Bar S range. Aw right. While we're +shore Jack Harpe wants to hire us to do his dirty work--which means +being rubbed out by our own friends likely--would he let us ride for +him if he thought the Bar S was paying us to watch him?" + +"Not if he knowed what he was doing," admitted Swing. + +"That's why I got so greasy and confidential with Mister Luke Tweezy. +So Jack Harpe will know." + +"And Luke will tell him?" + +"Will Luke tell him? Luke will run to him a-pantin'. I'll gamble Jack +Harpe knows the awful worst already. So we'll be safe enough to go to +Jack to-morrow morning bright and early and tell him we've decided to +give him the benefit of our services." + +"But I thought we figured not to ride for him," said the now +thoroughly bewildered Swing. + +"Of course we ain't. In words of one syllable, Swing, I want to find +out if it is the Bar S Jack Harpe's going against. Well, then, we +knowing what we know, and Jack Harpe knowing what we know he knows, if +he turns us down to-morrow after offering us the job yesterday, it'll +not only give us the absolute proof we want, but it'll make him turn +his wolf loose P D Q. And that last will be good medicine, because +if I'm any judge he ain't ready to start anything yet awhile, and I +notice when a gent ain't ready and has to jump anyhow he's a heap +likely to fall down and smear himself all over the landscape." + +"The man's right," said Swing. "But it's the oddest number alla same I +ever did see. All kinds of clues to a crime, and no crime yet." + +"It'll come," said Racey Dawson, grimly. "Jack Harpe is one bad +actor." + +"What you got against him--I mean, anything particular besides yore +natural dislike?" Swing Tunstall at times was blessed with flashes of +penetrating shrewdness. + +"I ain't got any use for him, thassall." Much emphasis on the part of +Racey Dawson. + +Swing nodded. "See him at Moccasin Spring?" was his drawled question. + +"I didn't say so." Stiffly. + +"You didn't have to. And you don't--not now. I see it all. And you +yawpin' out real loud how interested you are in seeing how the Bar S +gets a square deal, and letting out only a small peep about old Dale, +and thinking yo're foolin' Swing to a fare-you-well. Oh, yeah. It's +the Dale's li'l ranch that's been worrying you alla time. I know. +Racey's actually got a girl at last. I kind of suspicioned it, but +I didn't think it was so heap big serious. Don't you fret, Racey, +old-timer, I'll keep yore secret. Till death does--Ouch! Leggo me, you +poor hickory! Yo're supposed to be sleeping off a drunk, remember! +G'wan now! Lie down, Fido! Charge, you bad dog!" + +"But lookit," resumed Swing Tunstall, when the dust of conflict was +beginning to settle and he was poking about in the hay in search of +three shirt-buttons and his pocket knife, "lookit, Racey, you didn't +say anything to Luke about yore being friendly with this Dale party. +Guess you forgot that, huh?" + +"Guess I didn't forget it," returned Racey Dawson, placidly. "It ain't +good euchre to lead all yore trumps before you have to. I'm saving +that about Dale to tell to Jack Harpe after he turns us down. I'm a +heap anxious to see what he says then." + +"Maybe he won't say anything." + +"Maybe he won't turn us down. But will you bet he won't? Give you +odds. Any money up to a hundred." + +"I will not," said Swing Tunstall, shaking a decided head. "Yo're too +lucky. Oh, lookit, lookit!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BACK PORCH + + +Racey's gaze casually and uninterestedly followed Swing's pointing +finger. Immediately his eye brightened and he sat up with a jerk. + +"I'll shove the door a li'l farther open," said Swing, making as if to +rise. + +"Sit still," hissed Racey, pulling down his friend with one hand and +endeavouring to smooth his own hair with the other. "Yo're all right, +and the door's all right. I'm going over there in a minute and if +yo're good I'll take you with me." + +"Over there" was the back porch of the Blue Pigeon Store. Swing's +exclamations and laudable desire to see better were called forth by +the sudden appearance on the back porch of two girls. One was Miss +Blythe. The other was Miss Molly Dale. + +There were two barrel chairs on the porch. Miss Blythe picked up a +piece of embroidery on a frame from the seat of one of the chairs and +sat down. Molly Dale seated herself in the other chair, crossed her +knees, and swung a slim, booted leg. From the breast pocket of her +boy's gray flannel shirt she produced a long, narrow strip of white to +which appeared to be fastened a small dark object. She held the strip +of white in her left hand. Her right hand held the dark object and +with it began to make a succession of quick, wavy, hooky dabs at one +end of the strip of white. + +"First time I ever seen anybody trying to knit without needles," said +the perplexed Swing. + +"That ain't knitting," said the superior Racey. "That's tatting." + +"Tatting?" + +"Tatting." + +"What's it for?" + +"Lingery." Racey pronounced the word to rhyme with "clingery." + +"Lingery?" + +"Lingery." + +"What's lingery?" + +"Lingery is clo'es." + +"Clo'es, huh. Helluva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'es +then instead of this here now lingery?" + +"Because lingery is a certain _kind_ of clo'es, you ignorant Jack. +Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?" + +"I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear me +whistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell me +petticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inch +wide. I've seen too many washin's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah. +And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an apron +round my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me to +fly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yards +and yards like a balloon." + +"Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't _make_ petticoats +of this tatting stuff. They use it for trimming like." + +"Trimming on the petticoats?" + +"_And_ the lingery." + +"But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing." + +"Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand? +Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats. +See?" + +"I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I +think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say _lingery_ at me again I won't let +you introduce me to yore girl." + +"She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening. + +"But you'd like her to be, huh? Shore. What does she think about it? +Which one of 'em is she?" + +"I didn't say neither of 'em was. You always did take too much for +granted, Swing." + +"I ain't taking too much for granted with you blushing thataway. Which +one? Tell a feller. C'mon, stingy." + +"Shucks," said Racey, "I should think you could tell. The best-looking +one, of course." + +"But they's two of 'em, feller, and they both look mighty fine to me. +Take that one with the white shirt and the slick brown hair. She's as +pretty as a li'l red wagon. A reg'lar doll baby, you bet you." + +"Doll baby! Ain't you got any eyes? That brown-haired girl--and I want +to say right here I never did like brown hair--is Joy Blythe, Bill +Derr's girl. Of course, Bill's a good feller and all that, and if he +likes that style of beauty it ain't anything against him. But that +other girl now. Swing, you purblind bat, when it comes to looks, she +lays all over Joy Blythe like four aces over a bobtailed flush." + +"She does, huh? You got it bad. Here's hoping it ain't catchin'. I've +liked girls now and then my own self, but I never like one so hard +I couldn't see nothing good in another one. Now, humanly speaking, +either of them two on the porch would suit me." + +"And neither of 'em ain't gonna suit you, and you can gamble on that, +Swing Tunstall." + +"Oh, ain't they? We'll see about that. You act like I never seen a +girl before. Lemme tell you I know how to act all right in company. I +ain't any hilltop Reuben." + +"If you ain't, then pin up yore shirt where I tore the buttons off. +You look like the wrath o' Gawd." + +"You ain't something to write home about yore own self. I can button +up my vest and look respectable, but they's hayseeds and shuttlin's +all over you, and besides I got a necktie, and _yore_ handkerchief is +so sloshed up you can't tie it round yore neck. Yo're a fine-lookin' +specimen to go a-visitin'. A fi-ine-lookin' specimen. And anyway yo're +drunk. You can't go." + +"Hell I can't," snapped Racey, brushing industriously. "They never +seen me." + +"But Luke Tweezy did," chuckled Swing. + +"What's Luke got to do with it?" Racey inquired without looking up. + +"If you'd slant yore eyes out through the door you'd see what Luke +Tweezy's gotta do with it." + +Racey Dawson looked up and immediately sat down on the hay and spoke +in a low tone. + +Swing nodded with delight. "You'll cuss worse'n that when I go over +and make Luke introduce me," he said. "He's been out there on the +porch with 'em the last five minutes, and you was so busy argufyin' +with me you never looked up to see him. And you talk of going over and +doing the polite. Yah, you make me laugh. This is shore one on you, +Racey. Don't you wish now you hadn't made out to be so drunk? Lookit, +Luke. He's a-offerin' 'em something in a paper poke. They're a-eatin' +it. He musta bought some candy. I'll bet they's all of a dime's worth +in that bag. The spendthrift. How he must like them girls. It's yore +girl he's shining up to special, Racey. Ain't he the lady-killer? Look +out, Racey. You won't have a chance alongside of Luke Tweezy." + +"Swing," said Racey, in a voice ominously calm and level, "if you +don't shut yore trap I'll shore wrastle you down and tromp on yore +stummick." + +So saying he reached for Swing Tunstall. But the latter, watchful +person that he was, eluded the clutching hands and hurried through the +doorway. + +Racey, seething with rage, could only sit and hug his knees while +Swing went up on the porch and was introduced to the two girls. It was +some balm to his tortured soul to see how ill Luke Tweezy took Swing's +advent. Did Luke really like Molly Dale? The old goat! Why, the man +was old enough to be her father. + +And did she like him? Lordy man alive, how could she? But Luke Tweezy +had money. Girls liked money, Racey knew that. He had known a girl to +marry a more undesirable human being than Luke Tweezy simply because +the man was rich. Personally, he, Racey Dawson, were he a girl, would +prefer the well-known honest heart to all the wealth in the territory. +But girls were queer, and sometimes did queer things. Molly, was +she queer? He didn't know. She looked sensible, yet why was she so +infernally polite to Luke Tweezy? She didn't have to smile at him when +he spoke to her. It wasn't necessary. Racey's spirit groaned within +him. Finally, the spectacle of the chattering group on the back porch +of the Blue Pigeon proved more than Racey could stand. He retreated +into a dark corner of the barn and lay down on the hay. But he did not +go to sleep. Far from it. Later he removed his boots, stuffed them +full of hay, and hunkered down behind a dismounted wagon-seat over +which a wagon-cover had been flung. With a short length of rope and +several handfuls of hay he propped the boots in such a position that +they stuck out beyond the wagon-box ten or twelve inches and gave +every evidence of human occupation. + +Boosting up with a bushel basket the stiff canvas at the end opposite +the boots he made the wagon-cover stretch long enough and high enough +to conceal the important fact that there were no legs or body attached +to the boots. + +Which being done Racey took up a strategic position behind an upended +crate near the doorway. + +He proceeded to wait. He waited quite a while. The afternoon drained +away. The sun set. In the dusk of the evening Racey heard footsteps. +Swing Tunstall. He'd know his step anywhere. The individual making the +footsteps came to the doorway of the barn, halted an instant, then +walked in. Almost at once he stumbled over the boots. Then Racey +sprang upon his back with a joyous shout and slammed him headforemost +over the wagon-seat into the pile of hay. + +The man swore--and the voice was not that of Swing Tunstall. On the +heels of this unwelcome discovery Racey made another. The man had +dragged out a knife from under his armpit, and was squirmingly +endeavouring to make play with it. Racey's intended practical joke on +Swing Tunstall was in a fair way to become a tragedy on himself. + +There was no time to make explanations, even had Racey been so +inclined. The man was strong and the knife was long--and presumably +sharp. Racey, pinioning his opponent's knife arm with one hand and his +teeth, flashed out his gun and smartly clipped the man over the head +with the barrel. + +Instantly, so far as an active participation in the affair of the +moment, the man ceased to function. He lay limp as a sodden moccasin, +and breathed stertorously. Racey knelt at his side and laid his hand +on the top of the man's head. The palm came away warmly wet. Racey +replaced his gun in its holster and pulled the senseless one out on +the barn floor near the doorway where he could see him better. + +The man was Luke Tweezy. + +Racey sat down and began to pull on his boots. There was nothing to be +gained by remaining in the barn. Tweezy was not badly hurt. The blow +on the head had resulted, so far as Racey could discover (later he was +to learn that his diagnosis had been correct), in a mere scalp wound. + +Racey, when his boots were on, picked up his hat. At least he thought +it was his hat. When he put it on, however, it proved a poor fit. He +had taken Tweezy's hat by mistake. He dropped it on the floor and +turned to pick up his own where it lay behind the wagon-seat. + +But, as we wheeled, a flicker of white showed inside the crown of +Tweezy's hat where it lay on the floor. Racey swung back, stooped +down, and turned out the leather sweatband of Tweezy's hat, at the +edge of which had been revealed the bit of white. + +The latter proved to be one corner of a folded letter. Without the +least compunction Racey tucked this letter into the breast pocket of +his flannel shirt. Then he set about searching Tweezy's clothing with +thoroughness. But other than the odds and odds usually to be found in +a man's pockets there was nothing to interest the searcher. + +Racey carefully turned back the sweatband of the hat, placed the +headpiece on top of the wagon-seat, and departed. He went as far as +the Happy Heart corral. Behind the corral he sat down on his heels, +and took out the letter he had purloined from Luke Tweezy. He opened +the envelope and read the finger-marked enclosure by the light of +matches shielded behind his hat. The letter ran: + +DEAR FRIEND LUKE: + +I don't think much of your plan. Too dangerous. The Land Office is +getting stricter every day. This thing must be absolutely legal in +every way. You can't bull ahead and trust to luck there aren't any +holes. There mustn't be any holes, not a damn hole. Try my plan, the +one I discussed so thoroughly with you last week. It will take longer, +perhaps, but it is absolutely safe. You must learn to be more careful +with the law from now on, Luke. I know what I'm talking about. + +I tell you plainly if you don't accept my scheme and work to it +religiously I'm out of the deal absolutely. I'm not going to risk my +liberty because of other people's foolhardiness. + +Show this letter to Jack Harpe, and let me know your decision. + +Another thing, impress upon Jack the necessity of you two keeping +publicly apart until after the deal is sprung. When you talk to him go +off somewheres where no one will see you. I heard he spoke to you on +the street. Lampher told me. This must not happen again while we are +partners. Don't tell Doc Coffin's outfit more than they need to know. + +Yours truly, + +JACOB POOLEY. + +Racey blew out the fourth match and folded the letter with care and +replaced it in the envelope. He sat back on his heels and looked up +into the darkening sky. Jacob Pooley. Well, well, _well_. If Fat Jakey +Pooley, the register of the district, was mixed up in the business, +the opposition would have its work cut out in advance. Yes, indeedy. +For no man could walk more convincingly the tight rope of the law than +Fat Jakey. Racey Dawson did not know Fat Jakey, except by sight, but +he had heard most of the tales told of the gentleman. And they were +_tales_. Many of them were accepted by the countryside as gospel +truth. Perhaps half of them were true. A good-natured, cunning, +dishonest, and indefatigable featherer of a lucrative political +nest--that was Fat Jakey. + +Racey Dawson sat and thought hard through two cigarettes. Then he +thumbed out the butt, got to his feet, and started to return to the +hotel. For it had suddenly come upon him that he was hungry. + +But halfway round the corral an idea impinged upon his consciousness +with the force of a bullet. "Gawdamighty," he muttered, "I am a Jack!" + +He turned and retraced his steps to the corner of the corral. Here he +stopped and removed his spurs. He stuffed a spur into each hip pocket, +and moved cautiously and on tiptoe toward Tom Kane's barn. + +It was almost full night by now. But in the west still glowed the +faintly red streak of the dying embers of the day. Racey suddenly +bethought him that the red streak was at his back, therefore he +dropped on all fours and proceeded catwise. + +He was too late. Before he reached the back of the barn he heard the +feet of two people crunching the hard ground in front of it. The sound +of the footsteps died out on the grass between the barn and the houses +fronting on Main Street. + +Racey, hurrying after and still on all fours, suddenly saw the dark +shape of a tall man loom in front of him. He halted perforce. His +own special brand of bull luck was with him. The dark shape, walking +almost without a sound, shaved his body so closely as it passed that +he felt the stir of the air against his face. + +When the men had gone on a few yards Racey looked over his shoulder. +Silhouetted against the streak of dying red was the upper half of Jack +Harpe's torso. There was no mistaking the set of that head and those +shoulders. Both it and them were unmistakable. Jack Harpe. Racey swore +behind his teeth. If only he could have reached the barn in time to +hear what the two men had said to each other. + +After a decent interval Racey went on. The Happy Heart was the nearest +saloon. He felt reasonably certain that Luke Tweezy would go there to +have his cut head dressed. He had. Racey, his back against the bar, +looked on with interest at the bandaging of Luke Tweezy by the +proprietor. + +"Yep," said Luke, sitting sidewise in the chair, "stubbed my toe +against a cordwood stick in front of Tom Kane's barn and hit my head +on a rock. Knocked me silly." + +"Sh'd think it might," grunted the proprietor, attending to his job +with difficulty because Luke _would_ squirm. "Hold still, will you, +Luke?" + +"Yo're taking twice as many stitches as necessary," grumbled Luke. + +"I ain't," denied the proprietor. "And I got two more to take. HOLD +STILL!" + +"Don't need to deafen me!" squalled Luke, indignantly. + +"Shut up!" ordered the proprietor, who, for that he did not owe any +money to Luke, was not prepared to pay much attention to his fussing. +"If you think I'm enjoying this, you got another guess coming. And if +you don't like the way I'm doing it, you can do it yoreself." + +Luke stood up at last, a white bandage encircling his head, said that +he was much obliged, and would like to borrow a lantern for a few +moments. + +"Aw, you don't need any lantern," objected the proprietor. "I forgot +to fill mine to-day, anyway. Can't you find yore way to the hotel in +the dark? That crack on the topknot didn't blind you, did it?" + +"I lost something," explained Luke Tweezy. "When I fell down most all +my money slipped out of my pocket." + +"I'll get you a lantern then," grumbled the proprietor. + +Ten minutes later Luke Tweezy, frantically quartering the floor of Tom +Kane's barn, heard a slight sound and looked up to see Racey Dawson +and Swing Tunstall standing in the doorway. + +"I didn't know you fell down _inside_ the barn," Racey observed. + +"There's lots you dunno," said Luke, ungraciously. + +"So there is," assented Racey. "But don't rub it in, Luke. Rubbing it +in hurts my feelings. And my feelings are tender to-day--most awful +tender, Luke. Don't you go for to lacerate 'em. I ain't owing you a +dime, you know." + +To this Luke Tweezy made no comment. But he resumed his squattering +about the floor and his poking and delving in the piles of hay. He +raised a dust that flew up in clouds. He coughed and snorted and +snuffed. Racey and Swing Tunstall laughed. + +"Makes you think of a hay-tedder, don't he?" grinned Racey. "How much +did you lose, Luke--two bits?" + +At this Luke looked up sharply. "Seems to me you got over yore drunk +pretty quick," said he. + +"Oh, my liquor never stays by me a great while," Racey told him +easily. "That's the beauty of being young. When you get old and +toothless an' deecrepit like some people, not to mention no names of +course, why then she's a cat with another tail entirely." + +"What'ell's goin' on in here?" It was Red Kane speaking. Red was Tom +Kane's brother. + +Racey and Swing moved apart to let him through. Red Kane entered, +stared at the spectacle of Luke Tweezy and his bobbing lantern, stared +and stared again. + +"What you doing, Luke?" he demanded. + +"Luke's lost a nickel, Red." Racey answered for the lawyer. "And a +nickel, you know yoreself, is worth all of five cents." + +"I lost some money," grumbled Luke. + +"But you _said_ you lost it when you tripped and fell," said Racey. +"And you fell outside." + +"I lost it here," Luke said, shortly. + +"I don't giveadamn where you lost it or what you lost," declared Red +Kane. "You can't go flirtin' round with any lantern in Tom's barn. +First thing you know you'll set it afire. C'mon, Luke, pull yore +freight." + +"But lookit here," protested Luke, "I lost something valuable, Red. I +gotta find it." + +"It wasn't money then?" put in Racey. + +"Of course it was money," averred Luke. + +"You said 'it' this time, Luke." + +"It don't matter what I said. I lost some money, and I want to find +it." + +"You can want all you like," said Red Kane, "but not in this barn. +C'mon back to-morrow morning, and you can hunt the barn to pieces, but +you can't do any more skirmishing round in here to-night. I'll lock +the barn door so's nobody else will go fussbudgettin' round in here. +C'mon, Luke, get a move on you." + +So Luke was driven out much against his will, and Racey and Swing +roamed around to the dance hall. Here at a table in the ell where the +bar stretched its length they could sit and talk--unheard under cover +of the music. + +"But how come you had yore boots off?" Swing desired to know when a +table, a bottle and two glasses were between them. "Don't try to tell +me you stuck 'em behind that wagon-seat on purpose to trip him. You +never knowed he was comin'." + +"Well, no, I didn't exactly," admitted Racey, with a sly smile. "Those +boots were laid out all special for you." + +"For me?" + +"For you." + +"But why for me?" Perplexedly. + +"Because, Swing, old settler, I didn't like you this afternoon. The +more I saw you over there on that porch the less I liked you. So I +took off my boots and hid 'em careful like behind the wagon-seat so +they'd stick out some, and you'd see 'em and think I was there asleep, +and naturally you'd go for to wake me up and wouldn't think of looking +behind the crate where I was laying for you all ready to hop on yore +neck the second you stooped over the wagon-seat and give you the Dutch +rub for glommin' all the fun this afternoon." + +"And what didja think I'd be doin' alla time?" grinned Swing Tunstall. + +"You wouldn't 'a' tried to knife me, anyway." + +"G'on. He didn't." + +"Oh, didn't he? You better believe he did. If I hadn't got a holt of +his wrist and whanged him over the head with my Colt for all I was +worth he'd 'a' had me laid out cold. Yep, li'l Mr. Luke Tweezy +himself. The rat that don't care nothing about fighting with anything +but a law book." + +"A rat will fight when it's cornered," said Swing. + +Racey nodded. "I've seen 'em. It's something to know Luke carries a +knife and where." + +"Where?" + +"Under his left arm. Fill up, and shove the bottle over." + +Swing filled abstractedly and slopped the table. He pushed the bottle +toward Racey. The latter caught it just in time to prevent a smash on +the floor. + +"Say, look what yo're doing!" cried Racey. "Y' almost wasted a whole +bottle of redeye. I ain't got money to throw away if you have." + +"I was just wonderin' what Fat Jakey's plan is," said Swing, +scratching his head. + +"No use wonderin'," Racey told him. "It's their move." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE LOOKOUT + + +"Tell you, gents, somethin's come up to change my plans." It was Jack +Harpe speaking. Racey and Swing had met him on the sidewalk in front +of Lainey's hotel shortly after breakfast the following morning, and +Racey had told him of their ultimate decision. As he spoke Mr. Harpe +braced an arm against the side of the building, crossed his feet, and +scratched the back of his head. "I'm shore sorry," he went on, "but +I'd like to call off that proposition about you riding for me. Coupla +men used to ride for me one time are coming back unexpected. You know. +Naturally--you know how it is yoreself--I'd like to have these fellers +riding for me, so if it's alla same to you two gents we'll call it +off. But I wanna be fair. You expected a job on my ranch. I told you +you could have it. I owe you somethin'. What say to a month's wages +apiece?" + +Racey shook a slow head, and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "You don't +owe us a nickel," he told Jack Harpe. "Take back yore gold. We're +honest workin'-girls ourselves. Of course we may starve, but what's +that between friends? In words of one syllable what do we care for +poverty or precious stones?" + +Jack Harpe followed this flight of fancy with an uncertain smile. +"Alla same," he said, "I wish you'd lemme give you that month's wages. +I'd feel better about it. Like I was paying my bets sort of." + +"'Tsall right," nodded Racey Dawson. "We still don't want any money. +We're satisfied if you are. Yep, we're a heap satisfied--now. _But_ I +ain't contented--much." + +"That's tough," commiserated Jack Harpe, and dropped at his side the +arm he had braced against the wall of the hotel. Also he straightened +his crossed leg. His air and manner, even to the most casual of eyes, +took on a sudden brisk watchfulness. "That's tough," repeated Jack +Harpe, and added a headshake for good measure. + +"Ain't it?" Racey Dawson said, brightly. "But maybe you can help me +out. Lookit, I ain't trying to pry, y' understand. I'm the least +prying feller in four states, but this here ranch of yores which ain't +got anything to do with the 88 and won't cut any corners off the Bar S +might it by any chance overlap on Mr. Dale's li'l ranch?" + +"Overlap the Dale ranch! What you talkin' about?" + +"I dunno," Racey replied, simply. "I'm trying to find out." + +Jack Harpe laughed his soundless laugh. "I dunno what it is to you," +he said, "but if my ranch don't come near the Bar S how can it hit the +Dale place?" + +"Stranger things than that have happened. But still, alla same, I'd +shore not admire to see any hardship come to old Chin Whisker--Dale, I +mean." + +If Racey had hoped to gain any effect by mentioning "Chin Whisker" he +was disappointed. Jack Harpe was wearing his poker face at the moment. + +"I wouldn't like that any myself," concurred Jack Harpe. "Old Dale +seems like a good feller, sort of shackles along a mite too shiftless +maybe, but his daughter takes the curse off, don't she?" + +"We weren't talking about the daughter," Racey pointed out. + +Swing Tunstall immediately stepped to one side. There was a something +in Racey's tone. + +But Jack Harpe did not press the point. He smiled widely instead. + +"We weren't talking about her, for a fact," he assented. "Coming right +down to cases, we'd oughta be about done talking, oughtn't we?" + +"Depends," said Racey. "It all depends. I'd just like folks to know +that I'd take it a heap personal if any tough luck came to old Dale +and his ranch." + +"Meanin'?" + +"What I said. No more. No less." + +"What you said can be took more ways than one." + +"What do you care?" flashed Racey. "What I said concerns only the gent +or gents who are fixing to colddeck old Dale. Nobody else a-tall. So +what do you care?" + +"I don't. Not a care, not a care. Only--only one thing. Mister Man, if +you're aiming to drynurse old Dale you're gonna have yore paws most +awful full of man's size work. Leastaways, that's the way she looks +to a man up a tree. Me, I'm a great hand for mindin' my own business, +but--" + +"Yo're like Luke Tweezy thataway," cut in Racey. "That's what he's +always doing." + +"Who's Luke Tweezy?" + +"So you've learned yore lesson," chuckled Racey. "It was about time. +Guess you must 'a' bothered Luke Tweezy some when you spoke to him +that day in front of the Happy Heart just before you and Lanpher +crawled yore cayuses and rode to Dale's on Soogan Creek.... Don't +remember, huh? I do. You said, 'See you later, Luke,' and he didn't +speak back. Just kept on untying his hoss and keeping his head bent +down like he hadn't heard a word you said. 'S'funny, huh?" + +"Damfunny," assented Jack Harpe with an odd smoothness. + +"Yeah, you fellers that don't know each other are all of that. Tell me +something, do you meet in the cemetery by a dead nigger's grave in the +dark of the moon at midnight or what? I'm free to admit I'm puzzled. +She's all a heap too mysterious for me." + +"Crazy talk," commented Jack Harpe. "You been wallowing in the +nosepaint and letting yore imagination run on the range too much." + +"Maybe," Racey said, equably. "Maybe. You can't tell. As a young one I +had a powerful imagination. I might have it yet." + +Jack Harpe gazed long and silently at Racey Dawson. The latter +returned the stare with interest. With the sixth sense possessed by +most men who live in a country where the law and the sixshooter are +practically synonymous terms, Racey was conscious that Marie, the +Happy Heart Lookout, had suddenly drifted up to his left flank and now +stood with arms akimbo on the inner edge of the sidewalk. Her body +was turned partly toward him but her head was turned wholly away. +Evidently there was something of interest farther up the street. + +Racey moved slightly to the left. He wished to have a little more +light on Jack Harpe's right side. The Harpe right hand--it was in the +shadow. Jack Harpe pivoted to face Racey. The light from the hotel +window fell on the right hand. The member was near the gun butt, but +not suggestively near. + +"Listen here," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, in a snarling whisper +designed solely for the ears of Racey Dawson, "I dunno what you been +a-drivin' at, but just for yore better information I'm telling you +that I always get what I go after. Whether it's land, cows, horses, +or--women, I get what I want. Nothing ever has stopped me. Nothing +ever will stop me. Don't forget." + +"Thanks," smiled Racey. "I'll try not to." + +"And here's somethin' else: What I take I keep--always." + +"Always is a long word." + +"There's a longer." + +"What?" + +"Death." + +"Meanin'?" + +"That folks who ain't for me are against me. Looks like yore friend +there wanted to talk to you. So long." + +Abruptly Jack Harpe faced about and went into the hotel. Racey felt a +touch on his arm. He turned to find that Marie had almost bumped into +him. Her head was still turned away. One of her hands was groping for +his arm. Her fingers clutched his wrist, then slid upward to the crook +of his elbow. + +"Le's go across the street," she said in a breathless voice, and +pulled him forward. + +Her body as she pulled was pressed tightly against him. She seemed to +hang upon him. And all to the discomfort and mental anguish of Racey +Dawson. He was no prude. His moral sense had never oppressed him. But +this calm appropriation of him was too much. But he accompanied her. +For there was Swing Tunstall, a nothing if not interested observer. +Other folk as well were spectators. To shake loose Marie's grip, +to run away from her, would make him ridiculous. He continued to +accompany the young woman quite as if her kidnapping of him was a +matter of course. + +In the middle of the street they were halted by the headlong approach +of a rapidly driven buckboard. As it swept past in front of them the +light of the lantern clamped on the dashboard flashed on their faces. + +"'Lo, Mr. Dawson," cried the driver, her fresh young voice lifting +to be heard above the drum of the hoofs and the grind of the rolling +wheels. And the voice was the voice of Miss Molly Dale. + +Racey did not reply to the greeting. He was too dumb-foundedly aghast +at the mischance that had presented him, while arm in arm with a +person of Marie's stamp, to the eyes of one upon whom he was striving +to make an impression. What would Molly Dale think? The worst, of +course. How could she help it? Appearances were all against him. Then +he recalled that she had been the sole occupant of the buckboard--that +she had called him by name _after_ the light had fallen on the face of +the lookout. It was possible that she might not know who Marie +was. Although it was no more than just possible, he cuddled the +potentiality to him as if it had been a purring kitten. + +He allowed Marie to lead him across the sidewalk and into the +pot-black shadow between Tom Kane's house and an empty shack. But here +in the thick darkness he paused and looked back to see whether Swing +Tunstall were following. Swing was not. He was entering the hotel in +company with Windy Taylor. + +Marie jerked at his arm. "C'mon," she urged, impatiently. "Gonna take +root, or what?" + +Willy-nilly he accompanied his captor to the extremely private and +secluded rear of Tom Kane's new barn. Here were the remains of a +broken wagon, several wheels, and the major portion of a venerable and +useless stove. Marie released his arm and Racey sat down on the stove. +But it was a very useless stove, and it collapsed crashingly under his +weight (later he learned that even when it had been a working member +of Tom Kane's menage the stove had been held together mainly by trust +in the Lord and a good deal of baling wire). + +"Clumsy!" Marie hissed as he arose hurriedly. "All thumbs and left +feet! Why don't you make a li'l more noise? I'll bet you could if you +tried." + +"Say," Racey snapped, temperishly, for a sharp corner of the stove +door had totally obscured his sense of proportion, "say, I didn't ask +to come over here with you! What do you want, anyway?" + +"Want you to shut up and pay attention to me!" she flung back. "I +thought you was gonna leave town. Why ain't you?" + +"Changed my mind," was his answer. + +"Why can't you do what you said you'd do?" She was quite vehement +about it. + +"I got a right to change my mind, ain't I?" + +"Go, dammit! Why can't you go? You gave them a chance to even up +when you ran that blazer on Doc Coffin an' Honey Hoke there in the +Starlight. Let it go at that. Whadda you want to hang round here for? +Don't you know that every hour you stay here makes it more dangerous +for you?... Oh, you can laugh! That's all you do when a feller does +her level best to see you don't come to any harm. Gawd! I could shake +you for a fool!" + +"Was that what you pulled me alla way over here to tell me?" he +inquired, somewhat miffed at her acerbity. + +"I pulled you across the street because if I'd left you where I found +you you wouldn't 'a' lived a minute." The starlight was bright enough +to reveal to him the set and earnest tenseness of her features. + +"I wouldn't 'a' lived a minute, huh?" was his comment. "I didn't see +anybody round there fit and able to put in a period." + +"It wasn't anybody you could _see_. Don't you remember what I said +about a knife in the night, or a shot in the dark? Man, do you have to +be killed before you're convinced?" + +"Well--uh--I--" + +"Whadda you guess I was standin' alongside of you for while you was +talkin' to that other feller, huh? Tryin' to listen to what you was +sayin'? Think so, huh?" + +"You shore had yore nerve," he said, admiringly--and helplessly. + +"Nerve nothin'!" she denied. "He wouldn't shoot through me. I know +that well enough." + +"Why wouldn't he? And how do you know?" + +"Because, and I do. That's enough." + +"Which particular _one_ is he?" + +"I ain't sayin'." + +"Do you like him as much as that?" Shrewdly. + +"Not the way you mean." Dispassionately. + +"Then who is he?" + +"I ain't sayin', I tell you!" + +"You snitched on Nebraska." Persuasively. + +"This feller's different." + +"How different?" + +"None of yore business. Lookit, I'm doin' my best for you, but I won't +have the luck every time that I had to-night--nor you won't, neither. +Gawd! if I hadn't just happened to strike for a night off this evenin' +I dunno where you'd be!" + +"Say, I thought you didn't dare let them see you have anythin' to do +with me?" + +"I didn't, and I don't. But I had to. I couldn't set by an' let you be +plugged, could I? Hardly." + +"But--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. Don't you worry any about me. I got a ace +in the hole if the weather gets wet. But I wanna tell you this: If +yo're bound to go on playin' the fool, keep a-movin' and walk round a +lighted window like it's a swamp." + +She dodged past him and was gone. He made no move to follow. He pushed +back his hat and scratched his head. + +"Helluva town this is," he muttered. "Can't stand still any more +without having some sport draw a fine sight where you'll feel it +most." + +After she left Racey Dawson Marie diagonalled across Main Street, +passed between the dance hall and Dolan's warehouse, and made her way +to the most outlying of the half-dozen two-room shacks scattered +at the back of the dance hall. She entered the shack, felt for the +matches in the tin tobacco-box nailed against the wall, and struck one +to light the lamp. Like the provident miss she was she turned the wick +down after lighting in order that the chimney might heat slowly. + +It may have been the dimness of the lighted lamp. It may have been +that she was not as observing as usual. But certainly she had no +inkling of another's presence in the same room with her till she had +slipped out of her waist. Then a man in the corner of the room swore +harshly. + +"---- yore soul to ----!" were his remarks in part. "What did you horn +in for to-night?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DISCOVERY + + +Racey Dawson did not remain long idle after Marie's departure. The +girl had barely entered the narrow passage between the warehouse and +the dance hall before he was crossing the street at a point beyond +the jail, where there were no shafts of light from open windows and +doorways to betray him. + +Racey Dawson circled the sheriff's house and tippytoed past the +outermost of the six two-room shacks at the rear of the dance hall. +His objective was the Starlight Saloon, his purpose to discover the +bushwhacker who had tried to shoot him. + +As he passed the outermost shack a light flashed up within it. He +saw Marie's head and shoulder silhouetted against the curtain. He +recognized her immediately by the heavy mass of her hair. No other +woman in Farewell possessed such a mop. + +Racey resolved to speak with Marie again. His hand was lifted in +readiness to knock when Marie's visitor spoke. Racey's hand promptly +dropped at his side. He had recognized the voice. It was that of Bull, +the Starlight bartender. + +The shack door was fairly well constructed. At least there were no +cracks in it. But a log wall has oftentimes an open chink. This wall +had one between the third and fourth tiers of logs not more than a +yard from the door. Racey crouched till his eyes were on a level with +the narrow crack. + +He could not see Bull. But he could see Marie. Apparently she was +not according her visitor the slightest attention. She daintily and +unhurriedly hung her waist over the back of a chair. Then she turned +up the lamp, removed the pins from her abundant hair, shook it down, +and began to brush it calmly and carefully. + +"---- you!" snarled Bull, advancing to the table where he was within +range of Racey's eyesight. "I spoke to you! What didja do it for?" + +She raised her head and looked at him, the brush poised in one hand. +"---- you, Bull," she drawled at him. "I'm tellin' you, because I felt +like it." + +Bull shot forth a hand and grabbed her right wrist. Marie, as a whole, +did not move. But her left hand dropped languidly and nestled in the +overhang of her bodice. + +"Bull," she said, softly, staring straight into the evil eyes +glowering upon her. "Bull, bad as you are, you ain't never laid a hand +on me yet. You ain't gonna begin now, are you?" + +Bull's great fingers began to tighten on her wrist, slowly, +inexorably. + +"I'm sorry, Bull," she resumed, when he made no reply, "but I got a +derringer pointin' straight at yore stomach. Now you ain't gonna lemme +make a mess on my clean carpet, are you?" + +Bull released her wrist as though it burnt him. + +"You devil!" he exclaimed. "I believe you'd do it." + +"Shore I would," she affirmed, serenely, dragging a small and ugly +derringer from its place of concealment and balancing it on a pink +palm. "I'll drill you in one blessed minute if you don't keep yore +paws to home. They's some things, Bull, you can't do to me. An' one +of them things is hurting me. I don't believe in corporal punishment, +Bull." + +"I wanna know what you horned in for," he demanded, pounding the table +till the lamp danced again. + +"If you only knowed what a silly fool you looked," she commented, +"you'd sit down and take it easy.... That's right, tell the +neighbours, do! Squawk out good and loud how yore bushwhackin' li'l +killing turned out a misdeal. Shore, I'd do that, if I was you. Whadda +you guess they pay Jake Rule an' Kansas Casey for, huh?" + +"What did you get in front of him for?" Bull persisted in a lower +tone. "I pretty near had him, but you--Gawd, I could wring yore neck!" + +"But you won't," she reminded him, sweetly. "Lookit here, Bull, if you +hadn't locked the door leading up the stairs to the Starlight's loft, +I'd 'a' come after you there and done my persuadin' of you right in +the loft. As it was when I heard what you were up to--nemmine how I +heard. I heard, that's enough--I had to go out in the street and +do what I could there. I don't believe the feller liked it much, +neither." + +"But what's he to you? You ain't soft on him, are you, account of what +he done for that yellow mutt of yores?" + +"I owe him something," she evaded. "That dog--I like that dog. And +then that man treats me like a lady. It ain't every man treats me like +a lady." + +"I should hope not," guffawed the amiable Bull. + +"Now that's a right funny joke," she assured him. "It almost makes me +laugh. Still, alla same, I got feelin's. I'm a human being. And you'll +notice molasses catches a heap more flies than vinegar does. I like +that Dawson man, and I ain't gonna see him hurt." + +"Did you tell him it was me up there with a rifle?" There was a hint +of unease in the blustery tone. + +"I didn't tell him nothin'," said Marie. "I ain't no snitch." + +"Ah-h, you _are_ soft on him," Bull sneered in disgust. + +"What if I am?" she flared. "What business is it of yores?" + +"What'll Nebraska say?" he proffered. + +"Nebraska hell!" she sneered. "Nebraska and me are through!" + +"I know you've split, but that ain't saying Nebraska will let you go +with another gent." + +"I'll go with anybody I please, and neither Nebraska nor you nore any +other damn man is gonna stop me. If you think different, _try_ it, +just _try_ it! Thassall I ask. _This_ for you and Nebraska!" With +which she snapped her fingers under his nose once, twice, and again. + +"I wish Pap was still alive. He could always handle you. Remember the +time you sassed him there in ..." Here Marie accidentally dropped her +brush into an empty pail, and the clatter drowned out the name of the +town so far as Racey was concerned. But Marie caught the name, for she +straightened with a start and stared at Bull. "Yeah," continued Bull, +"you remember it, huh? I guess you do. That was where Pap slapped yore +chops and throwed you down the stairs. Like to broke yore neck that +time. I wish you had." + +"'Pap,'" she repeated. "'Pap,' and that town. What made you think of +them two names together?" + +"Because that was the town where he throwed you down the stairs," Bull +told her matter-of-factly. + +"It was the town where we met up with Bill Smith." + +"What about it?" + +"Nothing--only Bill Smith is here in town." + +"In Farewell?" + +"In Farewell." + +"Why ain't I seen him if he's in Farewell?" + +"Because he's shaved off all of that beard and part of his +eyebrows--they used to meet plumb in the middle, remember--till a body +would hardly know him. I didn't. I knowed they was somethin' familiar +about him, but I couldn't tell what till you mentioned Pap and the +town together. Then I knowed. Yeah, Bull, this gent's the same Bill +Smith Pap picked up on the trail. He's a respectable member of society +now, I guess. Calls himself Jack Harpe and spends most of his time +runnin' round Lanpher." + +"Then he ain't too respectable, the lousy pup. Calls himself Jack +Harpe, huh? Shore, he come in the Starlight with Lanpher and gimme +the eye without a quiver. Didn't know me, he didn't! And I ain't done +nothin' to _my_ looks to change 'em." + +"Huh, y' oughta seen the way he looked me up and down when he passed +us on the Marysville trail. You'd 'a' thought he just seen me. Oh, +he's got his nerve." + +"Who is _us_?" Suspiciously. + +"What it won't do you no good to know. I guess I can go riding with a +friend if I like. You seem to keep forgettin' you ain't got any ropes +on me--nary a rope. Stop botherin' yore fool head about me and my +doings, and think of something worth while--for instance, Jack Harpe." + +"Then what?" + +"No wonder they call you Bull. That's all you are, beef to the heels +and no more sense than a calf. Listen, Jack Harpe's respectable, ain't +he? Or he aims to be, which is the same thing. Anyway, he's swelling +round here like a poisoned pup and don't know us a-tall. Takin' him +down a couple o' pegs wouldn't hurt him. He always was too tall. I'll +bet if he was come at right he'd pay cash down on the hoof for us, me +and you both, to keep our heads shut about what we know." + +"But we was in that, too." + +"But we didn't do what he done," pointed out Marie. "And you know +yoreself the company don't drop the case like a ordinary sheriff +does. No, I expect Jack Harpe would be worried some if he knowed we'd +recognized him.... Aw, what are you scared of? Pap's dead, ain't he? +How can Harpe hurt us? He never knowed how intimate we knowed Pap +while he was stayin' at our house. He just thought Pap was a friend. +He never knowed we got our share of the money. Nawsir, he can't hook +us up with that killin' nohow, but we can hook him. Brace up to him, +Bull. Maybe you can work him for a stake. They ain't no danger, I tell +you." + +"By Gawd, I'd like to!" declared Bull and swore a string of oaths. + +"Then go ahead," urged Marie. "And don't forget I want in on the +stake." + +"Ah-h, I do all the work and then have to whack up with you, huh? I +will not. What I get I keep." + +"I remember Jack Harpe used to say that. He shore hated himself, the +poor feller. Alla same, I guess maybe you'll go even Steven with me, +Bull. Who is it recognized him first? Who give you the idea? Who did, +huh? Who did? Whatever you get you'll divide with me or I'll know the +reason why. And if you don't think I'm a wildcat get me roused, man, +get me roused." + +Bull stood back and scratched a tousled head. "I--well--" he began and +paused. Obviously the prospect did not wholly please him. + +"Go to Jack Harpe easy like," suggested the girl. "Don't tell him too +much, just enough to show yo're meanin' what you say. I'd do it myself +only he'd laugh at me. He's one of those gents a woman has to shoot +before they'll believe she's in earnest. He ain't the only one, they's +another just like him in town.... Nemmine who. You go to Jack Harpe. +He'll listen to a man. G'on! They's money in it, if you work it right. +You want money, don't you? You need three hundred to pay what you owe +Piggy Wadsworth, don't you? Yah, you big hunk, you been runnin' to me +for money long enough! Here's a chance to make some of yore own. Fly +at it." + +When Bull had picked up a rifle standing in a corner and departed, +slamming the door behind him, Marie sat down on the lid of a mottled +zinc trunk and wiped her hot face on a petticoat that hung on the wall +conveniently to hand. "Warm work, warm work!" she muttered, wearily. +"I dunno when I seen Bull so mad. I shore thought one time there +I wasn't gonna get rid of him without a fight." She rolled her +well-shaped ankles and flipped the gilt tassels on her shoe tops to +and fro (yes, indeed, some women wore tasseled footgear in those +days). "Men," she went on, staring down at the shiny tassels, "men are +shore hell." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A BOLD BAD MAN + + +Bull had halted a moment outside the door of the shack to roll a +cigarette. Before he pulled out his tobacco bag he leaned the rifle +against the doorjamb. + +His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, did not see the crouching +Racey Dawson within arm's-length. + +Both of Bull's hands were cupped round the lighted match. He lifted +it to the end of the cigarette. He sucked in his breath and--a voice +whispered: "Drop that match an' grab yore ears." + +Bull did not hesitate to obey, for the broad, cold blade of a bowie +rested lightly against the back of his neck. Bull swayed a little +where he stood. + +"I got yore rifle," resumed the whisperer. "Walk away now. Yo're +headin' about right. Don't make too much noise." + +Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is +safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man +with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder +half buried in sumac. + +"Si'down," requested the captor in a conversational tone. "We can be +right comfortable here." + +"Dawson!" breathed the captive. + +"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I +said," he added, sharply. + +Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower +his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle +was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The +firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. + +Racey smiled widely. He felt very chipper and pleased with himself. He +was managing the affair well, he thought. + +"You show up right plain against that white rock," he remarked. "If +yo're figuring to gamble with me, think of that." + +"Whatcha want?" demanded Bull, sullenly. + +"Lots of things," replied Racey, shifting a foot an inch to the left. +"I'm the most wantin' feller you ever saw. Just now this minute I want +you to tell me where it was you met up with Bill Smith and what it was +he did so bad that you and Marie think you've got a hold on him." + +"You _was_ listenin' quite a while," muttered Bull. + +"Quite a while," admitted Racey Dawson. "Quite a while." + +"But you didn't listen quite hard enough," suggested Bull. + +"No," assented Racey, "I didn't. I'm expecting you to sort of fill in +the gaps." + +Bull shook a decided head. "No," he denied. "No, you got another guess +comin'. I won't do nothin' like that a-tall." + +"And why not?" + +"Because I won't." + +"'Won't' got his neck broke one day just because he wouldn't." + +"Yeah, I guess so," sneered Bull. + +"You must forget I heard all about how you tried to bushwhack me from +the second floor of the Starlight," Racey put in, gently. + +"Aw, that's a damn lie," bluffed Bull. "A damn lie. All a mistake. You +heard wrong." + +Racey shook a disapproving head. "When it's after the draw," he said, +"and you ain't got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have +everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she's poor +poker to make a bluff. Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about," persisted Bull. + +"Aw right, let it go at that. Who put you up to bushwhack me?" + +"Nun-nobody," hesitated Bull. + +"Yore own idea, huh?" + +Bull spat disgustedly on the grass. He had seen the trap after it had +been sprung. + +"You shore can't play poker," smiled Racey, his eyes shining with +pleasure under the wide brim of his hat. "I--The starlight's pretty +bright remember." + +Bull's sudden movement came to naught. He settled back, his eyes +furtively busy. + +"Still, alla same," pursued Racey, "I wonder was it all yore own +idea." + +"Whatell didja kick me for?" snarled Bull. + +"'Kick you for?'" Racey repeated, stupidly. + +"Yeah, kick me," said Bull. "No damn man can kick me and me not take +notice." + +"Dunno as I blame you. Dunno as I do. If any damn man kicks you, Bull, +you got a right to drill him every time. And you think I kicked you?" + +"I know you did." + +"You know I did, huh? Did you see me do it?" + +"You kicked me after you'd knocked me silly with that bottle. Kicked +me when I was down and couldn't help myself." + +"So I did all that to you after you were down, huh? Who told you?" + +"Nemmine who told me. You done it, that's enough." + +"No, it ain't enough. It ain't enough by a long mile. I want to know +who told you?" + +"I ain't sayin'." Sullenly. + +"Come to think, she's hardly necessary. Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke were +the only two gents in the Starlight at the time. It was either one +or both of 'em told you. Maybe I'll get a chance to ask 'em about it +later. Now I dunno whether you'll believe it or not but to tell the +truth and be plain with you, Bull, I didn't kick you." + +"I don't believe you." But Bull's tone was not confident. + +"I wouldn't expect you to--under the circumstances. What I'm tellin' +you is true alla same. Lookit, you fool, is it likely after takin' +the trouble to knock you down, I'd kick you besides? Do I look like a +sport who'd do a thing like that? Think it over." + +Bull was silent. But Racey believed that he had planted the seed of +doubt in his mind. + +"And another thing," resumed Racey, "do I look like a sport who'd +let another jigger lay for him promiscuous? You go slow, Bull. +I'm good-natured, a heap good-natured. But don't lemme catch you +bushwhacking me again." + +"I won't," said Bull with a flash of humour. + +"Be dead shore of it," cautioned Racey. "If I ever get to even +thinking that yo're laying for me, Bull, I'm liable to come a-askin' +questions you can't answer. Yo're a bright young man, Bull, but you +want to be careful how you strain yore intellect. You might need it +some day. And if you want to keep on being mother's li'l helper, be +good, thassall, be good." + +"Yo're worse'n a helldodger," affirmed Bull. + +"You got me sized up right. I'm worse than a helldodger, a whole lot +worse." The words were playful, but the tone was sardonic. + +Bull grunted. + +"You tell me, will you, just where it was you met this Bill Smith-Jack +Harpe feller, and what it was he did? There's a company in it, too. +What company is it--the Northern Pacific?" + +"Ah-h, you got a gall, you have," sneered Bull, savagely. "Think +you'll make something out of Harpe yore own self, huh?" + +"That is my idea," admitted Racey. + +"Well, you got a gall, thassall I gotta say." + +"You forget you've got a gall, too, when you try to bushwhack me," +Racey reminded him. "I'm trying to play even for that." + +"Try away." + +"You seem to make it hard for me kind of," grinned Racey. + +"Of course I'd enjoy makin' it easy for you all I could," observed +Bull with sarcasm. + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say _that_," was the Dawson comment. +"But maybe it's possible to persuade you to tell me what you know." + +"It ain't." + +"Suppose I decided to leave you here." + +"You won't." Confidently. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you ain't shootin' a unarmed man." + +"Yet you think I'm the boy to kick one that's down." + +"Sometimes I change my mind," said Bull with a harsh laugh. + +"You laugh as loud as that again," said Racey, irritably, "and you'll +change somethin' besides yore mind. Don't be too trusting a jake, +Bull, not too trusting. I might surprise you yet. About that +information now--I want it." + +"If anybody's gonna make money out of Harpe I am." Thus Bull, +stubbornly. + +"I ain't aimin' to make _money_ out of Harpe. What I'm figuring to +make out of him is somethin' else again." + +"Whatsa use of lying thataway? Don't--" + +"That'll be about all," interrupted Racey. "You've called me a liar +enough for one night. I ain't got _all_ kinds of patience. You going +to tell me what I want to know?" + +"No, I ain't." + +"Yo're mistaken. You'll tell me, or you'll leave town." + +"Leave town!" + +"Yep, leave town, go away from here, far, far away. So far away that +you won't be able to blackmail Jack Harpe. See? Yore knowledge won't +be worth a whoop to you then. An' I'll find out what I want to know +from Marie." + +"She'll never tell." + +"Oh, I guess she will," said Racey, but he knew in his heart that +worming information out of Marie would not be easy. Saving his life +was one thing, but giving up information with a money value would be +quite another. The amiable Marie was certainly not working for her +health. + +"Yo're welcome to what you can get out of her," said Bull. + +"Then you'll be starting to-night. From here we'll go get yore hoss +and see you safely on yore way." + +"What'll you gimme to tell you?" inquired the desperate Bull. + +"Nothin'--not a thin dime, feller. C'mon, let's go." + +"Nun-no, not yet. I--say, suppose you lemme talk to Jack Harpe first +myself. Just you lemme get my share out of him, and I'll tell you all +you wanna know." + +"When you going to him?" Racey demanded, suspiciously. + +"To-night if I can find him. It ain't so late. But to-morrow, anyway." + +"I'll give you till sundown to-morrow night. If you ain't ready to +tell me then you'll have to drift." + +"Maybe, maybe not," sneered Bull. + +"I've said it," Racey said, shortly, rising to his feet. + +"There's no ropes on you. Skip.... Nemmine yore Winchester. She's all +right where she is. So long, Bull, so long." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SURPRISE + + +The sun, lifting over the rim of the world, sprayed its rays through +the window and splashed with gold the face of Racey Dawson. He awoke, +and much to the profane disgust of Swing Tunstall, shook that worthy +awake immediately. + +"Aw, lemme sleep, will you?" begged Swing, with suspicious meekness, +reaching surreptitiously for a boot. "You lemme alone, that's a good +feller." + +"Get up," commanded Racey. "Get up, it's the early worm catches the +most fish. Rise and shine, Swing. Never let the sun catch you snorin'. +Besides, I can't sleep any more myself. I--" + +Wham! Swing's flung boot shaved Racey's surprised ear and smashed +against the partition. + +"You'll wake up that Starlight proprietor," Racey said, calmly, as he +picked up the boot and dropped it out of the window. "Good dog," he +continued, presumably addressing a canine friend without, "leave +Swing's nice new boot alone, will you? Don't go gnawin' at it +thataway. It ain't a bone." + +Swing, pulling on his pants, left the room, hopping physically and +mentally. Racey rested both elbows on the sill and waited happily for +his comrade to appear beneath him. + +"Shucks," he said in a tone of great surprise when Swing shot round +the corner of the hotel, "I shore thought there was a dog there +a-teasin' that boot. I could have took my Bible oath there was a +great, big, black, curly-haired feller with lots of teeth down there. +I saw him, Swing. Shore thought I did. Must 'a' been mistaken. And you +went and believed me, and got splinters in yore feet because you were +in such a hurry. Never mind, Swing, here's the other one." + +He jerked the boot in question at his friend's head, and sat down on +his cot to complete his own dressing. + +Came then the sound of a prodigious yawn from the room next door +occupied by Jack Harpe. A cot creaked. A boot was scraped along the +floor. + +"Shore must be a sound sleeper," said Racey Dawson to himself, "if he +really did just wake up." + +He buckled on his gunbelt, set his hat a-tilt on one ear, and went +down to wash his face and hands in the common basin on the wash-bench +outside the kitchen door. + +But Swing Tunstall was before him, and was disposed to make an issue +of the dropped boots. Only by his superior agility was Racey enabled +to dodge all save a few drops of a full bucket of water. + +"Djever get left! Djever get left!" singsonged Racey from the corner +of the building, and set the thumb of one hand to his nose and +twiddled opprobrious fingers at his comrade. "You wanna be a li'l bit +quicker when you go to souse me, Swing. Yo're too slow, a lot too +slow. Yep. Now I wouldn't go for to fling that pail at me, Swing. +You might bust it, and yore carelessness with crockery thataway has +already cost you ten dollars and six bits." + +This was too much for the ruffled Swing. Waving the pail he pursued +his tormentor round the hotel and into the front doorway. Racey +fled up the stairs. At the stair foot Swing gave over the chase and +returned to the washbench to resume his face-washing. Racey went on +into their room. There was in it several articles belonging to Swing +that he intended to throw out of the window at once. + +But when he had entered the room and the door was closed behind him he +did not touch any of Swing's belongings. Instead he remained standing +in the middle of the room looking thoughtfully at the floor. What had +given him pause was the fact that he had found the door ajar. And +he knew with absolute certainty that he had closed the door tightly +before he went downstairs. + +It is the vagrant straw that shows the wind's direction, and since the +attempt to bushwhack him Racey was not overlooking any straws. The +door had been ajar. Why? + +There was no closet, and from where he stood he could see under both +cots. No one lay concealed in the room. The bedclothes on Swing's cot +had not been touched. At least they were in precisely the position in +which they had been landed when thrown back by Swing's careless hand. +Racey did not believe that his own had been touched, either. But the +saddlebags and _cantenas_ lying on the floor at the head of his cot +had certainly been moved. He recalled distinctly having, the previous +evening, piled the _cantenas_ on top of the saddlebags. And now the +saddlebags were on top of the _cantenas_. + +He glanced at Swing's warbags. They had not been moved. He wondered +if Jack Harpe and the Starlight's owner were still in their rooms. He +listened intently. Hearing no sound he went out into the hall, and +knocked gently on Jack Harpe's door and called him softly by name. +Getting no reply, he lifted the latch and walked in. There were Jack +Harpe's saddlebags, _cantenas_, and rifle in a corner. A coat lay on +the tumbled blankets of the cot. Otherwise the room was empty. + +Racey went out, being careful to close the door tightly, and went to +the room of the Starlight's owner. This room, too, was empty. Racey +returned to his own room, tossed his _cantenas_ and saddlebags on the +cot, and began feverishly to paw through their contents. + +Nothing had been subtracted from or added to the heterogeneous +collection of articles in the _cantenas_. The contents of the off-side +saddlebag were in their familiar disorder. There was nothing in or +about the off-side saddlebag to arouse suspicion. Not a thing. + +He unbuckled the flap of the near-side saddlebag, and flipped it back. +Somebody had been at this saddlebag. He was sure of it. His extra +shirt, instead of being wadded into the fore-end of the saddlebag on +top of a pair of socks, had been stuffed into the hinder end on top of +a pair of underdrawers. Which underdrawers should by rights have been +at the bottom of the leather hold-all. + +But there was something else at the bottom of the saddlebag. It was +something long and hard and wrapped in the buttonless undershirt +despised and rejected by Swing. + +Racey unrolled the undershirt. His eyes stared in genuine horror at +what the unrolling revealed. It was the commonest of butcher knives +that someone's busy hand had wrapped in the undershirt. But what was +not nearly so common was that the broad, thin blade was stained with +blood. From point to haft the steel was as red as if it had been +dipped in a pail of paint. Indeed, being dry, it looked not unlike +paint. But Racey knew that it was not paint. + +"It was dry before it was wrapped in that undershirt," he said to +himself, testing the blood on the blade with a speculative fingernail. +"There ain't a mark on the undershirt. Gawd! Here it is again--the +earmark of a crime, and no crime--yet. This is getting monotonous." + +He laid down the knife, settled his hat, and methodically searched +Swing Tunstall's warbags. It turned out a needless precaution. He had +felt that it would be. But he could not afford to take any risks. +Having found nothing in Swing's warbags save his friend's personal +belongings, Racey slid the knife up his sleeve and went downstairs to +breakfast. On the way he stopped a moment at a fortuitous knothole in +the board wall. When he passed on his way the knife was no longer with +him. + +Jack Harpe was still eating when Racey eased himself into the chair at +Swing's right hand. Jack Harpe nodded to Racey and went serenely on +with his meal. Racey seized knife and fork, squared his elbows, and +began to saw at his steak. And as he chewed and swallowed and sloshed +the coffee round in his cup in order to get the full benefit of the +sugar he wondered whether it was Jack Harpe or Bull to whom he was +indebted for the butcher knife. It was one of the two, he thought. Who +else could it be? + +He believed it would be wise to spend most of his spare time in his +room. At least until he knew the inwardness of the butcher-knife +incident. It was possible that the man who had secreted the knife +would return. Racey might well be in line for other even more delicate +attentions. + +Before going up to his room Racey went to the corral. He had left his +saddle-blanket out all night, he mentioned to Swing in the hearing +of Jack Harpe. He was gone five minutes. When he returned, strangely +enough minus the saddle-blanket, he was in time to see Piney Jackson +dart round the corner of the blacksmith shop, cup his hand at his +mouth, and raise a stentorian bellow for Jake Rule. + +Piney did not wait to see whether the sheriff replied to his call. +Instead he beckoned violently to the handful of men grouped on the +sidewalk in front of the hotel. + +"C'mon over!" he bawled. "Look what I found here this morning." + +Jack Harpe and the owner of the Starlight being among those present +and responding to the invitation, Racey Dawson took a chance and went +with the rest. + +"Look at that," said Piney Jackson, indicating a humped-up individual +sitting behind the woodpile. + +Racey and the other spectators went round the woodpile and viewed the +humped-up individual. The latter was Bull, the Starlight bartender. +And he was dead, very dead. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. +He was a ghastly object. + +"Who done it?" inquired one of the fools that infest every group of +men. + +"He didn't leave any card," the blacksmith replied with sarcasm. + +The fool asked no more questions. Came then Jake Rule and Kansas +Casey. Jake, a rather heavy, well-meaning officer, old at the +business, began to sniff about for clues. Kansas Casey laid the body +down on its back and thoroughly searched the pockets of the clothing. + +"One thing," said Kansas Casey, looking up from what he had found--a +handful of silver dollars, a pocket knife, and a silver watch, +"robbery wasn't the motive." + +Racey looked sidewise from under his eyebrows at Jack Harpe. The +latter was staring down unmoved at the dead body. + +"Somebody must 'a' had a grudge against Bull," offered the fool. + +"You think so?" said Piney. "Yo're a real bright feller." + +The fool subsided a second time. + +"Lookit here, Jake," Piney continued to the sheriff's address, "you +don't have to kick my wood all over the county, do you?" + +"I'm lookin' for the knife," explained the sheriff, ceasing not to +stub his toes against the solid chunks. "Feller after doing a thing +like this gets flustrated sometimes and drops the knife. And finding +the knife might be a help in locating the feller." + +All of which seemed sufficiently logical to the bystanders. + +Racey decided he had seen enough. Besides, he wanted to camp closer to +his warbags. He should have been in his room before this, and he would +have been had he cared to make himself conspicuous by not going along +with the crowd to see what Piney Jackson had found. + +Declining Swing's earnest invitation to drink he returned to the +hotel. Swing went grouchily to the Happy Heart, wondering what was the +matter with his friend. It was not like the Racey he knew to play the +hermit. + +Once in his room Racey again explored his own and Swing's saddlebags +and _cantenas_, looked under the cots and through the bedclothes. But +he found nothing that did not belong to either himself or Swing. + +"They didn't make a second trip," he said to himself. "I'm betting +it's Jack Harpe. Shore it is, the polecat." + +Then in order to have a water-tight reason for remaining in the room +he pulled off his boots and trousers, fished a housewife from a +_cantena_, and set about repairing a rip in his trousers. It was a +perfectly good rip. He had had it a long time. What more natural that +on this particular day he should wish to sew it up? + +It was an hour later that he heard the tramp of several pairs of boots +on the stairs. He could hear the wheezing, laboured breathing of Bill +Lainey, the hotel proprietor. Climbing the stairs always bothered +Bill. The latter and his followers came along the hall and stopped in +front of Racey's door. + +"This is his room," panted Bill Lainey. + +Unceremoniously the latch was lifted. A man entered. The man was Jake +Rule, the sheriff of Fort Creek County. He was followed by Kansas +Casey, his deputy. + +Jake looked serious. But Kansas was smiling as he closed the door +behind him. Then he opened it quickly and thrust his head into the +hall. + +"No need of you, Bill," he said. + +"Aw right," said Bill, aggrievedly, and forthwith shuffled away. + +Kansas withdrew his head and nodded to Jake Rule. "He's gone," he +said. + +Racey Dawson, sitting crosslegged on his cot and plying his needle in +most workmanlike fashion, grinned comfortably at the two officers. +Lord, how glad he was he had found that knife! If he hadn't-- + +"Sidown, gents," invited Racey. "There's two chairs, or you can have +Swing's cot if you like." + +Jake Rule shook his head. "We don't wanna sit down, Racey," he said. +"We got a li'l business with you, maybe." + +"Maybe? Then you ain't shore about it?" + +"Not unless yo're willing. You see, Dolan's drunk to-day, and of +course we can't get a warrant till he's sober." + +"A warrant? For me?" + +"Not yet," said Jake Rule. "Only a search warrant--first. But of +course if you ain't willing we can't even touch anything." + +"Still, Racey," put in Kansas Casey, smoothly, "if you could see yore +way to letting us go through yore warbags, yores and Swing's, it would +be a great help, and we'd remember it--after." + +"Yeah, we shore would," declared the sheriff. "You save us trouble +now, Racey, and I'll guarantee to make you almighty comfortable in the +calaboose. You won't have nothing to complain of. Not a thing." + +Racey laughed cheerily. "Got me in jail already, have you?" he +chuckled. "You'll have me hung next." + +"Oh, they's quite some formalities to go through before _that_ +happens," declared the sheriff, seriously. + +"I'm glad," drawled Racey. "I thought maybe you were fixing to take me +right out and string me up before dinner. Want to search our stuff, +huh? Hop to it. Swing ain't here, but I'll give you permission for +him. He won't mind." + +Jake and Kansas went at the warbags like terriers digging out a +badger. Racey leaned on his elbow and watched them. What luck that the +door had been ajar and that he had noticed it! If it had not been a +life-and-death matter he would have laughed aloud. + +At the end of twenty minutes the officers stood up. They had gone +through everything in the room, including the cots. Kansas Casey wore +a pleased smile. Jake Rule looked disappointed. + +"Don't look so glum, Jake," urged Racey. "Is it a fair question to ask +what yo're hunting for?" + +"The knife," he said, shortly. "The knife that cut Bull's throat." + +"The knife, huh?" remarked Racey as if to himself. "So yo're +suspectin' me of wiping out Bull, are you?" + +"I never did," said Kansas, promptly. "I know you. You ain't that +kind." + +Jake looked reproachfully at his deputy. "You never can tall, Racey," +he said, turning to the puncher. "I've got so myself I don't trust +nobody no more." + +"Was this here yore own idea," pursued Racey, "or did somebody sic you +onto me?" + +Jake made no immediate answer. It was obvious that he was of two minds +whether to speak or not. + +"Why not tell him?" suggested Kansas. "What's the odds?" + +At this Jake took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it +to Racey. + +"I found this lying on the floor of my office when I come back after +attending to Bull," was his explanation. + +There were words printed on the slip of paper. They read: + +Look in Racey Dawson's room for what killed Bull. + +The communication was unsigned. + +Racey handed it back to Jake Rule. "Got any idea who put it in yore +office?" he asked. + +Jake shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "The window was open. Anybody +passing could 'a' throwed it in." + +"You satisfied now, Jake, or--" Racey did not complete the sentence. + +"Oh, I'm satisfied you didn't do it," replied the sheriff, "if that's +what you mean. But--the man who wrote this here _joke_!" + +As he spoke he tore the note in two, dropped the pieces on the floor, +and stamped out of the room. Kansas Casey looked over his shoulder as +he followed in the wake of his superior. + +He saw Racey Dawson picking up the two pieces of the note. Racey's +mouth was a grim, uncompromising line. + +"If Racey ever finds out who wrote that," thought Kansas to himself, +pulling the door shut, "hell will shore pop. And I hope it does." + +For he liked Racey Dawson, did Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FIRE! FIRE! + + +"Why didn't you tell me at breakfast?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"And give it away to Jack Harpe!" said scornful Racey. "Shore, that +would 'a' been a bright thing to do now, wouldn't it?" + +"What didja do with the knife?" + +"Dropped it through a knothole in the wall. The only way they'll ever +get hold of it is by tearing the building down." + +"Jack Harpe, if he _is_ the feller, will know you found it and try +again." + +"Shore. We can't help that. One thing, we'll know before the day is +over whether it is Jack Harpe or not." + +"How?" + +"Remember me this morning telling you how I'd left my saddle-blanket +out all night and then going out in the corral for the same. I said it +so Jack could hear me. He did hear me, and he watched me go. He saw +me go out round the corral, and he saw me come back without the +saddle-blanket. Now anybody'd know I wouldn't leave my saddle-blanket +out behind the corral, would I?" + +"Not likely." + +"But a feller who'd just found a knife with blood on it in his warbags +might go out back of the corral to lose the knife, mightn't he?" + +"He might." + +"Well, that's what I did. Naturally, having already lost the knife +down through the knothole I couldn't lose her again. But I did the +best I could. I dug in the ground with a sharp stick, and I made a +li'l hole like, and I filled her in again, and tramped her all down +flat, and sort of half smoothed down the roughed-up ground like I was +trying to hide my tracks and what I'd been doing. Then I came away. + +"Now I'm betting that if Jack Harpe is the lad tucked away that knife +in my warbags he'll go skirmishing out behind the corral to see what I +was really doing." + +"Maybe." Doubtfully. + +"There ain't any maybe if he's the man turned the trick. And from +where we're a-laying under this wagon we can see the back of the +corral plain as--There he comes now." + +The posts of the corral were less than a hundred yards from where +Racey and Swing lay beneath a pole-propped freight wagon. From the +wagon, which was standing beyond the stage company's corral, the +ground sloped gently to the hotel corral. Racey had taken the +precaution to mask their position with a cedar bush. + +Hatless he peered through the branches at the man quartering the +ground behind the hotel corral. + +"He's getting close to where I made that hole," he told Swing. "Now +he's found it," he resumed as the man dropped on his knees. "Jack +Harpe all along. Ain't he the humoursome codger?" + +"He shore couldn't 'a' dug up that hole already," declared Swing when +Jack Harpe jumped to his feet after a sojourn on his knees of possibly +thirty seconds' duration. + +"No," assented Racey, puzzled. "He couldn't. There's an odd number," +he added, as Jack Harpe pelted back at a brisk trot over the way he +had come. "Le's not go just yet, Swing. I have a feeling." + +He was glad of this feeling when ten minutes later Jack Harpe returned +with Jake Rule and Kansas Casey. The latter carried a shovel. The +three men clustered round the spot where Racey had dug his hole. +Kansas Casey set his foot on the shovel and drove it into the ground. +Racey chuckled at the pleasant sight. What must inevitably follow +would be even pleasanter. + +The deputy sheriff made the dirt fly for six minutes. Then he threw +down the shovel, pushed back his hat, and wiped his face on his +sleeve. He spoke, but his language was unintelligible. Jack Harpe said +something and picked up the shovel. He began to dig. He cast the earth +about for possibly five minutes. + +"Ain't he the prairie-dog, huh?" Racey demanded, jabbing his comrade +in the ribs with stiffened thumb. "Just watch him scratch gravel." + +Suddenly Jake Rule and Kansas Casey turned their backs on the +frantically labouring Jack Harpe and walked away. Jack Harpe watched +them, threw up a few more half-hearted shovelfuls, and then slammed +the implement to earth with a clatter, hitched up his pants, and +strode hurriedly after the officers. + +"That proves it, I guess," said Swing. + +"Naturally. She's enough for us, anyhow.---- it to ----!" + +"Whatsa matter?" inquired Swing, surprised at his friend's vehemence. + +"Whatsa matter? Whatsa matter? Everythin's the matter. I just happened +to think that now Bull won't be able to tell me what he was going to +to-night." + +"That'so. Can't you ask the girl?" + +"I can, but I ain't shore it'll do any good. Marie ain't the kind that +blats all she knows just to hear herself talk. If she wants to tell me +she will. If she don't want to, she won't. Bull was my one best bet." + +"What's that?" cried Swing, raising himself on an elbow. + +"That" was the noise of a tumult in Farewell Main Street. There were +shouts and yells and screams. Above all, screams. Racey and Swing +hurried to the street. When they reached it the shouts and yells had +subsided, but the screams had not. If anything they were louder than +before. They issued from the mouth of Marie, whom Jake Rule, Kansas +Casey, and four other men were taking to the calaboose. They were +doing their duty as gently as possible, and Marie was making it +as difficult for them as possible. She was as mad as a teased +rattlesnake, and not a man of her six captors but bore the marks of +fingernails, or teeth, or heels. + +She had, it appeared, attacked without warning and with a derringer, +Jack Harpe as he was walking peacefully along the sidewalk in front +of the Starlight. Only by good luck and a loose board that had turned +under the girl's foot as she fired had Mr. Harpe been preserved from +sudden death. + +"That's shore tough," Racey said to their informant. "I'm goin' right +away now and get me a hammer and some nails and fix that loose board." + +"You better not let Jack Harpe hear you say that," cautioned the +other. + +"If you want something to do, suppose now you tell him," was Racey's +instant suggestion. + +Racey's tone was light, but his stare was hard. The other man went +away. + +"Fire! Fire!" shrilled young Sam Brown Galloway, bouncing out of his +father's store, and jumping up and down in the middle of Main Street. +"The jail's afire! The jail's afire!" + +Men added their shouts to his childish squalls and ran toward the +jail. Racey and Swing trundled along the sidewalk together. "She's +afire, all right," said Racey. "Lookit the smoke siftin' through the +window at the corner." + +The smoke was followed by a vicious lash of flame that whipped up the +side of the building and set the eaves alight. The glass of another +window fell through the bars with a tinkle. A billow of smoke rushed +forth. Smoke was seeping through cracks at the back of the building. + +"My Gawd!" exclaimed Racey, as a shriek rent the air. "The girl's in +there!" + +He had for the moment forgotten that Marie was incarcerated in the +jail. But Kansas Casey had not forgotten. Racey, having picked up a +handy axe, raced round to the back only to find the deputy unlocking +the back door. A burst of smoke as he flung open the door assailed +their lungs. Choking, holding their breath, both men dashed into the +jail. Kansas unlocked the girl's cell. + +"You shore took yore time about comin'," drawled Marie. "I didn't know +but what I'd be burned up with the rest of the jail. You big lummox! +You don't have to bust my wrist, do you? Go easy, or I'll claw yore +face off!" + +Once outside they were immediately surrounded by the townsfolk. Most +of them were laughing. But Jake Rule was not laughing. + +"Good joke on you, Jake," grinned a friend. "Burned herself out on +you, didn't she?" + +"You can't keep a good man down," shouted another. + +"Never let the baby play with matches," advised a third. + +"Get pails, gents!" shouted Rule. "We gotta put it out. Where's a +pail? Who--" + +"Aw, let 'er burn," said Galloway. "Hownell you gonna put it out? +She's all blazin' inside. You couldn't put it out with Shoshone +Falls." + +"The wind's blowin' away from town," contributed Mike Flynn. "Nothin' +else'll catch. Besides, we been needing a new calaboose for a long +time. You done us a better turn than you think, Marie." + +"If you say I set the jail afire, Mike Flynn," cried Marie, "Yo're a +liar by the clock." + +"You set it afire," said the sheriff, sternly. "You'll find it a +serious business setting a jail afire." + +"Prove I done it, then!" squalled Marie. "Prove it, you slab-sided +hunk! Yah, you can't prove it, and you know it!" + +To this the sheriff made no reply. + +"We gotta put her somewhere till the Judge gets sober," he said, +hurriedly. "Guess we'll put her in yore back room, Mike." + +"Guess you won't," countered Mike. "They ain't any insurance on my +place, and I ain't taking no chances, not a chance." + +"There's the hotel," suggested Kansas Casey. + +"You don't use my hotel for no calaboose," squawked Bill Lainey. +"Nawsir. Not much. You put her in yore own house, Jake. Then if she +sets you afire, it's your own fault. Yeah." + +Jake Rule scratched his head. It was patent that he did not quite know +what to do. Came then Dolan, the local justice of the peace. Dolan's +hair was plastered well over his ears and forehead. Dolan was pale +yellow of countenance and breathed strongly through his nose. He +looked not a little sick. He pawed a way through the crowd and cast a +bilious glance at Marie. + +He inquired of Jake Rule as to the trouble and its cause. On being +told he convened court on the spot. Judge Dolan agreed with Mike +Flynn that the burning of the jail was a trivial matter requiring no +official attention. For was not Dolan's brother-in-law a carpenter and +would undoubtedly be given the contract for a new jail. Quite so. + +"You can't prove anything about this jail-burning," he told Jake Rule +and the assembled multitude, "but this assault on Jack Harpe is a cat +with another tail. It was a lawless act and hadn't oughta happened. +Marie, yo're a citizen of Farewell, and you'd oughta take an interest +in the community instead of surging out and trying to massacre a +visitor in our midst, a visitor who's figuring on settlin' hereabouts, +I understand. Gawd knows we need all the inhabitants we can get, and +it's just such tricks as yores, Marie, that discourages immigration." + +Here Judge Dolan frowned upon Marie and thumped the palm of his hand +with a bony fist. Marie stood first on one leg and then on the other +and hung her head down. Since her raving outburst at the time of her +arrest she had cooled considerably. It was evident that she was now +trying to make the best of a bad business. + +"Marie," resumed Judge Dolan, and cleared his throat importantly, "why +did you shoot at Mr. Jack Harpe?" + +"He insulted me," Marie replied without a quiver. + +"I ain't ever said a word to her," countered Jack Harpe. "I don't even +know the girl." + +The judge turned back to Marie. "Have you any witnesses to this +insult?" he queried. + +"Nary a witness." Marie shook her brown head. + +"Y' oughta have a witness. She's yore word against his. Where did this +insult take place?" + +"At my shack. He come there early this mornin'." + +"That's a lie!" boomed Jack Harpe. + +"Which will be about all from you!" snapped Judge Dolan, vigorously +pounding his palm. + +"What did he say to you?" was the judge's next question. + +"I'd rather not tell," hedged Marie. + +"Well, of course, you don't have to answer," said the judge, +gallantly. "But alla same, Marie, you hadn't oughta used a gun on him. +It--it ain't ladylike. Nawsir. Don't you do it again or I'll send you +to Piegan City. Ten dollars or ten days." + +"What?" Thus Jack Harpe, astonished beyond measure. + +"Ten dollars or ten days," repeated Judge Dolan. "Taking a shot at you +is worth ten dollars but no more. It don't make any difference whether +you came here to invest money or not, you wanna go slow round the +women." + +"But I didn't even say howdy to her," protested Jack Harpe. + +"She says different. You leave her alone." + +Public opinion, which at first had rather favoured Jack Harpe, now +frowned upon him. He shouldn't have insulted the girl. No, sir, he had +no business doing that. Be a good thing if he was arrested for it, +perhaps. What a virtuous thing is public opinion. + +"I ain't got a nickel, Judge," said Marie. "You'll have to trust me +for it till the end of the week." + +"I'll pay her fine," nipped in Racey, glad of an opportunity to annoy +Jack Harpe. "Here y' are, Judge. Ten dollars, you said." + +It was a few minutes after he had eaten dinner that Racey Dawson +presented himself at the door of Kansas Casey's shack. The door was +open. Racey stood in the doorway and leaned the shovel against the +wall of the room. + +"You forgot yore shovel, Kansas," he said, gently, "or Jack Harpe did. +Same thing, and here it is." + +Kansas had the grace to look a trifle shamefaced. "Somebody said you'd +buried that knife--" he began, and stopped. + +"Yep, I know, Jack Harpe," smiled Racey. "Li'l Bright Eyes is shore a +friend of mine. Only I wouldn't bank too strong on what he says about +me." + +"I ain't," denied the deputy. + +"Another thing, Kansas," drawled Racey, "did you ever stop to think +how come he knowed so much about that knife? And did you ask him if he +was the gent left that paper in Jake's office? And going on from that +did you ask him why he didn't come out flat footed at first and say +what he thought he knowed instead of waiting till after you'd searched +my room? You don't have to answer, Kansas, only if I was you I'd think +it over, I'd think it over plenty. So long." + +From the house of Casey he went to the shack of Marie. He found the +girl cooking her dinner quite as if attempts at murder, dead men, +and jailburning were matters of small moment. But if her manner +was placid, her eyes were not. They were bright and hard, and they +flickered stormily upon him when she lifted her gaze from the pan of +frying potatoes and saw who it was standing in the doorway. + +"I'm obliged to you," she said, calmly, "for payin' my fine. You ran +away so quick this mornin' you didn't gimme any chance to thank you. +I'll pay you back soon's I get paid come Saturday." + +Racey stared reproachfully. He shifted his weight from one +uncomfortable foot to the other. "I didn't come here about the fine," +he told her. "I--" He stopped, uncertain whether to continue or not. + +"If you didn't come about the fine it must be something else +important," said she, insultingly. "I shore oughta be set up, I +suppose. So far it's always been me that's had to make all the moves." + +"'Moves?'" repeated Racey, frankly puzzled. + +"Moves," she mimicked. "Didn't you ever play checkers? Oh, nemmine, +nemmine! Don't take it to heart. I don't mean nothin'. Never did. +C'mon in an' set. Take a chair. That one. What do you want? Down +feller, down!" + +The command was called forth by the violent entry of the yellow dog +which, remembering Racey as a friend, flung itself upon him with +whines and tail-waggings. + +"He's all right," said Racey, rubbing the rough head. "I just thought +I'd ask you what you knew about Jack Harpe." + +Marie's narrowed eyes turned dark with suspicion. "Whadda you know +about me an' Jack Harpe?" she demanded. + +"Not as much as I'd like to know," was his frank reply. + +"I ain't talkin'." Shortly. + +"Now, lookit here--" he began, wheedlingly. + +She shook her head at him. "S'no use. I don't tell everything I know." + +"Then you do know something about Jack Harpe?" + +"I didn't say I did." + +"You didn't. But--" + +"That's what the goat done to the stone wall. Look out you don't bust +yore horns, too." + +"Meanin'?" + +"Meanin' you'll knock 'em off short before you get anything out o' me +I don't want to tell you. And I tell you flat I ain't talkin' over +Jack Harpe with you." + +"Scared to?" he hazarded, boldly. + +"You can give it any name you like. Pull up a chair. Dinner's most +ready. They's enough for two." + +Despite the fact that he had just dined at the hotel he accepted her +invitation in the hope that she could be persuaded to talk. And after +dinner he smoked several cigarettes with her--still hoping. Finally, +finding that nothing he could say was of any avail to move her, he +took up his hat and departed. + +"Don't go away mad," she called after him. + +"I ain't," he denied, and went on, her mocking laughter ringing in his +ears. + +After Racey was gone out of sight Marie turned back into her little +house. There was no laughter on her lips or in her eyes as she sat +down in a chair beside the table and stared across it at the chair in +which Racey had been sitting. + +"He's a nice boy," she whispered under her breath, after a time. "I +wish--I wish--" + +But what it was she wished it is impossible to relate, for, instead of +completing the sentence, she hid her face in her hands and began to +cry. + +Early next morning Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall rode out of town by +the Marysville trail. They were bound for the Bar S and a job. + + * * * * * + +"What have you been drinkin', Racey?" demanded Mr. Saltoun, winking at +his son-in-law and foreman, Tom Loudon. + +The latter did not return the wink. He kept a sober gaze fastened on +Racey Dawson. + +Racey was staring at Mr. Saltoun. His eyes began to narrow. "Meanin'?" +he drawled. + +"Now don't go crawlin' round huntin' offense where none's meant," +advised Mr. Saltoun. "But you know how it is yoreself, Racey. Any gent +who gets so full he can't pick out his own hoss, and goes weaving off +on somebody else's is liable to make mistakes other ways. You gotta +admit it's possible." + +The slight tinge of red underlying Racey's heavy coat of tan +acknowledged the corn. "It's possible," he admitted. + +Mr. Saltoun saw his advantage and seized it. "S'pose now this is +another mistake?" + +"Tell you what I'll do," said Racey. "You said you had jobs for a +couple of handsome young fellers like us. Aw right. We go to work. We +ride for you six months for nothing." + +"Huh?" Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon stared their astonishment. + +"Oh, the cat's got more of a tail than that," said Racey. "You don't +pay us a nickel for those six months _provided_ what I said will +happen, don't happen. If it does happen like I say, you pay each of us +two hundred large round simoleons per each and every month." + +"Come again," said Mr. Saltoun, wrinkling his forehead. + +Racey came again as requested. + +"Six months is a long time" frowned Mr. Saltoun. "If I lose--" + +"But I dunno what I'm talkin' about," pointed out Racey. "I make +mistakes, you know that. And you were so shore nothin' was gonna +happen. Are you still shore?" + +"Well--" hesitated Mr. Saltoun. + +"If you take us up you stand to be in the wages of two punchers for +six months. That's four hundred and eighty dollars. Almost five +hundred dollars. Of course, it's a chance. What ain't, I'd like to +know? But yo're so shore she's gonna keep on come-day-go-day like +always, that I'd oughta have odds." + +"Five to one," mused Mr. Saltoun, pulling at the ends of his gray +mustache. + +"And fair enough--seeing that nothing is going to happen." + +"I wouldn't do it," put in Tom Loudon. "These trick bets are unlucky." + +"Oh, I dunno," said Mr. Saltoun, running true to form in that he +rarely took kindly to advice. "Looks like a good chance to get six +months' work out of two men for nothing." + +"Looks like a good chance to lose twenty-four hundred dollars," +exclaimed Tom Loudon, wrathfully. + +"My Gawd, Tom," said Mr. Saltoun, cocking a grizzled eyebrow, "you +don't mean to tell me you think they's any chance a-tall of Racey's +winning this bet, do you?" + +"They's just about ten times more chance for him to win than to lose." + +"Tom, do you ever see any li'l pink lizards with blue tails an' red +feet? I hear that's a sign, too." + +"Aw right, have it yore own way," said Tom Loudon with every symptom +of disgust. "Only don't say I didn't warn you." + +"Gawd, Tom, y' old wet blanket, yo're always a-warnin' me. I never see +such a feller." + +"Aw right, I said. Aw right. But when yo're a-writin' out a check +for twenty-four hundred dollars, just remember how I always told you +somebody was gonna horn in here some day and glom half the range." + +"Laugh," said Mr. Saltoun. "Yo're shore the jokin'est feller, Tom +Loudon. Even Racey and his partner are laughing." + +"I should think they would," Tom Loudon returned, savagely. "I'd +laugh, too, if I stood to win twenty-four hundred in six months." + +Mr. Saltoun shook a whimsical head at Racey Dawson. "Whatsa use?" he +asked, sorrowfully. "Whatsa use?" + + * * * * * + +"You was too easy with him," declared Swing, as he and Racey were +unsaddling at the Bar S corral. "You could 'a' stuck him for three +hundred a month just as easy." + +Racey shook a decided head. "No, there's a limit even to Old Salt's +stubbornness. I know him better'n you do ... Aw, what you kicking +about? We've got enough coin in our overalls to last out six months if +you don't drink too much." + +"If I don't drink too much, hey! If _I_ don't drink too much! Which I +like that. Who's--" + +"Racey," interrupted Tom Loudon, who had approached unperceived, "this +is a fine way to treat yore friends." + +"What's bitin' you?" + +"You hadn't oughta take advantage of Old Salt thisaway." + +"And why not? What's wrong with the bet? Fair bet. Leave it to +anybody." + +"Shore, shore, but alla same, Racey, you'd oughta gone a li'l easy. +Twenty-four hundred dollars--" + +"What's the dif? You won't have to pay it." + +"'Tsall right, but I didn't think it of you, damfi did. You know how +Old Salt is--always certain shore he's right, and you took advantage." + +"Shore I took advantage," Racey acquiesced, amiably. "I got sense, I +have. Alla same, he'd never 'a' taken me up if you hadn't slipped in +yore li'l piece of advice for him not to. That was a bad play, Tom. +You might know he'd go dead against you. But I ain't complaining, not +me. Nor Swing ain't, either. We'll thank you for yore helping hand to +our dying day." + +"I guess you will," Tom Loudon said, ruefully. "When you get through +here, Racey, you and Swing come on over to the wagon shed. I wanna +sift through this Jack Harpe business once more." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE BAR S + + + "_Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale. + I'm an object of sorrow, I'm looking quite stale. + I gone up my trade selling Pink's Patent Pills + To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills_." + +"I wish to Gawd you'd stayed there," said Jimmie, the Bar S cook, +pausing in his march past to poke his head in at the bunkhouse +doorway. "Honest, Racey, don't you ever get tired of yell-bellerin' +thisaway?" + +Racey Dawson, standing in front of the mirror, ceased not to adjust +his necktie. The mirror was small and he was not, and it was only +by dint of much wriggling that he was succeeding in his purpose. To +Jimmie and his question he paid absolutely no attention. + + "_Don't go away, stay at home if you can, + Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne_." + +"Seemin'ly he don't get tired," Jimmie answered the question for +himself. "And what's more, he don't ever get tired of dandy-floppin' +himself all up like King Solomon's pet pony. Yup," Jimmie continued +with enthusiasm, addressing the world at large, "I can remember when +Racey used to ride for the 88 and the Cross-in-a-box how he was a +regular two-legged human being. A handkerchief round his neck was good +enough for him _always_. If his pants had a rip in 'em anywheres, or +they was buttons off his vest, or his shirt was tore, did it matter? +No, it didn't matter. It didn't matter a-tall. But now he's gotta buy +new pants if his old ones is tore, and a new shirt besides, and he +sews the buttons on his vest, and he's took to wearin' a necktie. A +_necktie_!" + +Jimmie, words failing him for the moment, paused and hooked one foot +comfortably behind the other. He leaned hipshot against the doorjamb, +and spat accurately through a knothole in the bunkhouse floor. + +"Yop," he went on, ramming his quid into the angle of his jaw, "and +he's always admiring himself in the mirror, Racey is. He pats his hair +down, after partin' it and usin' enough goose-grease on it to keep +forty guns from rusting for ten years, and he shines his boots with +blacking, _my_ stove-blacking, the rustling scoundrel. Scrouge +southwest a li'l more, Racey, and look at yore chin. They's a li'l +speck of dust on it. Oh, me, oh, my! Li'l sweetheart will have to wash +his face again. Who is she?" + +Still Racey did not deign to reply. He placed, removed, and replaced a +garnet stickpin in the necktie a dozen times handrunning. Jimmie beat +the long roll with his knuckles on the bottom of the frying-pan, and +winked at the broad back of Racey Dawson. + +"I hear they's a new hasher at Bill Lainey's hotel," pursued the +indefatigable Jimmie. "Tim Page told me she only weighed three hundred +pounds without her shoes. It ain't her! Don't tell me it's her! You +ain't, are you, Racey?" + +Racey, pivoting on a spurred heel, faced Jimmie, stuck his arms +akimbo, and spoke: + +"Not mentioning any names, of course, but there's some people round +here got an awful lot to say. Which if a gent was to say their tongues +are hung in the middle he'd be only tellin' half the truth. Not that +you ain't popular with me, James. You are. I think the world of you. +How can I help it when you remind me all the time of my aunt's pet +parrot in yore face and language. Except you ain't the right colour. +If yore whiskers had only grown out green." + +"We're forgetting what we was talkin' about," tucked in Jimmie the +cook, smiling sweetly. "The lady, Racey. Who is she?" + +"James," said Racey, his smile matching that of the cook, "they's +something about you to-day, something I don't like. I dunno the name +for it exactly. But if you'll step inside the bunkhouse a minute, I'll +show you what I mean. I'll show you in two shakes." + +Jimmie shook a wise head and backed out into the open. "Not while I +got my health. You come out here and show me." + +"Oh, I ain't gonna play any tricks on you," protested Racey Dawson. + +"You bet you ain't," Jimmie concurred, warmly. "Not by severial +jugfuls. I--" He broke off, cocking a listening ear. + +"Yeah," grinned Racey, "you hear a noise in the cook-shack, huh? I +_thought_ I saw the Kid slide past in the lookin'-glass while you were +standing in the doorway." + +"And you never told me!" squalled Jimmie, speeding toward his beloved +place of business. + +He reached it rather late. When he entered by the doorway the Kid, a +pie in each hand, was disappearing through a back window. + +"Did you ever get left!" tossed back the Kid as the flung frying-pan +buzzed past his ear.--"Now see what you done," he continued, skipping +safely out of range; "dented yore nice new frypan all up. You +oughtn'ta done that, Jimmie. Fry-pans cost money. Some day, if you +ain't careful, you'll break something, you and yore temper." + +"Them's the Old Man's pies," declared Jimmie, leaning over the +window-sill and shaking an indignant fist at the Kid. "You bring 'em +back, you hear?" + +"They ain't, and I won't, and I do," was the brisk answer. "Yo're +making a big mistake, Jimmie boy, if you think they're _his_ pies. +Don't you s'pose I know he's gone to Piegan City, and he won't be back +for a coupla weeks? And don't you s'pose I know them pies would be too +stale for him to eat by the time he got back? You must take me for a +fool, Jimmie. And you lied to me, Jimmie, you lied. Just for that I'll +keep these pies, I'll keep 'em and eat 'em no matter how big a pain +I get, and let this be a lesson to you. Hey, Racey, Jimmie gimme a +coupla pies! C'mon out and we'll eat 'em where Jimmie can watch us." + +"If I catch you--" began the angry Jimmie. + +"But you ain't gonna catch me," tantalized the Kid. "C'mon, Racey, +hurry up." + +Racey came slowly and with dignity. + +The Kid stared. "Well, I bedam! Where are you goin'?" + +"Ride, just a li'l ride," was the vague reply. + +"Is that all? I thought it was a funeral or a wedding or something, +an' I was wonderin'. Just a li'l ride, huh? And where might you be +a-going to ride to, if I may make so bold as to ask?" + +"You can ask, of course," replied Racey, shrugging his wide shoulders +and spreading his hands after the fashion of Telescope Laguerre. + +"But that ain't sayin' he'll tell you," put in Jimmie. "Bet you he's +gonna go see that new hasher of Bill Lainey's." + +"No," denied the Kid, judicially, "not that lady. Even Racey's arms +ain't long enough to reach round her. I--_Say_, one of these pies is a +_raisin_ pie!" + +"You can gimme that one," suggested Racey Dawson, glad of an +opportunity to change the subject. + +The Kid, his teeth sunk in the raisin pie, shook a decisive head and +mumbled unintelligibly. He thrust the other pie toward his friend. + +Racey Dawson rode away westward munching pie. And it was a very good +pie, and would have brought credit to any cook. He regretfully ate the +last crumb, and rolled a cigarette. He felt fairly full and at utter +peace with the world. Why not? Wasn't it a good old world, and a +mighty friendly world despite the Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses that +infested it? I should say so. + +Racey Dawson inhaled luxuriously, pushed back his wide hat, and let +the breeze ruffle his brown hair. He rubbed the back of one hand +across his straight eyebrows, and stared across the range toward +the distant hills that marked his goal. Which goal was the old C Y +ranch-house at Moccasin Spring on Soogan Creek, where lived the Dales +and their daughter Molly. + +And as he looked at the hill and bethought him of what lay beyond it, +he drew a Winchester from the scabbard under his left leg and made +sure that he had not forgotten to load it. For Racey laboured under no +delusion as to the danger that menaced not only his own existence but +that of his friend Swing. He knew that their lives hung by a thread, +and a thin thread at that. They were but two against many, and +their position had not been aided by the string of uneventful days +succeeding their advent at the Bar S. For their enemies were taking +their time in the launching of their enterprise. And Racey had not +expected this. It threw him off his balance somewhat. Certainly it +worried him. + +It was not humanly possible that Jack Harpe could be aware that Old +Man Saltoun did not believe what Racey had told him. But he was acting +as if he knew. Perhaps he was waiting till Nebraska Jones should be +entirely well of his wound. That was possible, but not probable. Jack +Harpe had not impressed Racey as a man who would allow his plans to +be indefinitely held up for such a cause. There was no telling +when Nebraska would be up and about. His recovery, thanks to past +dissipations, had been exceedingly slow. + +Again, perhaps the delay might be merely a detail of the plan Fat +Jakey Pooley mentioned in his letter to Luke Tweezy, or it might be +due to the more-than-watchful care the Dales and Morgans were taking +of old Mr. Dale. Wherever the old gentleman went, some one of his +relations went with him. Certainly no ill-wisher had been able to +approach Mr. Dale (since his spree at McFluke's) at any time. Mr. +Dale, to all intents and purposes, was impossible to isolate. + +At any rate, whatever the reason, the fact remained that Harpe had not +moved and showed no signs of moving. Mr. Saltoun, every time he met +Racey, took special pains to ask his puncher how much twice six times +two hundred was. Then Mr. Saltoun, without waiting for an answer, +would walk off slapping his leg and cackling with laughter. Even Tom +London was beginning to take the view that perhaps his father-in-law +was in the right, after all. + +"You been here near two months now, Racey," he had said that very +morning, "and they ain't anything happened yet." + +"I've got four months to go," Racey had replied with a placidity he +did not feel. + +Now as he rode, his eyes closely scanning the various places in the +landscape providing good cover for possible bushwhackers, he recalled +what Loudon had said. + +"I'll show him all the happenstances he wants to see before I'm +through," he said, aloud. "Something's gonna happen. Something's got +to happen. Jack Harpe won't let this slide. Not by a jugful." + +The words were confident enough, but they were words that he had been +in the habit of repeating to himself nearly every day for some time. +Perhaps they had lost some of their force. Perhaps-- + +"Twelve hundred dollars," mused Racey. "And the same for Swing. Six +months' work for--Hell, it can't turn out different! I know it can't. +We'll show 'em all yet, won't we, Cuter old settler?" + +Cuter old settler waggled his ears. He was a companionable horse, +never kicked human beings, and bucked but seldom. + +"Yep," continued Racey, sitting back against the cantle, "she's a long +creek that don't bend some'ers or other." + +And then the creek that was his flow of thought shot round a bend into +the broad and sparkling reaches of a much pleasanter subject than the +one that had to do with Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses. After a time +he came to where the pleasanter subject, on her knees, was +weeding among the flowers that grew tidily round Moccasin Spring. +Baby-blue-eyes, low and lovely, cuddled down between tall columbines +and orange wall-flowers. Side by side with the pink geranium of +old-fashioned gardens the wild geranium nodded its lavender blooms in +perfect harmony. + +The subject, black-haired Molly Dale, rested the point of her +hand-fork between two rows of ragged sailors and Johnny-jump-ups and +lifted a pair of the clearest, softest blue eyes in the world in +greeting to Racey Dawson. + +"This is a fine time for you to be traipsing in," she told him, with +a smile that revealed a deep dimple in each cheek. "I thought you +promised to help me weed my garden to-day." + +"I did," he returned, humbly, dismounting and sliding the reins over +Cuter's neck and head, "but you know how it is Sunday mornin's, Molly. +There's a lot to do round the ranch sometimes. Now, this mornin'--" + +"I'll bet," she interrupted, smoothing out the smile and frowning as +severely as she was able. "I'd just tell a man that, I would. I would, +indeed. I'm sure it must have taken you at least half-an-hour to shine +those boots. Half-an-hour! More likely an hour. Why, I can see my face +in them." + +"And a very pretty face, too," said Racey, rising to the occasion. "If +I owned that face I'd never stop looking at it myself. I mean--" He +floundered, aghast at his own temerity. + +But the lady smiled. "That'll do," she cautioned him. "Don't try to +flirt with me. I won't have it." + +"I ain't--" he began, and stopped. + +Molly Dale continued to look at him inquiringly. But as he gave no +evidence of completing the sentence, she lowered her gaze and resumed +her weeding. Racey thought to have glimpsed a disappointed look in her +eyes as she dropped her chin, but he could not be certain. Probably he +had been mistaken. Why should she be disappointed? Why, indeed? + +"Start in on that bed, Racey," she directed, nodding her head toward +the columbines and wall-flowers. "There's some of that miserable +pusley inching in on the baby-blue-eyes and they're such tiny things +it doesn't take much to kill them. And Lord knows I had a hard enough +job persuading 'em to grow in the first place." + +"Wild things never cotton to living inside a fence," he told her. +"They're like Injuns thataway--put 'em in a house and they don't do so +well." + +"Shucks, look at the Rainbow." + +"Half-breed. There's the difference, and besides the Rainbow ain't +lived in a house since she left the convent. She lives in a tepee same +as her uncle and aunties." + +"I don't care," defended Molly, straightening on her knees to survey +her garden. "Every single plant in my garden except the pink geraniums +is wild. Look at those thimble-berry bushes round the spring, and the +blue camass along the brook, and the squaw bushes round the house, +and the squaw grass and pussy paws back of the clothes-lines. Some I +transplanted, the rest I grew from seeds. And where will you find a +better-looking garden?" + +Racey sagged back on his heels and stared critically about him. + +"Yeah," he drawled, nodding a slow head, "they do look pretty good. +Got to give you lots of credit. But those squaw bushes now--" He broke +off, grinning. + +"Oh, of course, you provoking thing!" cried she, irately. "Might know +you'd pick on those squaw bushes. It is a mite too shady for 'em +where they are, but still they're doing pretty well, considering. I'm +satisfied--What's that?" + +"That" was a horseman appearing suddenly among the cottonwoods that +belted with a scattering grove the garden and the spring. The horseman +was Lanpher, manager of the 88 ranch. He was followed by another +rider, a lean, swarthy individual with a smooth-shaven, saturnine +face. Racey knew the latter by sight and reputation. The man was one +Skeel and rejoiced in the nick-name of "Alicran." The furtive scorpion +whose sting is death is not indigenous to the territory, but Mr. +Skeel had gained the appellation in New Mexico, a region where the +tail-bearing insect may be found, and when the man left the Border for +the Border's good the name left with him. + +"Oh, lookout! The bushes! The bushes! Don't trample my +thimble-berries!" + +But Lanpher, heeding not at all Molly's cries of warning, spurred his +sweating horse through the thimble-berry growth, breaking down three +shrubs, and splashed cat-a-corneredly across the spring, the brook, +and several rows of flowers. + +The garden looked as if a miniature cyclone had passed that way. + +Midway across the garden Lanpher's horse halted--halted because a +flying figure in chaps had appeared from nowhere and seized it by the +rein. But the horse did more than halt. In obedience to a powerful +jerk administered by the man in chaps the horse pivoted on its +forelegs and slid its rider out of the saddle and deposited him +a-sprawl and face downward among the flowers. + +Lanpher arose, snarling, to face a levelled sixshooter. It did not +signify that Racey had not drawn the weapon. He was perfectly capable +of shooting through the bottom of his holster and Lanpher knew it. And +Racey knew that he knew it. + +"Get out of this garden!" ordered Racey. "Take yore friend with you," +he added, tossing the horse's bridle to Lanpher. "And if I were you +I'd walk a heap careful between the rows. I just wouldn't go a-busting +any more of these posies." + +Lanpher went. He went carefully. He was followed quite as carefully by +Racey Dawson. + +When Lanpher was free of the neat rows he looked up venomously into +the face of Alicran Skeel who had meticulously ridden round the +garden. + +"I was wondering where you was," Lanpher remarked with deep meaning. + +"I ain't rooting up nobody's gyarden," Alicran returned, cheerfully. +"And don't wonder too hard. Might strain yore intellect or something. +I'll always be where I aim to be--always. You done scratched yore +face, Lanpher." + +Lanpher turned from Alicran Skeel and spat upon the ground. + +"Alicran," said Racey, holding his alert attitude, "the first false +move you make Lanpher gets it." + +"I ain't makin' a move," said Alicran, thumbs hooked in the armholes +of his vest. "I got plenty to do minding my own business." + +"Huh?" Thus the sceptical Racey, who did not trust Mr. Skeel as far as +he could throw a horse by the tail. + +"Shucks," said Alicran, out of deference to the lady, "you don't +believe me." + +"Shore I do," asserted Racey, "Shore, you bet you. I--_Careful, +Lanpher_! I can talk to somebody else and watch you at the same time!" + +"If Alicran was worth a--" began Lanpher, furiously, and stopped. + +"You was gonna say--what?" queried Alicran, softly. + +"Nothing," said Lanpher, sulkily. "Put yore gun away," he continued to +Racey. "I ain't gonna hurt you." + +"Now that's what I call downright generous of you, Lanpher," Racey +declared, warmly. "I'd shore hate to be hurt. I shore would. But if +it's alla same to you, I'll keep my gun right where she is--if it's +alla same to you." + +"That'll do, Racey. Stop this rowing. I won't have it." It was Molly +Dale pushing past Racey and standing with arms akimbo directly +in front of his gun-muzzle. Racey let his gun and holster fall +up-and-down, but he did not remove his hand from the gunbutt. + +"Who do you want here?" Molly inquired of Lanpher. + +Lanpher's rat-like features cracked into an ugly smile. "Is yore paw +home?" he asked. + +"Father's gone to Marysville." + +"When'll he be back?" + +"Day after to-morrow, I guess." + +"Yeah, I kind of guess he'd want to spend the night so's he could do +business in the morning, huh?" The Lanpher smile grew even uglier. + +"He has some business to attend to in the morning, yes." + +"I kind of thought he would. Yeah. You don't happen to know the nature +of his business, do you?" + +"His business is none of yours, and I'll thank you to pick up your +feet and clear out, the pair of you." + +"Not so fast." Lanpher spread deprecatory hands, and his smile became +suddenly crooked. "I just come down to do yore paw a favour." + +"A favour? You?" Blank unbelief was patent in Molly's tone and +expression. + +"A favour. Me. You see, yore paw's got a mortgage coming due on the +tenth, and the reason yore paw went to Marysville was so he could be +there bright and early to-morrow morning at the bank to renew the +mortgage. Ain't I right?" + +"You might be." Molly's face was now a mask of indifference, but there +was no indifference in her heart. There was cold fear. + +Racey's expression was likewise indifferent. But there was no fear in +his heart. There was anger, cold anger. For he had sensed what was +coming. He knew that the previous winter had been a hard one on the +Dale fortunes. They had lost most of their little bunch of cattle in a +blizzard, and the roof of their stable had collapsed, killing two team +horses and a riding pony. Racey had conjectured that Mr. Dale would +have been forced to borrow on mortgage to make a fresh start in the +spring. And at that time in the territory the legal rate was 12 per +cent. Stiff? To be sure. But the security in those days was never +gilt-edged--cattle were prone to die at inconvenient moments, and land +was not worth what it was east of the Mississippi. + +"We'll take it I'm right," pursued Lanpher, lapping his tongue round +the words as though they possessed taste and that taste pleasant. "And +being that I'm right I'll say yore paw could 'a' saved himself the +ride to Marysville by stayin' to home." + +Oh, Lanpher was the sort of man who, as a boy, was accustomed to +thoroughly enjoy the pastime of pulling wings from living flies and +drowning a helpless kitten by inches. + +Now he nodded his head and grinned anew, and put up a satisfied +hand and rubbed his stubbly chin. Racey yearned to kick him. It was +shameful that Molly should be compelled to bandy words with this +reptile. Racey stepped forward determinedly, and slid past Molly. + +Promptly she caught him by the sleeve. "Don't mix in, Racey," she +commanded with set face. "It's all right. It's all right, I tell you." + +"'Course it's all right," Lanpher hastened to say, more than a hint of +worriment in his little black eyes. One could never be sure of these +Bar S boys. They were uncertain propositions, every measly one of +them. "Shore it's all right," went on the 88 manager. "I ain't meaning +no harm. Yo're taking a lot for granted, Racey, a whole lot for +granted." + +"Nemmine what I'm taking for granted," flung back Racey. "I get along +with taking only what's mine, anyway." + +Which was equivalent to saying that Lanpher was a thief. But Lanpher +overlooked the poorly veiled insult, and switched his gaze to Molly +Dale. + +"I just rid over to say," he told her, "that if yore paw is still set +on renewing the mortgage when he comes back from Marysville he'll have +to see me and Luke Tweezy at the 88. We done bought that mortgage from +the bank." + +Molly Dale said nothing. Racey felt that if he held his tongue another +second he would incontinently burst. He sidestepped past the girl. + +"You've said yore li'l piece," he told Lanpher, "and for a feller who +was bellyaching so loud about keeping out of this deal it strikes me +yo're a-getting in good and deep--buying up mortgages and all. Dunno +what I mean, huh? Yep, you do. Shore you do. Think back. Think way +back, and it'll come to you. Jack Harpe. You know him. Bossy-looking +jigger, seemed like. Has he been a-bearing down on you lately, +Lanpher? Mustn't let him run you thataway. Bad business. Might be +expensive. You can't tell. You be careful, Lanpher. You go slow--a +mite slow. Yep. Well, don't lemme keep you. This way out." + +He flicked a thumb westward, and stared at Lanpher with bright eyes. +Lanpher's eyes dropped, lifted, then veered toward Alicran Skeel, that +appreciative observer, who continued to sit his horse as good as gold +and silent as a clam. + +Lanpher turned to his horse without another word, slid the reins over +the animal's neck and crossed them slackly. He stuck toe in stirrup +and swung up. He looked down at Molly where she stood dumbly, her +troubled eyes gazing at nothing and the fingers of one hand slowly +plaiting and unplaiting a corner of her apron. Lanpher opened his +mouth as if to speak, but no words issued. For Racey had coughed a +peremptory cough. + +Lanpher turned his horse's head toward the creek. + +"Lookit here, Alicran," the peevish Lanpher burst forth when he and +his henchman had forded the creek and were riding westward, "whatsa +matter with you, anyway?" + +"With me?" Alicran tilted a questioning bead. "I dunno. I don't feel a +mite sick." + +"What do you think I hired you for?" Heatedly. + +"Gawd he knows." Business of rolling a cigarette. + +"Yo're supposed to be a two-legged man with a gun." + +"Yeah?" Indifferently. + +"Yeah, but I got my doubts--now. Hell's bells! Wasn't you off to one +side there when Racey pulled? Wasn't you?" + +"Wasn't you listenin' to what Racey said at the time? Wasn't you?" + +"After! I mean after! His gun was back hugging his leg after the girl +slid in between. What more of a chance didja want?" + +"So that's it, huh?" + +"That's--it." Between the two words was a perceptible pause. + +"I ain't shootin' nobody in the back. I never have yet, and I ain't +beginnin' now, not for you or any other damn man." + +"Say--" began Lanpher, threateningly. + +Alicran Skeel turned a grim face on his employer so suddenly and +sharply that Lanpher almost dodged. + +"Lookit here, Lanpher," said he, quietly, "don't you try to start +nothin' that I'll have to finish. I know you from way back, you +lizard, and outside of my regular work I ain't taking no orders from +you. Don't gimme any more of yore lip." + +"Aw, I didn't mean nothing, Alicran. You ain't got any call to get +het. I need you in the business." + +"Shore you do," Alicran declared, contemptuously. "You need me to do +anything you ain't got the nerve to do." + +"I got my duty to my company," Lanpher bluffed lamely. + +"Duty bedam. You ain't got the guts for a tough job, that's whatsa +matter." + +This was rubbing it in. Lanpher plucked at the loose strings of his +courage, and managed to draw out a faintly responsive twang. "I'll +show you whether I got guts--" he began. + +"Oh, look," said Alicran. "See that wild currant bush." + +To Lanpher it seemed that the sixshooter was barely out of the holster +before it was back again. But there was a swirl of smoke adrift in the +windless air and the topmost branch of a wild currant bush thirty feet +distant had been that instant cut in two. + +"What was that you was gonna say?" Alicran prompted, softly. + +"I forget," evaded Lanpher. "But they's one thing you wanna remember, +Alicran. It don't pay to be squeamish. It comes high in the end +usually. You'll find, if you keep on being mushy thisaway, that you'll +have more'n you can swing at the finish." + +"Is that so? You leave me do things my own way, you hear? Lemme tell +you if I'd 'a' knowed all what you was up to by coming to Dale's this +mornin' I'd never have allowed it." + +"Allowed it!" + +"Yes, allowed it, I said. Want me to spell it for you? You +thumb-handed idjit, if you had any more sense you'd be a damfool. +Don't you know that in anything you do, no matter what, they's no +profit in unnecessary trimmings? Most always it's the extra frills on +a feller's work that pushes the bridge over and lands him underneath +with everything on top of him and the job to do again, if he's lucky +enough to be livin' at the finish. And yore swashing through that +girl's gyarden was a heap unnecessary. It was a close squeak you +wasn't drilled by Racey Dawson. I wouldn't have blamed him if he had +let a little light in on yore darkened soul. Done it myself in his +place. And yore rubbing in that mortgage deal was another unnecessary +piece o' damfoolishness. It only made Racey have it in for you more'n +ever. And after acting like more kinds of a fool thataway in less time +than anybody I ever see before, you sit up on yore hunkers and tell +_me_ I'll have more'n I can swing at the finish. Say, you make me +laugh! Listen, Lanpher, for a feller that's come out second best with +the Bar S outfit as many times as you have it looks to me like you was +crowdin' Providence a heap close." + +"That's all right," sulked Lanpher, then added, with a sudden flare of +spite: "When I hired you as foreman I shore never expected to draw a +skypilot full o' sermons into the bargain." + +"No?" drawled Alicran, looking hard at Lanpher. "I often wonder just +what you did hire me for." + +On which Lanpher made no comment. + +"Yeah," resumed Alicran, the fish having failed to bite, "I often +wonder about that. Was it a foreman you wanted or a--gunman? And what +did Racey mean about Jack Harpe a-bearing down on you so hard, huh?" + +"Nothing, nothing, nothing a-tall," Lanpher replied, irritably. + +"If Racey didn't mean nothing by it, what did yore eyes flip for and +why didja shuffle yore feet?" + +"Whatell business is it of yores?" burst out the goaded manager. + +"None," Alicran replied, calmly. "I was just wondering. I got a +curiosity to know why, thassall." + +"Then hogtie yore curiosity--or you'll be gettin' yore time. I'm free +to admit I need you, like I said before, but I can do without you if I +gotta." + +"That's just where yo're dead wrong," Alicran promptly contradicted. +"You can't do without me. Lanpher, I like the job of bein' yore +foreman. I like it so well that if you was to fire me I dunno what I +wouldn't do. You know, Lanpher, a man is a whole lot bigger target +than the branch of a wild currant bush." + +Frankly speculative, the eyes of Alicran travelled up and down the +spare frame of the 88 manager. Which gave Lanpher furiously to think, +as it were. + +"Why," said he, forcing a smile, "I guess we understand each other, +Alicran." + +"Shore we do," said Alicran, cheerfully. "And don't you forget it." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SIGNED PAPER + + +When the two 88 men had departed Molly Dale continued to stand where +she was for a space and stare dumbly at nothing. Racey, realizing well +enough that her world had crashed to pieces about her, wished that she +would burst into tears. A sobbing woman is easily comforted. It is +simply necessary to pet her and keep on petting her till her grief +is assuaged. But this hard stillness of Molly Dale's gave Racey no +opening. He could but gaze at her uncomfortably and shift his weight +from one foot to the other. + +"That was a dirty trick of the Marysville bank." Thus tentatively. + +It is doubtful whether Molly heard him. "Poor Father," she said in a +low tone. + +"Lookit here, Molly," said Racey, struck by a bright idea, "I've got a +li'l money I been saving. I--I want you should take it." + +Molly continued to stare into the distance. + +"I've got some money--" he began again, thinking that Molly had not +heard. + +But she turned her face toward him at that, and he saw that her eyes +were shining with unshed tears. + +"Racey," she said, with a slight catch in her voice, and laid her hand +lightly on his arm. "Racey, you're a dear, good boy. We--we'll manage +somehow. I mum-must tell Mother." + +Abruptly she swung away and left him. He watched her cross the garden +and enter the kitchen of the ranch-house. Then slowly, thoughtfully, +he set to work repairing as best he could the ravages left in the +garden by the hoofs of Lanpher's horse. + +Came then Swing Tunstall on a paint pony and was moved to mirth at +sight of Racey Dawson engaged in earthy labour. + +"See the pret-ty flowers," mouthed Swing Tunstall, after the fashion +of a child wrestling with the First Reader. "Does Racey like pret-ty +flow-ers? Yeth, he'th crathy ab-out them. Ain't he cute squattin' +there all same hoptoad and a-workin' away two-handed? Only he ain't +a-workin' now. He's stopped workin'. He's gettin' all red in the face. +He's mad at Swing who never done him no harm nohow. Whatsa matter, +Racey?" he added in his natural voice. "What bit you on the ear this +fine an' summer day?" + +Racey looked over his shoulder toward the house. Then he got to his +feet and strode across the garden to where Swing Tunstall sat his +horse. + +"Swing," said he, quietly, "are you busy just now?" + +Swing, suspecting a catch somewhere, stared in swift suspicion. +"Why--uh--no," was his cautious reply. + +"Then go off some'ers and die." + +Without waiting for Swing's possible comment Racey turned his back on +his friend and walked unhurriedly to his horse Cuter. Swing slouched +sidewise in the saddle and watched him go. + +He rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled luxuriously. And all +without removing his gaze from Racey's back. He watched while Racey +flung the reins crosswise over Cuter's neck, mounted, and rode down +into the creek. When he saw that Racey, after allowing Cuter to drink +nearly all he wanted, rode on across the creek and up the farther +bank, Swing's brow became corrugated with a puzzled frown. + +"He means business," muttered Swing. "I ain't seen that look on his +face for some time. I wonder what did happen this morning." + +His eyes still fixed on the dwindling westward moving object that was +Racey Dawson and his horse, he smoked his cigarette to a butt. Then he +picked up his reins, found his stirrups, and rode away. + +Racey Dawson, bound for the 88 ranch-house, did not smoke. He did not +feel like it. He did not feel like doing anything but facing Lanpher. +What he would be moved to do while facing Lanpher he was not sure. +Time enough to cross that bridge when the crucial moment should +arrive. He knew what he wanted to do, but he knew, too, that he could +not do it unless Lanpher made the first break. Otherwise it would be +murder, and Racey was no murderer. + +"He'll back down if he can, the snake," Racey said aloud. "And he'll +be shore to slick and slime round till all's blue. Damn him, riding +over those flowers of hers!" + +Racey did not hurry. He had no desire to come up with Lanpher on +the open range. It would be better to meet the man at his own +ranch-house--where there were apt to be plenty of witnesses. Racey +realized perfectly that he might need a witness, several witnesses, +before the sunset. He hoped that all the boys of the 88 outfit would +be at the ranch. He hoped that Luke Tweezy would be there, too. +Lanpher and Tweezy together, the pups. + +"Fat Jakey Pooley's li'l playmates," he muttered and swore +again--heartily. + +He understood now the true reason for Jack Harpe's lack of activity. +This purchasing by Lanpher and Tweezy of the Dale mortgage was the +eminently safe and lawful plan of Jakey Pooley. In his letter Fat +Jakey had written that it would take longer. And wasn't it taking +longer? It was. Racey thought he saw the plan in its entirety, and was +in a boil accordingly. He would have been in considerably more of a +boil had he been blessed with the ability to read the future. + +When he rode in among the buildings of the 88 ranch his eyes were +gratified by the sight of freckle-faced Bill Allen straddling a +cracker-box in front of the bunkhouse and having his hair cut by Rod +Rockwell. + +"That's right," Bill Allen was complaining, "whynell don't you cut off +the whole ear while yo're about it?" + +"Aw, shut up," said Rod Rockwell, "it was only the tip, and I didn't +go to cut it, anyway." + +"I don't giveadamn whether you went to cut it or not, you cut it! I +can feel the blood running down the back of my neck." + +"That's only sweat, you bellerin' calf! Hold still, can't you? Djuh +want me to hurt you?" + +"You done have already," snarled Bill Allen, fidgeting on his +cracker-box. "You wait till I cut yore hair after. I'll fix you. I'll +scalp you, you pot-walloper." + +"That's right, Bill," said Racey, checking his horse beside the +quarrelling pair. "Talk to him. Givem hell." + +"'Lo, Racey," grinned the two youngsters in unison. + +"Where did you rustle _this_ hoss?" asked Bill Allen. + +"Nemmine where," smiled Racey, for both Bill and Rod had been his +friends in his 88 days and could therefore insult him with impunity. +"I wouldn't wanna put li'l boys in the way of temptation. Does the +cook still spank him regular, Rod?" + +"Stab his hoss with the scissors, Rod," begged Bill Allen. "Let's see +what for a rider Mr. Dawson is." + +Racey pressed his off rein against his horse's neck. The animal +whirled on a nickel, and reared, hard held, after the first plunge. +The flying pebbles plentifully showered the two punchers. Bill Allen +swore heartily, for one of the pebbles had clipped his damaged ear. + +"You see what a good rider I am," Racey said, sweetly. "Can't feaze +me, nohow. Sit still, Bill, and lemme try can I jump the li'l hoss +over you. Rod, do you mind movin' back a yard?" + +"No," said Bill Allen, decidedly, and picked up his cracker-box and +retreated backward to the bunkhouse door. "No, you don't play any such +tricks as that on me. He'd just as soon try it as not, the idjit," he +added over his shoulder to Tile Stanton who was peering out to see +what all the racket was about. + +"Let him try it," Tile Stanton advised promptly. "If the cayuse does +happen to hit yore head, it won't hurt yore thick skull. G'on, Bill, +be a sport." + +"Be a sport yoreself," returned Bill Allen, skipping into the +bunkhouse. "Where's the other scissors? I'll finish this job myself." + +Racey, left alone with Rod Rockwell, smiled slightly. "Bill ain't got +a sense of humour this mornin'," he observed, softly. "He must 'a' +thought I meant it." + +There was no answering smile on Rod's features as he looked up at +Racey Dawson. "Racey," said he, laying a hand on the horse's mane, +"have you been to McFluke's lately?" + +"I ain't," replied Racey, his smile fading out. + +"Then keep on stayin' away." + +"As bad as that?" + +"As bad as that." + +"McFluke been talking?" was Racey's next question. + +"If McFluke was the only one it would be a mighty short hoss to +curry." + +"Then there are others?" + +"Plenty." Rod Rockwell gave a short, hard laugh. + +"All of Nebraska's bunch, huh?" + +"All but Nebraska." + +"How long has this been going on--this talking, I mean?" + +"Doc Coffin started it about a week ago. He told Windy Taylor of the +Double Diamond A he was gonna ventilate yore good health some fine +day. He wasn't drunk, neither." + +"Then he must have serious intentions." + +"Somethin' like that. Five of us heard him say it. Lookit, while I was +at McFluke's alone day before yesterday Doc and Peaches Austin and +Honey Hoke was all three bellying the bar, and while I was tucking +away my nosepaint they was mumbling to themselves how you was all +kinds of a pup and would stand shootin' any day." + +"Mumblin' loud enough for you to hear, huh?" + +"Naturally, or I wouldn't 'a' heard it." + +"Then they wanted you to hear. Guess they know yo're a friend of +mine." + +"Guess they do now," Rod Rockwell said, grimly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, nothin'. I just talked to 'em a li'l bit." + +"And you wasn't shot? Didn't they do anything?" + +"Hell, no," Rod denied, disgustedly. "Kansas Casey come in just at the +wrong time, and throwed down on the four of us and said he'd do all +the shooting they was to be done. And when he went he took me with +him. Said he'd arrest me if I didn't go peaceable. Ain't that just +like Kansas?" + +"Wearing the star shore means a lot to him." + +"Aw, since he's been deputy he's gotten too big for his boots. And +Jake the same way. The country's played out, that's whatsa matter. +Law and order, law and order, till a feller can't turn round no more +without fallin' into jail." + +"She's one lucky thing for you, cowboy," said Racey, seriously, "that +Kansas did come. Three of 'em! You had yore gall. Lookit here, next +time you let 'em talk. Names don't hurt less they're said to a +feller's face." + +"They knowed you was my friend," said Rod, simply. "Anyway, you keep +away from McFluke's." + +"Maybe I will take yore advice. It has its points of interest, as +the feller said when he sat down on the porkumpine. And speakin' of +porkumpines, have you seen Lanpher?" + +"Shore. Him and Alicran pulled in a hour ago. Guess he's in the +office--Lanpher." + +"See anything of Tweezy lately?" + +"Luke seems to be living with us _lately_." + +"I never knowed him and Lanpher was good friends?" Racey cast at a +venture. + +"I didn't either--till lately." + +"Jack Harpe ever come out here?" + +"Long-geared feller--supposed to have capital? Hangs out in Farewell? +The one that Marie girl tried to down? Bo, he ain't been here as I +know of, but then he could easy drift in and out and me not know it." + +Racey nodded. "Marie jump Jack again, do you know?" he asked. + +"Damfino. Don't guess so, though. I seen her pass him on Main Street, +and she didn't even look at him." + +"I'll bet he looked at her." + +"You can gamble he did. He ain't trustin' her, not him. I wonder what +was at the bottom of the fuss between him an' her?" A sharp glance at +Racey accompanied this remark. + +"I dunno," yawned Racey. "They say Mr. Harpe has had a career both +high, wide, and handsome." + +"That's what I'd call one too many," grinned Rod Rockwell. + +"You can put down a bet the career has been one too many, too." + +"Yeah?" said Rod, wondering what was coming next. + +"Yeah," said Racey, nodding mysteriously, but disappointing his friend +by immediately changing the subject. "Say, Rod, I'd take it as a +favour if you and Tile and Bill would sort of freeze round the +bunkhouse till after I'm through with Lanpher." + +"Shore," said Rod. "Tweezy's in the office, too, I guess." + +Racey nodded, and started his horse toward the office. + +He understood well enough that Rod and the other two punchers would +not interfere in any way with him and whatever acts he might be called +upon to perform during his conversation with Lanpher. Loyal to the +last cartridge and after whenever it was ranch business, none of the +88 punchers ever felt it incumbent upon him to go out of his way so +far as Lanpher personally was concerned. The manager was not the man +either to engender or to foster personal loyalty. + +At the open doorway of the office Racey dismounted. He dropped the +reins over his horse's head and walked to the doorway. There he +stopped and looked in. He saw Lanpher sitting behind his big homemade +desk. Lanpher was watching him. At one side of the desk, on a chair +tilted back against the wall, sat Luke Tweezy. Luke was chewing a +straw. His eyes were half closed, but Racey detected their glitter. +Luke Tweezy was not overlooking any bets at that moment. + +Racey stepped across the doorsill and halted just within the room. The +thumb of his left hand was hooked in his belt. His right hand hung at +his side. He was ready for action. + +"Lanpher," said Racey without preliminary, "I want to serve notice +on you here and now that if I catch you within one mile of Moccasin +Spring you come a-shooting because I will." + +Lanpher's hand remained motionless on the desktop. Then the man picked +up a pencil and began to tap it on the wood. He licked his lips +cat-fashion. + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" he asked. + +"You can take it she's both," Racey told him. + +"You hear that, Luke?" Lanpher turned to Luke Tweezy. "Threatenin' my +life, huh?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke Tweezy. "Actionable, that is. Mustn't threaten a +man's life, Racey. Against the law, you know." + +Racey moved to one side and leaned his back comfortably against the +wall. "Against the law, huh, Luke?" he said nervously. "Then I can be +arrested?" + +"You can," Luke Tweezy declared with evident relish. "That is, you can +if Lanpher wants to make a complaint." + +"You hear, Lanpher?" asked Racey, still more nervously. "You wanna +make a complaint, huh?" + +Lanpher had not failed to note the nervousness of Racey's tone. Now he +licked his lips again. He felt quite cheerful of a sudden. It gave +him a warm and pleasant feeling to think that Racey Dawson was to a +certain degree in his power. Having licked his lips several times he +rubbed his chin judicially and coughed, likewise judicially. + +"Well, I dunno as I wanna make a complaint exactly," he said, slowly. +"But you wanna walk a chalkline round here, Racey. You got too much to +say for a fact." + +"What do you think, Luke?" queried Racey. "Have I got too much to +say?" + +"You heard what Lanpher said," replied the cautious Luke. + +"Yep, I heard all right. I just wanted to get yore opinion, because I +ain't through yet--through talking, I mean. What I was going to say is +that I wouldn't be particular about catching Lanpher round Moccasin +Spring. If I only _heard_ he'd been hanging round there it would be +enough." + +"Meaning you'll drill him on suspicion?" + +"Meaning I'll do just that." + +"Now yo're threatenin' me again." Thus Lanpher. + +"Takes you a long time to wake up, don't it?" The nervousness had +vanished from Racey's voice. "Lanpher, you lousy skunk! Why don't you +pull? There's a gun in that open drawer not six inches from your hand. +Go after it, you hound-dog!" + +Lanpher was not inordinately brave. He would go out of his way to +avoid an appeal to lethal weapons. But Racey's words were more than he +could stand. His hand jerked sidewise and down toward the sixshooter +in the open drawer. + +Bang! Shooting from the hip Racey drove an accurate bullet through the +manager's right forearm. Lanpher grunted and gurgled with pain. But he +made no attempt to seize his weapon with his left hand. + +Luke Tweezy picked himself up from the floor where he had thrown +himself a split second before the shot. Luke Tweezy's leathery face +was mottled yellow with rage. + +"I'll get you ten years for this!" he squalled, pointing a long arm at +Racey. "You started this fight! You tried to murder him!" + +"Oh, say not so," said Racey. "If I'd wanted to kill him I wouldn't +'a' plugged him in the arm, would I? That wouldn't 'a' been sensible." + +"You provoked this fraycas!" snarled Luke, disregarding Racey's point +in a true lawyer-like way. "You--" + +"Why, no, Luke, yo're wrong, all wrong," interrupted Swing Tunstall, +leaning over the windowsill at Tweezy's back. "I seen the whole thing, +I did, and I didn't see Racey do anything he shouldn't. I could swear +to it on the stand if I had to," he added, thoughtfully. + +Come then Rod Rockwell, Bill Allen, and Tile Stanton from the +bunkhouse. None made any comment on the state of affairs. But while +Rod fetched water in a basin, Bill Allen cut away the sleeve of his +groaning employer, and made all ready. + +A few minutes later Alicran Skeel entered the office. "I thought I +heard a gun," he drawled, his calm eyes embracing everyone in the +room. + +"That man!" bubbled Luke Tweezy, shaking his fist at Racey. "That +man tried to kill Lanpher! I call upon you not to let him leave the +premises until I can go to Farewell and swear out a warrant for his +arrest." + +"That man," said Swing Tunstall, pointing a derisive finger at Luke +Tweezy, "is a liar by the clock. I saw the whole thing. And all I +gotta say is that Lanpher went after his gun first." + +"I ain't doubting yore word, Swing," Alicran said, tactfully, "but +they seems to be a difference of opinion sort of, and--" + +"I say that Luke Tweezy is a damn liar," reasserted Swing, "and they +ain't no difference of opinion about that." + +"Well, of course, if Luke--" Alicran did not complete the sentence. + +"I am a lawyer," Luke Tweezy explained, hurriedly. "I ain't paying any +attention to what his man says--now." + +"Or any other time," jibed Swing. + +"Any of you boys see this?" Alicran asked of his three punchers. + +"He tried to kill me, I tell you!" Lanpher gritted through his teeth. +"He didn't gimme a chance!" + +"Any of you boys see it?" repeated Alicran, paying no attention to +Lanpher. + +"How could we?" asked Rod Rockwell, glancing up from the bandaging of +Lanpher's arm. "We was all in the bunkhouse." + +"Then for the benefit of the gents who wasn't here," said Racey, +smoothly, "I don't mind saying that I told Lanpher to go after his +gun, and he did, and I did." + +"He's a liar," gibbered Lanpher. "Alicran, ain't you man enough to +take care of Racey Dawson?" + +Alicran nodded composedly. "I guess him and me would come to some kind +of an agreement provided I was shore he needed taking care of. But I +ain't none shore he does. Looks like it was a even break to me--the +word of you and Luke against his and Swing's. And what's fairer than +that I'd like to know?" + +"Alicran!" squalled Lanpher. "I'm telling you to--" + +"Yo're all worked up, that's whatsa matter," Alicran assured him. +"You don't mean more'n half you say. You lie down now after Rod gets +through with you and cool off--cool off considerable, I would. Do you +a heap o' good. Yeah." + +"And when you get all well, Lanpher," put in Racey, "will I still be a +liar like you say?" + +Lanpher looked at Racey and looked away. His heated blood was cooling +fast. His arm--Lord, how it hurt! He perceived that discretion was +necessary to preserve the rest of his precious skin from future +perforation. + +"I--I guess I was a li'l hasty," he mumbled, his eyelids lowered. + +"Now that's what I call right down handsome--for you," drawled Racey. +"Gawd knows I ain't a hawg. I'm satisfied. Luke, s'pose you and me +walk out to the corral together. I got a secret for yore pearly ear." + +It was obvious that Luke Tweezy was of two minds. Racey grinned to see +the other's hesitation. + +"What you scared of, Luke?" he inquired. "It ain't far to the corral, +and you can ask Alicran to come outside and watch me while I'm talkin' +to you." + +"I ain't got any business with you," denied Luke Tweezy. + +"Oh, yo're mistaken, a heap mistaken. Yes, indeedy, you got business +with me. But it ain't my fault, Luke. I can't help it. Of course, if +you don't wanna talk to me private like, I can reel her off in here. +My thoughts were all of you and yore feelin's, Luke, when I said the +corral. I was shore you'd be happier there." + +"I ain't got a thing to hide, not a thing," declared Luke Tweezy. "But +if you want to we'll go out to the corral." + +They went out to the corral and Racey found a seat on an empty +nailkeg. Luke Tweezy sat perforce on the hardbaked ground. He hunched +up his legs, clasped his hands round his shins, and rested his sharp +chin on his bony knees. His eyes were fixed on Racey. The latter +seemed in no hurry to begin. He rolled a cigarette with irritating +slowness. To force one's opponent to wait is always good strategy. + +"Well," said Luke Tweezy. + +"Is it?" smiled Racey. "Have it yore own way, if you like. Lookit, +Luke, you buy a lot of scrip now and then, don't you?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke. + +"Good big discount, I'll bet." + +"Why not? I ain't in business for my health. They's no law--" + +"Of course there ain't. And yore mortgages, Luke. Do a good business +in mortgages, don't you?" + +"So-so." + +"This mortgage of Old Man Dale's now--you figurin' on foreclosin' if +he can't pay?" + +"Whadda you know about Dale's mortgage?" + +"I heard Lanpher yawpin' about it. He talks too loud sometimes, don't +he? You gonna foreclose on him, I suppose?" + +"Like that!" Luke Tweezy snapped his teeth together with a click. + +"But foreclosing takes time. You can't sell a man up the minute his +mortgage is due. There's got to be notices in the papers and the like +of that. Suppose now he gets to borrow the money some'ers before the +sale? He'll have plenty of time to look round." + +"Who'd lend him money?" + +"Old Salt would. He's tight, but he'd rather have Dale at Moccasin +Spring than someone else, and he'd lend Dale money rather than have +him drove out." + +"Shucks, he wouldn't lend him a dime. I know Old Salt. Don't fret, +we'll foreclose when we get ready." + +"I ain't fretting," said Racey. "You'll foreclose, huh? Aw right. I +just wanted to be shore. You can go now, Luke." + +Thus dismissed Tweezy rose to his feet and glared down at Racey +Dawson. His little eyes shone with spite. + +"Say it," urged Racey. "You'll bust if you don't." + +But Luke Tweezy did not say it. He knew better. Without a word he +returned to the house. + +"They ain't going to foreclose, that's a cinch," said Racey when the +ponies were fox-trotting toward Soogan Creek and the Bar S range five +minutes later. "Luke's telling me they were proves they ain't." + +"Shore," acquiesced Swing, "but what are they gonna do?" + +"I ain't figured that out yet." + +"You mean you dunno. That's the size of it," + +"How'd you happen to be at that window so providential this mornin'?" +Racey queried, hurriedly. + +"How'd you s'pose? Don't you guess I'd know they was something up from +the nice, kind way you said so-long to me back there at the Dales'? +Huh? 'Course I did--I ain't no fool. You'd oughta had sense enough to +take me along in the first place instead of makin' me trail you miles +an' miles. And where would you 'a' been if I hadn't come siftin' +along, I'd like to know? Might know you'd need a witness. Them two +jiggers put together could easy make you lots of trouble. What was you +thinking of, anyhow, Racey?" + +"How could I tell they were _both_ gonna be together? Besides, three +of the 88 boys were over in the bunkhouse. I was counting on them." + +"Over in the bunkhouse, huh? A lot of good they'd done you there. A +lot of good. Oh, yo're bright, Racey. I'd tell a man that, I would." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE SHOWDOWN + + +Racey, walking suddenly round the corner of the Dale stable, came upon +Mr. Dale tilting a bottle toward the sky. The business end of the +bottle was inserted between Mr. Dale's lips. His Adam's apple slid +gravely up and down. He did not see Racey Dawson. + +"Howdy," said the puncher. + +Mr. Dale removed the bottle, whirled, and thrust the bottle behind +him. + +"Oh, it's you," he said, blinking, and slowly producing the bottle. +"Huh-have one on me." + +"Not to-day," refused Racey, shaking his head. "I got a misery in my +stummick. Doctor won't lemme drink any." + +"Yeah?" Thus Mr. Dale with interest. Then, again proffering the +liquor, he said: "This here's fine for the misery. Better have a +snooter." + +"No, I guess not." + +"Well, I will," averred Mr. Dale and downed three swallows rapidly. +"Yeah," he continued, driving in the cork with the heel of his hand, +"a feller needs a drink now and then." + +"Helps him stand off trouble, don't it?" Racey hazarded, +sympathetically, perceiving an opening. + +"Shore does," answered Mr. Dale. "I should say so. Dunno who'd oughta +know that better'n I do. Trouble, Racey--well, say, I'm just made of +trouble I am." + +"Aw, it ain't as bad as that," encouraged Racey. + +"Yes, it is, too," contradicted the other. "I got more trouble on my +hands than a rat-tailed hoss tied short in fly-time. Trouble--nothing +but." + +"Nothing is as bad as it looks." + +"Heaps of times she's worse." + +"I'm yore friend. You know me. If I can help you--" + +"Nobody can help me. I dunno what to do, Racey." + +"Well, you know best, I expect, but I've always found if I talk over +with somebody else anythin' that bothers me it don't seem to stick up +half so big." + +Mr. Dale sank down upon one run-over heel and stared blearily off +across the flats. The bottle in his hip-pocket made a pronounced bulge +under the cloth. + +"I dunno what to do, Racey," he said, looking up sidewise at Racey +where he stood in front of him, his hands in his pockets and his hat +on the back of his head. "I owe a lot of money. I dunno how I'm gonna +pay it, and I'm worried." + +"Let the other feller do the worrying," suggested Racey. + +"I wish I could," said Mr. Dale, drearily. "I wish I could." + +"Why don't you, then?" + +"He'll foreclose--they'll foreclose, I mean." + +"Aw, maybe not." + +"Yeah, they will. I know 'em! ---- 'em! They'd have the shirt off my +back if they could. You see, Racey, she's thisaway: I borrowed five +thousand dollars from the Marysville bank, on a mortgage, and there +they went and sold the mortgage to Lanpher of the 88 and Luke Tweezy. +And there's the rub, Racey. The bank would 'a' renewed all right, but +you can put down a bet and go the limit that Lanpher and Tweezy won't. +I done asked 'em." + +"Five thousand dollars is a lot of money," said Racey, soberly. He had +been thinking that the mortgage would not have been above two thousand +at the outside. But five thousand! What in Sam Hill had old Dale +done with the money? In the next breath Dale answered the unspoken +question. + +"I needed the money," he said in a low voice, his eyes lowered, +"and--and I had bad luck with it." + +"Yeah, I know, the cattle dying and all." + +"Cattle! What cattle?" Mr. Dale stared blankly at Racey. "Oh, them! +Hell, they didn't have nothin' to do with it, them cattle didn't. I'd +worked out a system, Racey--a system to beat roulette, and I was shore +it was all right. By Gawd, it was all right! They was nothin' wrong +with that system. But I had bad luck. I had most awful bad luck." + +"And the system, I take it, didn't work?" + +"It didn't--against my bad luck." + +Mr. Dale again dropped his eyes, and Racey stared down at the +hump-shouldered old figure with something akin to pity in his gaze. +Certainly he was sorry for him. He was not in the least scornful +despite the fact that it did not seem possible that any sensible man +could be such a fool. A system--a system to beat roulette! And bad +luck! The drably ancient and moth-eaten story with which every +unsuccessful gambler seeks to establish an alibi. + +"Whose wheel was it?" said Racey. + +"Lacey's at Marysville." + +"In the back room of the Sweet Dreams, huh? An' there's nothing +crooked about Lacey's wheel, either. It's as square as Lacey himself." + +"Lacey's wasn't the only wheel. They was McFluke's, too." + +So McFluke had a wheel, had he? This was news to Racey Dawson. + +"How long has McFluke been runnin' a wheel?" inquired Racey. + +"Quite a while," was the vague reply. + +"A year?" + +"Maybe longer. I dunno." + +"Funny it never got round." + +"It was a private wheel. Only for his friends. Nothin' public about +it." + +"Who used to play it besides you?" persisted Racey, hanging to his +subject like a bull-pup to a tramp's trousers. + +Mr. Dale wrinkled his forehead. "Besides me? Lessee now. They were Doc +Coffin, Nebraska Jones, Honey Hoke, and Punch-the-breeze Thompson." + +"Nobody else?" + +"Aw, Galloway and Norton and that bunch," Mr. Dale said, shamefacedly. + +Racey nodded his head slowly. A crooked wheel. Of course it was +crooked. Why not? That Dale, Galloway, Norton, and a few other +gentlemen of the neighbourhood were under their wives' thumbs to such +a degree that they did not dare to gamble openly was a matter of +common knowledge. What more natural than that someone should provide +them with a private gambling place? With such cappers as Nebraska and +his gang, losers would not feel equal to making much of an outcry. It +must be a paying occupation for McFluke, Nebraska, or whoever was at +the bottom of the business. + +Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a +stick and squinted along its length. + +"None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you +mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?" + +"About seven thousand." + +Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars. The full amount of +the mortgage and two thousand more. And McFluke had it all. + +"You see," said Mr. Dale, dolefully. "I began to make money after +I'd been here awhile and my health come back. Yeah, I made money all +right, all right." He pushed back his hat and scratched a grizzled +head. "I had luck," he added. "But you wasn't round here then. You'd +gone to the Bend." + +"Yep, I'd gone to the Bend, damitall, and it shore seems like I'd +stayed there too long. Didn't you ever guess McFluke's wheel wasn't +straight?" + +"Aw, it was so straight. Mac wouldn't cheat nobody. Yo're--yo're +mistaken, Racey." + +"I am, huh? Likell I'm mistaken. I know what I'm talking about. I tell +you flat, McFluke is so crooked he could swallow a nail and spit out a +corkscrew. And he's got that wheel trained. You just bet he has. Look +under the table and see what he's doing with his feet or his knees. +My Gawd, Dale, didn't you know they make roulette wheels with a brake +like a wagon?" + +"I--I've heard of 'em," Mr. Dale nodded, hesitatingly. "But I'm shore +Mac's is on the level." + +"And you bet seven thousand dollars it was on the level, didn't you?" + +"But--" + +"But where did you come out? Do you think you ever got a show for yore +money?" + +"Oh, I won a bet now and then," defended Mr. Dale. + +"Small ones, shore. Naturally he has to let you win now and then to +sort of toll you along and keep you good-natured. You won now and +then, yep. But did you ever win when you had a sizable stake up?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I +ever did." + +"I knowed you didn't," exclaimed Racey, triumphantly. "I tell you that +wheel is crooked." + +"Not so loud," cautioned Mr. Dale. "They'll hear you in the house." + +"Don't they know nothing about it a-tall?" probed Racey. + +"They know about the five-thousand-dollar mortgage," admitted Dale, +reluctantly. + +Racey rubbed his chin. "I was here when Molly found it out." + +Mr. Dale nodded miserably. He was too utterly wretched to resent +Racey's interference with his affairs. "She--she told me," he said. + +"Don't they know about the other two thousand you lost to McFluke, or +what you dropped at Lacey's?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "I never told 'em. I--I only lost fifteen or +sixteen hundred at Lacey's, anyway." + +"Fifteen or sixteen hundred is a whole lot when you ain't got it," +said the direct and brutal Racey. "Instead of seven thousand then, you +done lost eighty-five or eighty-six hundred. I swear I don't see how +you managed to lose all that and yore family not find it out." + +"I kept quiet." + +"I guess you did keep quiet. Gawd, yes! Lookit, Dale, I'm going to +help you out of this. But you'll have to start fresh. You've got to +go in and make a clean breast to the family about where the other +thirty-six hundred over and above the five thousand went." + +Mr. Dale's jaw dropped. "I--I never even told 'em where the five +thousand went." + +"Huh? I thought you said they knew about the mortgage--after Molly +found it out." + +"They knew about the mortgage all right enough, but they dunno where +the money went. Yuh see, Racey, I--I done told 'em I lost it in a land +deal." + +"You did! Aw right, you go right in and tell 'em the truth, all of it, +every last smidgen." + +"I cuc-can't!" protested Mr. Dale. "I ain't got the heart!" + +"You ain't got the nerve, you mean. You go on and tell 'em, Dale, an' +I'll fix it up for you, but I won't fix up anything for you if you +ain't gonna play square with those women from now on. And you can't +play square with 'em without you begin by telling 'em the truth." + +"How you gonna help me out?" temporized Mr. Dale. + +"I'm goin' to Old Salt, that's what I'm going to do. I'll fix it up +with him to lend you the money." + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "He won't do it." + +"Shore he'll do it. You don't think he's gonna have somebody else come +in here in yore place, do you? Not much he ain't. He'll lend you the +money and glad to." + +"I done already asked him, an' he wouldn't." + +"'You asked him, and he wouldn't?'" repeated Racey, stupidly. "When +did you ask him?" + +"About two months ago--soon as ever I found out I wouldn't be able to +pay off the mortgage." + +"And he wouldn't lend it to you? I don't understand it, damfi do. It +ain't reasonable. Lookit here, did you tell him what you wanted it +for? Did you tell him about the mortgage?" + +"Non-no," said Mr. Dale in a still, small voice. "I didn't." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Because I was afraid he'd take advantage of me. I was afraid he'd fix +it so as to take my ranch away from me if he knowed how bad and what +for I needed it." + +"But ain't that exactly what the Marysville bank could 'a' done if it +wanted?" demanded Racey, aghast at the Dale obtuseness. + +"Yeah, but I had hopes of standing off the bank, and--" + +"But you ain't got any hope of standing off Lanpher and Tweezy. Nary a +hope. Now lookit, Old Salt is yore only chance round here. Of course, +he'd fix it to take away yore ranch if he could. That's his business. +And it's yore business to see he don't. An' it's my business to help +you see he don't. Suppose now I go to Old Salt and get him to lend you +the money on a mortgage, say a ten-year mortgage?" + +"But I got one mortgage on the place now. He'd never take a second +mortgage." + +"Naw, naw, that ain't gonna be the way of it a-tall. It will be fixed +so's Old Salt's mortgage won't go into effect till the first one's +paid off." + +"But then till the first one is paid off--maybe it will be three-four +days--Old Salt's five thousand will be unsecured." + +"It won't be unsecured. It won't go out of Saltoun's hands. He'll pay +off the mortgage himself." + +"Do you think you can get a easy rate from Old Salt?" asked Dale, the +light of a new hope dawning in his faded old eyes. "It's a awful tax +on a feller paying the full legal rate." + +"We'll have to take what we can get, but I'll do my best to tone it +down. Sometimes a man will take less if he has another object in view +besides the interest. And you bet Old Salt will have a plenty big +object in view in keeping out Lanpher and Tweezy. Money ain't tight +now, anyway. I'll do the best I can for you. Don't you fret. You go on +in now and square up with the women and I'll slide out to the Bar S +instanter." + +Mr. Dale, the poor old man, laid a hand on Racey's strong young +forearm. "I'll tell 'em," he said. "I'll tell 'em. You--you fix it up +with Old Salt." + +Abruptly he turned away and hobbled hurriedly around the corner of the +barn. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SHOOTING + + +Racey Dawson, riding back to Moccasin Spring, was in a warm and +pleasant frame of mind. With him rode Old Salt, and with Old Salt rode +Old Salt's check book. Racey had, after much argument and persuasion, +made excellent arrangements with Mr. Saltoun. The latter, anxious +though he was to own the Dale place himself, had agreed to pay off the +mortgage bought by Lanpher and Tweezy and take in return a 6 per cent. +mortgage for ten years. No wonder Racey was pleased with himself. He +had a right to be. + +As they crossed the Marysville and Farewell trail Racey's horse picked +up a fortuitous stone. Racey dismounted. Mr. Saltoun, slouching +comfortably back against his cantle, looked doubtfully down at Racey +where he stood humped over, the horse's hoof between his knees, +tapping with a knife handle at the lodged stone. + +"A ten-year mortgage is a long one, kind of," he said, slowly. + +"I thought we'd settled all that." Racey lifted a quick head. + +"Shore we've done settled it," Mr. Saltoun acquiesced, promptly. +"That's all right. I'm going through with my part of it. Gotta do it. +Nothing else to do. I was just a-thinking, that's all." + +Racey merely grunted. He resumed his tapping. + +"Alla same," Mr. Saltoun said, suddenly, "I don't believe this Jack +Harpe feller had anything to do with this mortgage deal, Racey." + +"Don't you?" + +"No, I don't. You can't make me believe they's any coon in _that_ +tree. If they was why ain't Jack Harpe done something before this? +Tell me that. Why ain't he?" + +"Damfino." + +"Shore you don't. You was mistaken, Racey. Badly mistaken. Yore +judgment was out by a mile. She's all just Luke Tweezy and that lousy +skunk of a Lanpher trying to act spotty. No more than that." + +"Well, ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--" + +"But nothing. Where'd you be if I hadn't found out about it, huh? +Wouldn't you look nice feedin' other folks' cows on yore grass?" + +"Alla same, they wouldn't 'a' been Jack Harpe's cows." + +"Which is all you know about it. You never would take warning, and you +know it. How about the time when Blakely was the 88 manager, and they +were rustling yore cattle so fast it made a quarter-hoss racing full +split look slow?" + +"Well, but--" interrupted Mr. Saltoun, beginning to fidget with his +reins. + +"And the time Cutnose Canter tried to run off a whole herd of hosses +on you?" Racey breezed on, warming to his subject. "You wouldn't let +Chuck warn you. Oh, no, not you. He didn't know what he was talking +about. No, he didn't. And how did it turn out, huh? What did that li'l +party cost you? Yeah, I would begin frizzling round if I was you. +You'll generally notice the feller who's the last to laugh enjoys it +the most. I'm that feller--me and Swing both." + +"Aw, say--" + +"Yeah, me and Swing will be thanking you for a healthy big check +apiece when our time-limit is up. Yes, indeedy, that's us." + +"Is _that_ so? _Is_ that so? You got another guess, Racey, and it's me +that will get the most out of that laugh. If it's like I say, even if +Lanpher and Tweezy are trying a game you don't get paid a nickel if +Jack Harpe and his cattle ain't in on the deal. You done put in the +Jack Harpe end of it yoreself. I heard you. So did Tom Loudon, and +Swing, too. Jack Harpe. Yeah. He is the tune you was playing alla +time. And up to now I can't see that Jack Harpe has made a move, not a +move." + +"But--" + +"Lanpher and Tweezy wasn't in the bet," insisted Mr. Saltoun. "It was +Jack Harpe, and you know it. 'If Jack Harpe don't start trying to get +Dale's ranch away from him and run cattle in on you inside of six +months you don't have to pay us.' Them was yore very words, Racey. I +got 'em wrote down all so careful. I know 'em by heart." + +"I'll bet you do," Racey told him, heartily. "I'll gamble you been +studying those words in all yore spare time." + +"It pays to be careful," smiled Mr. Saltoun. "Always bear that in +mind. I ain't wanting to rub anything in, Racey, but if you'd been a +mite more careful, just a mite more careful, you wouldn't be out so +much at the finish. Drinks are on you, cowboy. And when you stop to +think that I'd 'a' made the bet just the same if you'd wanted Lanpher +and Tweezy in on it. Only you didn't." + +"Guess I must 'a' overlooked 'em, huh?" grinned Racey. "Feller can't +think of everything, can he?" + +"I'm glad to see yo're taking it thisaway," approved Mr. Saltoun. +"Working for six months for nothing don't seem to bother you a-tall." + +"I ain't worked six months for nothing--yet," pointed out Racey. "The +six months ain't up--yet. You wanna remember, Salt, that a race ain't +over till the horses cross the line." + +"You gotta prove Jack Harpe's connection," began Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey topped his mount, but as the horse started he held him up. + +"Lessee who's coming," he suggested, jerking his thumb over his +shoulder. + +He and Mr. Saltoun both turned their heads. Someone was riding toward +them along the trail from the direction of the Lazy River ford--Racey +had caught the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks of a wash +wherein the trail lay concealed. + +"Siftin' right along," said Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey nodded. Horse and rider slid into sight above the side of the +wash and trotted toward them. + +"Looks like Punch-the-breeze Thompson," said Mr. Saltoun. + +"It is Thompson," confirmed Racey. "Didn't it strike you he sort of +hesitated a li'l bit when he first seen us--like a man would whose +breakfast didn't rest easy on his stomach, as you might say." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "He did sway back on them lines at the top." + +"And he ain't boiling along quite as fast now as he was in the wash," +elaborated Racey. + +"I noticed that, too," admitted Mr. Saltoun. + +They waited, barring the trail. Punch-the-breeze Thompson did not +attempt to ride around them. He pulled up and nodded easily to the two +men. + +"They's been a fraycas down at McFluke's," Thompson said. + +"Fraycas?" Racey cocked an eyebrow. + +"Yeah--old Dale and a stranger." + +Racey nodded. He knew with a great certainty what was coming next. +"Anybody hurt?" he asked. + +"Old Dale." + +"Bad?" + +"Killed." + +Racey nodded again. "Even break?" + +"We don't think so," Thompson stated, frankly. + +"Who's we?" queried Racey. + +"Oh, Austin, Honey Hoke, Doc Coffin, McFluke, Jack Harpe, Lanpher, and +Luke Tweezy. We all just didn't like the way the stranger went at it, +so I'm going to Farewell after the sheriff." + +"Yo're holdin' the stranger then, I take it?" put in Mr. Saltoun. + +"Well, no, not exactly," replied Thompson. "He got away, that stranger +did." + +"And didn't none of you make any try at stopping him a-tall?" demanded +Racey. + +"Plenty," Thompson replied with a stony face. "I took a shot at him +myself just as he was hopping through the window. I missed." + +"Yet they say yo're a good snap shot, Thompson," threw in Racey. + +"I am--most usual," admitted Thompson. "But this time my hand must 'a' +shook or something." + +"Yep," concurred Racey, "I shore guess it must 'a' shook +or--something." + +Thompson faced Racey. "'Or something,'" he repeated, hardily. +"Meaning?" + +"What I said," replied Racey, calmly. "I never mean more'n I +say--ever." + +Thompson continued to regard Racey fixedly. Mr. Saltoun was glad that +he himself was two yards to the right, and he would not have objected +to double the distance. + +Racey's hands were folded on the horn of his saddle. Thompson's right +hand hung at his side. Racey had told the truth when he spoke of +Thompson as a good snap shot. He was all of that. And he was +fairly quick on the draw as well. It would seem that, taking into +consideration the position of Thompson's right hand, that Thompson +had a shade the better of it. Racey thought so. But he hoped, +nevertheless, by shooting through the bottom of his holster, to plant +at least one bullet in Thompson before the latter killed him. + +The decision lay with Thompson. Would he elect to fight? Racey could +almost see the thoughts at conflict behind Thompson's frontal bone. +Mr. Saltoun, hoping against hope, sat tensely silent. Racey's eyes +held Thompson's steadily. + +Slowly, inch by inch, Thompson's right hand moved upward--and away +from the gun butt. He gathered his reins in his left hand and with his +hitherto menacing right he tilted his hat forward and began to scratch +the back of his head. + +"If you don't mean more'n you say," offered Thompson, "you don't mean +much." + +"Which is all the way you look at it," said Racey. + +"And a damn good way, too," nipped in Mr. Saltoun, hurriedly, inwardly +cursing Racey for not letting well enough alone. "What was the fight +about, Thompson?" + +"Cards," said Thompson, laconically, switching his eyes briefly to Mr. +Saltoun's face. + +"And the stranger cold-decked him?" inquired Racey. + +"Something like that, but I can't say for shore. I wasn't playing with +him. Doc Coffin was, and so was Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin. Peaches +said he kind of had an idea the stranger dealt himself a card from the +bottom just before old Dale started to crawl his hump. But Peaches +ain't shore about it. Seemin'ly old Dale is the only one was shore, +and he's dead." + +"And yo're going for the coroner, huh?" asked Racey. + +"I said so." + +"But you didn't say if anybody was chasing the stranger now. Are +they?" + +"Shore," was the prompt reply. "They all took out after him--all +except McFluke, that is." + +Racey nodded. "I expect McFluke would want to stay with Dale," he +said, gently, "just as you'd want to go to Farewell after the coroner. +Yo're shore it is the coroner, Thompson?" + +"Say, how many times do you want me to tell you?" demanded the +badgered Thompson. "Of course it's the coroner. In a case like this +the coroner's gotta be notified." + +"I expect," assented Racey. "I expect. But if yo're really goin' for +the coroner, Thompson, what made you tell us when you first met us you +were going for the sheriff?" + +"Why," said Thompson without a quiver, "I'm a-goin' for him, too. I +must 'a' forgot to say so at first." + +"Yeah, I guess you did." Thus Racey, annoyed that Thompson had +contrived to crawl through the fence. He had hoped that Thompson might +be tempted to a demonstration, for which potentiality he, Racey, had +prepared by removing his right hand from the saddle horn. + +"It don't always pay to forget, Thompson," suggested Mr. Saltoun, +coldly. + +"It don't," Thompson assented readily. "And I don't--most always." + +"Don't stay here any longer on our account, Thompson," said Racey. +"You've told us about enough." + +"Try and remember it," Thompson bade him, and lifted his reins. + +"We will, and, on the other hand, don't you forget yore sheriff and +yore coroner." + +"I won't," grinned Thompson and rode past and away. + +"He ain't goin' for the sheriff and the coroner any more'n I am," +declared Mr. Saltoun, disgustedly, turning in the saddle to gaze after +the vanishing horseman. + +"Of course he ain't!" almost barked Racey. "In this country fellers +like Thompson don't ride hellbent just to tell the sheriff and the +coroner a feller has been killed. Murder ain't any such e-vent as all +that. Unless," he added, thoughtfully, "Thompson is the stranger." + +"You mean Thompson might 'a' killed him?" + +"I don't think it would spoil his appetite any. You remember how fast +he was pelting along down in the wash, and how he slowed up after +seeing us? A murderer would act just thataway." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "A gent can't do anything on guesswork," he said, +bromidically. "Facts are what count." + +"You'll find before we get to the bottom of this business," observed +Racey, sagely, "that guesswork is gonna lead us to a whole heap of +facts." + +"I hope so," Mr. Saltoun said, uncomfortably conscious that the death +of Dale might seriously complicate the lifting of the mortgage. + +Racey was no less uncomfortable, and for the same reason. He felt sure +that the killing of Dale had been inspired in order to settle once for +all the future of the Dale ranch. No wonder Luke Tweezy had been so +positive in his assertion that Old Man Saltoun would not lend any +money to Dale. The latter had been marked for death at the time. + +Despite the fact that Tweezy and Harpe were at last being seen +together in public, thus indicating that the "deal," to quote Pooley's +letter to Tweezy, had been "sprung," Racey doubted that the murder +formed part of Jacob Pooley's "absolutely safe" plan for forcing out +Dale. While in some ways the murder might be considered sufficiently +safe, the method of it and the act itself did not smack of Pooley's +handiwork. It was much more probable that the killing was the climax +of Luke Tweezy's original plan adhered to by the attorney and his +friends against the advice and wishes of Jacob Pooley. + +"Guess we'd better go on to McFluke's," was Racey's suggestion. + +They went. + +"Looks like they got back mighty soon from chasing the stranger," +said Racey, when they came in sight of the place, eying the number of +horses tied to the hitching-rail. + +"Maybe they got him quick," Mr. Saltoun offered, sardonically. + +They rode on and added their horses to the tail-switching string in +front of the saloon. Racey did not fail to note that none of the other +horses gave any evidence of having been ridden either hard or lately. +Which, in the face of Thompson's assertion that the men he left behind +had ridden in pursuit of the murderer, seemed rather odd. Or perhaps +it was not so odd, looking upon it from another angle. + +The saloon, when they had ridden up, had been quiet as the well-known +grave. It remained equally silent when they entered. + +McFluke, behind the bar, wearing a black eye and a puffed nose, nodded +to them civilly. In chairs ranged round the walls sat an assortment of +men--Peaches Austin, Luke Tweezy, Jack Harpe, Doc Coffin, Honey Hoke, +and Lanpher. The latter was nursing a slung right arm. They were all +there, the men mentioned by name by Thompson as having been in the +place when Dale was killed. + +"What is this, a graveyard meetin'?" asked Racey of McFluke, glancing +from the assembled multitude to McFluke and smiling slightly. It +was no part of wisdom, thought Racey, to let these men know of his +encounter with Thompson. He had Thompson's story. He was anxious to +hear theirs. + +'"A graveyard meeting,'" repeated the saloon-keeper. "Well, and that's +what it is in a manner of speaking." + +Racey stared. "I bite. What's the answer?" + +The saloon-keeper cleared his throat. "Old Dale's been killed." + +"Has, huh? Who killed him?" Racey allowed his eyes casually to skim +the expressionless faces of the men backed against the walls. + +"A stranger killed him," replied McFluke, heavily. + +Racey removed his eyes from the slack-chinned countenance of the +saloon-keeper to thin-faced, foxy-nosed Luke Tweezy. Luke's little +eyes met his. + +"You saw this stranger, Luke?" he asked. + +Luke Tweezy nodded. "We all saw him." + +"He was playing draw with Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin and me," Doc +Coffin offered, oilily. + +"And the stranger?" amended Racey. + +"And the stranger," Doc Coffin accepted the amendment. + +"What was the trouble?" pursued Racey. + +"Well, we kind of thought"--Doc Coffin's eyes slid round to cross an +instant the shifty gaze of Peaches Austin--"we thought maybe this +stranger dealt a card from the bottom. We ain't none shore." + +"Dale said he did, anyhow," said Peaches Austin. + +"He said so twice," put in Lanpher. + +Racey turned deliberately. "You here," said he, softly. "I didn't see +you at first. I must be getting nearsighted. You saw the whole thing, +did you, Lanpher?" + +"Yeah," replied Lanpher. + +"Who pulled first?" + +"The stranger." The answer came patly from at least five different +men. + +Racey looked grimly upon those present. "Most everybody seems shore +the stranger's to blame," he observed. "Besides saying the stranger +was dealing from the bottom did Dale use any other fighting words?" + +"He called him a--tinhorn," burst simultaneously from the lips of +McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Only two this time," said Racey, shooting a swift glance at Jack +Harpe and overjoyed to find the latter dividing a glare of disgust +between McFluke and Austin. "But you'll have to do better than that." + +Mr. Saltoun shivered inwardly. He was a man of courage, but not +of foolhardy courage, the species of courage that dares death +unnecessarily. He was getting on in years, and hoped, when it came his +time to die, to pass out peacefully in his nightshirt. And here was +that fool of a Racey practically telling Harpe and the other rascals +that he was on to their game. No wonder Mr. Saltoun shivered. He +expected matters to come to push of pike in a split second. So, being +what he was, a fairly brave man in a tight corner, he put on a hard, +confident expression and hooked his thumbs in his belt. + +Racey Dawson spread his legs wide and laughed a reckless laugh. He +felt reckless. He likewise felt for these men ranged before him the +most venomous hate of which he was capable. These men had killed the +father of Molly Dale. It did not matter whether any one or all of +them had or had not committed the actual murder, they were wholly +responsible for it. They had brought it about. He knew it. He knew it +just as sure as he was a foot high. And as he looked upon them sitting +there in flinty silence he purposed to make them pay, and pay to the +uttermost. That the old man had been a gambler and a drunkard, and the +world was undoubtedly a better world for his leaving it, were facts of +no moment in Racey's mind. He, Racey, was not one to condone either +murder or injustice. And this murder and the injustice of it would +cruelly hurt three women. + +He laughed again, without mirth. His blue eyes, glittering through +the slits of the drawn-down eyelids, were pin-points of wrath. His +hard-bitten stare challenged his enemies. Damn them! let them shoot +if they wanted to. He was ready. He, Racey Dawson, would show them +a fight that would stack up as well as any of which a hard-fighting +territory could boast. So, feeling as he did, Racey stared upon his +enemies with a frosty, slit-eyed stare and mentally dared them to come +to the scratch. + +But in moments like these there is always one to say "Let's go," or +give its equivalent, a sign. And that one is invariably the leader of +one side or the other. Racey Dawson saw Luke Tweezy turn a slow head +and look toward Jack Harpe. He saw Doc Coffin, Honey, and Austin, one +after the other, do the same. But Jack Harpe sat immobile. He neither +spoke nor gave a sign. Perhaps he did not consider the present a +sufficiently propitious moment. No one knew what he thought. Had he +known what the future held in store he might have gone after his gun. + +Tense, nerves wire-drawn, Racey and Mr. Saltoun awaited the decision. + +It came, and like many decisions, its form was totally unexpected. +Jack Harpe looked at Racey and said smilelessly: + +"Wanna view the remains?" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DRAWING THE COVER + + +"You don't understand it, do you, Peaches?" Racey inquired genially +of Peaches Austin when he found himself neighbours with that slippery +gentleman at the inquest. + +Peaches shied away from Racey on general principles. He feared +a catch. There were so many things about Racey that he did not +understand. + +"Whatcha talking about?" Peaches grunted, surlily. + +"You--me--Chuck--everybody, more or less. You don't, do you?" + +"Don't what?" A trifle more surlily. + +"You don't see how and why Chuck Morgan is so all-fired friendly with +me, and how I'm a-riding for a good outfit like the Bar S, when the +last you seen of me, Chuck was a-hazing me up the trail with my hands +over my head. You don't understand it none. I can see it in your light +green eyes, Peaches." + +Peaches modestly veiled his pale green eyes beneath dropped lids +and turned his head away. He would have given a great deal to go +elsewhere. But to do that would be to make himself conspicuous, and +there were many reasons, all more or less cogent, why he did not wish +to make himself conspicuous. Peaches sat still on his chair and broke +into a gentle perspiration. + +Racey perceived the other's discomfort and ached to increase it. "Did +you stay here three-four days like I told you to that time a few weeks +ago? And was Jack Harpe most Gawd-awful hot under the collar when you +did see him final? And if so, what happened?" + +Racey gaped at Peaches like an expectant terrier watching a rat-hole. +It may be that Peaches felt like a holed rat in a hole too small for +comfort. He turned on Racey with a flash of defiance. + +"There was a feller once," said Peaches, "who bit off more'n he could +chew." + +"I've heard of him," Racey admitted, gravely. "He was first cousin to +the other feller that grabbed the bear by the tail." + +"I dunno whose first cousin he was," frowned Peaches. "All I know is +he didn't show good sense." + +"Now that," said Racey, "is where you and I don't think alike. I may +be wrong in what I think. I may have made a mistake, but I gotta be +showed why and wherefore. Anybody is welcome to show me, Peaches, just +anybody." + +Racey accompanied his remarks with a chilling look. The perspiration +of Peaches turned clammy. + +"Meaning?" Peaches queried. + +"Meaning? Why, meaning that you can show me if you like, Peaches." + +This was too much for Peaches. He was out of his depth and unable to +swim. He sank with a gurgle of, "I dunno what yo're drivin' at." + +Racey shook a sorrowful head. "I'm shore sorry to hear it. I was +guessin' you did. I had hopes of you, Peaches. You've done gimme a +disappointment. Yep, she's a cruel world when all's said and done." + +This was too much for Peaches. He resolved to shift his seat whether +it made him conspicuous or not. The gambler removed to a vacant +windowsill, upon which he sat and looked anywhere but at Racey Dawson. +That young man leaned back in his chair and surveyed the multitude. + +Besides the citizens found in the saloon on his and Mr. Saltoun's +arrival there were now present Dolan, who combined with his office of +justice of the peace that of coroner, and twelve good men and true, +the coroner's jury and most intimate friends, ready and willing at +any and all times to serve the territory for ten dollars a day and +expenses. In addition to this representative group Alicran Skeel had +dropped in from nowhere, Chuck Morgan had driven over with a wagon +from Soogan Creek (mercifully the family at Moccasin Spring had not +yet been informed of their bereavement), and Sheriff Jake Rule and his +deputy Kansas Casey had ridden out from Farewell. Punch-the-breeze +Thompson had returned with the sheriff. Which circumstance either +disposed of the theory that Thompson was the murderer, or else +Thompson had more nerve than he was supposed to have. Racey began to +nurse a distinct grievance against Thompson. + +The main room of the saloon, into which the body had been brought from +the back room, was a fog of smoke and a blabber of voices. McFluke +had not been idle at the bar, and the coroner's jury was three parts +drunk. The members had not yet agreed on a verdict. But the delay was +a mere matter of form. They always liked to stretch the time, and give +the territory a good run for her money. + +Racey Dawson, conscious that both Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy were +watching him covertly, rolled a meticulous cigarette. He scratched +a match on the chair seat, held it to the end of the cigarette, +and stared across the pulsing flame straight into the eyes of the +Marysville lawyer. Tweezy's gaze wavered and fell away. Racey inhaled +strongly, then got to his feet and lazed across to the bar where Jake +Rule, with Kansas Casey at his elbow, was perfunctorily questioning +McFluke. The latter's hard, close-coupled blue eyes narrowed at +Racey's approach. + +Racey, as he draped himself against the bar, was careful to nudge +Casey's foot with a surreptitious toe. + +"Jake," said Racey, "would I be interruptin' the proceedings too much +if I made a motion for us to drink all round?" + +"Not a-tall," declared the sheriff, heartily. + +Racey turned to McFluke. + +When their hands had encircled the glasses for the third time, Racey, +instead of drinking, suddenly looked across the bar at McFluke who was +industriously swabbing the bar top. + +"Mac," he said, easily, "when that stranger ran out the door how many +gents fired at him?" + +"Punch Thompson," replied McFluke, the sushing cloth stopping +abruptly. "You heard him tell the coroner how he fired and missed, +didn't you?" + +"Oh, I heard, I heard," Racey answered. "No harm in asking again, is +there? Can't be too shore about these here--killin's, can you? Mac, +which door did the stranger run through--the one into the back room or +the one leadin' outdoors?" + +"Why, the one leadin' outdoors, of course." McFluke's surprise at the +question was evident. + +"Jake," said Racey, "s'pose now you ask Punch Thompson what the +stranger was doing when he cut down on him." + +The sheriff regarded Racey with his keen gray gaze. Then he faced +about and singled out Thompson from a conversational group across the +room. + +"Punch," he called, and then put Racey's question in his own words. + +"What was he doin'?" said Thompson, heedless of McFluke's agonized +expression. "Which he was hoppin' through that window there"--here he +indicated the middle one of three in the side of the room--"when I +drawed and missed. I only had time for the one shot." + +At this there was a sudden scrabbling behind the bar. It was McFluke +trying to retreat through the doorway into the back room, and being +prevented from accomplishing his purpose by Racey Dawson who, at the +innkeeper's first panic-stricken movement, had vaulted the bar and +grabbed him by the neck. + +"None of that now," cautioned Racey Dawson, his right hand flashing +down and up, as McFluke, finding that escape was out of the question, +made a desperate snatch at the knife-handle protruding from his +bootleg. + +The saloon-keeper reacted immediately to the cold menace of the +gun-muzzle pressing against the top of his spinal column. He +straightened sullenly. Racey, transferring the gun-muzzle to the small +of McFluke's back, stooped swiftly, drew out McFluke's knife and +tossed it through a window. + +"You won't be needing that again," said Racey Dawson. "Help yoreself, +Kansas." + +Which the deputy promptly proceeded to do by snapping a pair of +handcuffs round the thick McFluke wrists. + +"Whatell you trying to do?" bawled McFluke in a rage. "I ain't done +nothing! You can't prove I done nothing! You--" + +"Shut up!" interrupted Kansas Casey, giving the handcuffs an expert +twitch that wrenched a groan out of McFluke. "Proving anything takes +time. We got time. You got time. What more do you want?" + +The efficient deputy towed the saloon-keeper round the bar and out +into the barroom. He faced him about in front of Jake Rule. The +sheriff fixed him with a grim stare. + +"What did you try to run for, Mac?" he demanded. + +"I had business outdoors," grumbled McFluke. + +"What kind of business?" + +"What's that to you? You ain't got no license to grab a-hold of me and +stop me from transacting my legitimate business whenever and wherever +I feel like it." + +"You seem to know more about it than I do. Alla same unless you feel +like telling me exactly what all yore hurry was for, we'll have to +hold you for a while. Yo're shore it didn't have nothing to do with +yore saying the stranger run out the door and Thompson saying he +jumped through the window?" + +"Why, shore I am," grunted McFluke. + +"Glad to hear that. But how is it you and Thompson seen the same thing +different ways? It's a cinch the stranger, not being twins, didn't use +_both_ the door and the window. Yo're shore he run out the door, Mac?" + +"Shore I am. I seen him, I tell you." But McFluke's tone rang flat. + +"Punch," said the sheriff to Thompson who, in company with everyone +else in the room had crowded round the sheriff and the prisoner, +"Punch, how did the stranger who shot Dale leave the room?" + +"Through the window, like I said," Thompson declared, defiantly. "Ask +anybody. They all seen him. Mac's drunk or crazy." + +"Yo're a liar!" snarled McFluke. "I tell you he run out the door." + +"Aw, close yore trap!" requested Thompson with contempt. "You ain't +packin' no gun." + +"Lanpher," said the sheriff, "how did the murderer get away." + +"Through the window," was the prompt reply of the 88 manager. + +The sheriff asked Harpe, Coffin, Tweezy, and the others who had been +present at the killing, for their versions. In every case, each had +seen eye-to-eye with Thompson. The evidence was overwhelmingly against +the saloon-keeper. But he, a glint of fear in his hard blue eyes, +stuck to his original statement, swearing that all men were liars and +he alone was telling the truth. + +Racey, standing a little back from the crowd, pulled out his +tobacco-bag. But his fingers must have been all thumbs at the moment +for he dropped it on the floor. He stooped to retrieve it. The +movement brought his eyes within a yard of the body of Dale. And now +he saw that which he had not previously taken note of--an abrasion +across the knuckles of Dale's right hand. Not only that, but the hand, +which was lying over the left hand on the body's breast, showed an odd +lumpiness at the knuckles of the first and second fingers. + +Racey stuffed his tobacco-bag into his vest pocket and knelt beside +the body. It was cold, of course, but had not yet completely +stiffened. He laid the two hands side by side and compared them. +The left hand was as it should be--no lumpiness, bruises, or any +discolouration other than grime. But now that the two hands were side +by side the difference in the right hand was most apparent. + +Certainly it was badly bruised across the knuckles and the skin was +broken, too. Furthermore, there was that odd lumpiness about the +knuckles of the first and second fingers, a lumpiness that gave the +knuckles almost the appearance of being double. + +He picked up the dead hand and gingerly fingered the lumpy knuckles. +Then, in a flash of thought, it came to him. The hand was broken. + +He raised his head and looked across the room. And as it chanced he +looked across the packed shoulders and between the peering heads of +the crowd straight into the face of McFluke and the black eye adorning +that face. + +He rose to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd to the side +of the sheriff. + +"Can I ask a question?" said he to the officer. + +"Shore," nodded the sheriff. "Many as you like." + +"Thompson," Racey said, but watching McFluke the while, "did Dale have +any trouble here with anybody besides the stranger?" + +"Not as I know of," came the reply after a moment's hesitation. + +"He didn't have any fuss with anybody," spoke up Luke Tweezy. + +"I was talking to Thompson," Racey reminded the lawyer. "When I want +to ask you any questions I'll let you know." + +"Huh," Luke contented himself with grunting, and subsided. + +"No fuss a-tall, Thompson?" resumed Racey. + +"Nary a fuss." + +"And you was here alla time Dale was here?" + +"I was here before Dale come, and I was still here when Dale--went +away." + +"In the same room with him?" + +"In this room, yeah. In the same room with him alla time. Shore." + +"Then if Dale had had a riot with anybody else but the stranger man +you'd 'a' knowed it." + +"You betcha. He didn't have no trouble, only with the stranger." + +"Did anybody else have any trouble with anybody while you was here?" + +At this Thompson frowned. Where were Racey's questions leading him? +Was it a trap? Knowing Racey as he did, he feared the worst. He +would have liked to leave the questioned unanswered. But this was +impossible. As it was, he was delaying his answer longer than good +sense warranted. Both Jake Rule and Kansas Casey were staring at him +fixedly. Racey regarded him steadily, a slight and sinister smile +lurking at the corner of his mouth. + +"Well," prompted Racey, "you'd oughta be able to tell us whether there +was any other fights while you was here?" + +"They wasn't," plunged Thompson. "Everything was salubrious till Dale +started his battle." + +"And when did you get here?" pursued Racey. + +"Oh, I'd been here all night." + +"And you dunno of any other brush except the one between Dale and the +stranger?" + +"I done said so forty times," Thompson declared, peevishly. "How many +times have I gotta repeat it?" + +"As many times as yo're asked," put in the sheriff, sharply. + +"Didja see anybody get hurt--have a accident or something while you +were here, Thompson?" Racey bored on. + +Thompson shook an impatient head. "Nobody got hurt or had a accident." + +"Then," said Racey, turning suddenly on McFluke, "how did you get that +black eye?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +GONE AWAY! + + +McFluke's eyes flickered at the question. His body appeared to sink +inward. Then he straightened, and flung back his wide shoulders, and +glowered at Racey Dawson. + +"I ran into a door this morning," said the saloon-keeper in a tone of +the utmost confidence. + +"Oh, you ran into a door, did you," Racey observed, sweetly. "And what +particular door did you run into?" + +"The front door." + +"That one?" Racey indicated the door of the barroom. + +"That one." + +"We'll just take a look at that door." + +Accompanied by the deeply interested sheriff, who was beginning to +sniff his quarry like the old bloodhound he was, Racey crossed to the +barroom door. He looked at the door. He looked at the sheriff. The +sheriff looked only at the door. + +"Door's opened back flat against the wall, Mac," said the sheriff. +"Was she like this when you ran into her?" + +"Course not," was the heated reply. "She was swingin' open." + +Racey squatted down on the floor. "Lookit here, Sheriff." + +The sheriff stooped and regarded the wooden wedge under the door that +jammed it fast. Racey drew a finger across the top of the wedge. He +held up the finger-tip for the sheriff's inspection. The tip was black +with the dust of weeks. + +"That door has been wedged back all this hot weather," said Racey, +gently. "Look at the dust under the door on both sides of the wedge, +too. Bet that wedge ain't been out of place for a month." + +Softly as he spoke McFluke heard him. "---- you! I tell you that +door was opened this mornin'! I hit my head on it! Ask 'em all! Ask +anybody! Jack, lookit here--" + +"I didn't see you hit yore head on the door," interrupted Jack Harpe. +"Maybe you did, I dunno." + +Racey raised a quick head as Jack Harpe spoke. Quite plainly he saw +Jack Harpe accompany his words with a slight lowering of his left +eyelid. Racey glanced at McFluke. He saw the defiant expression depart +from the McFluke countenance, and a look of unmistakable relief take +its place. + +Racey dropped his head. The sheriff was speaking. + +"Mac," he was saying, "yo're lyin'. Yo're lyin' as fast as a hoss can +trot. You never got yore black eye on this door. I dunno why yo're +sayin' you did, but I'm gonna find out. Till--" + +"You won't have far to go to find out," struck in Racey Dawson. "I +know how he got his black eye." + +"How?" demanded the sheriff, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. + +"Dale gave it to him," was the answer pat and pithy. + +"He did not!" The saloon-keeper began to roar instantly, and had to be +quieted by Kansas Casey. + +When order was restored Racey explained his deductions. The sheriff +listened in silence. Then he went to the body of the dead man, and +examined the bruised and broken right hand. + +"I'm tellin' you," declared Racey with finality, "he hit somebody when +he broke that hand." + +"He might 'a' broke it when he fell after being shot," put in Luke +Tweezy. + +The sheriff shook his head. "He couldn't fall hard enough to break +them bones as bad as that. It's like Racey says. Question is, who did +he hit? McFluke's eye and McFluke's lies are a good enough answer for +me." + +"You'll have to prove it!" snapped Luke Tweezy. + +"I expect we'll do that, Luke," the sheriff said, calmly. "Have you +agreed on a verdict, Judge?" + +"We had," replied Dolan. "We was about satisfied that a plain 'killin' +by a person unknown,' was as good as any, but I expect now we'll +change it to murder _with_ the recommendation that McFluke be arrested +on suspicion. Whadda you say, boys?" + +"Shore," chorussed the "boys," and hiccuped like so many bullfrogs. + +"Whu-why not lul-let the shush-shpicion shlide," suggested one bright +spirit, "an' cue-convict him right now an' lul-lynch him after shupper +whu-when it's cool?" + +"No," vetoed Dolan, "it can't be done. He's gotta be indicted and +held for the Grand Jury at Piegan City. I ain't allowed to try murder +cases." + +"Tut-too bad," mourned the bright spirit, and refused to be comforted. + +"Can I take him now, Judge?" inquired Chuck Morgan, referring to the +dead man. + +"Any time," nodded Dolan. + +Racey Dawson, whose eyes that day were missing nothing, saw that Jack +Harpe was looking steadily at Luke Tweezy. Luke's nod was barely +perceptible. + +"Where were you thinking of taking him, Chuck?" was Tweezy's query. + +"Moccasin Spring," Chuck replied, laconically. + +"I wouldn't if I were you," said Luke Tweezy. "Better save trouble by +taking him to yore house." + +It was coming now--the answer to one puzzle at least. Racey was sure +of it. He was not disappointed. + +"And why had I better take him to my house?" demanded Chuck. + +"Because the ranch at Moccasin Spring don't belong to the Dale family +any more," Tweezy explained, smoothly. "Dale has turned over the place +to Lanpher and me." + +"It's a damn lie!" declared Chuck. + +Tweezy smiled. He was a lawyer, not a fighter. Names signified nothing +in his greasy life. "It's no lie," he tossed back. "You know Lanpher +and me bought the mortgage on the Dale place from the Marysville bank. +The mortgage is due in a couple of days. Dale didn't have the money to +satisfy the mortgage. We was gonna foreclose. In order to save trouble +all round he made the ranch over to us." + +"You mean to tell me Dale did that just to save trouble?" burst out +Racey. "Just because he liked you two fellers and wanted to make it as +easy as possible for you? Aw, hell, Tweezy. Aw, hell again. Yo're as +poor a liar as yore side-kicker McFluke." + +Tweezy smiled once more and drew forth a long and shiny pocket-book +from the inner pocket of his vest. From the pocket-book he extracted a +legal-looking document. Which document he handed to Sheriff Rule. + +"Read her off, Jake," requested Luke Tweezy. + +The sheriff read aloud the lines of writing. Shorn of the impressive +terms so beloved of law and lawyers, the document set forth that in +consideration of being allowed to retain all his live-stock, wagons, +and household goods, instead of merely the fixed number of cattle, +horses, and wagons, and those specified household articles, exempt +from seizure under the law, Dale voluntarily released to the +mortgagers, without the formality of foreclosure proceedings, the +mortgaged property comprising six hundred and forty acres as described +hereinafter, etcetera. + +The document was signed by Dale and witnessed by Doc Coffin and Honey +Hoke: + +The sheriff held the paper out to Chuck Morgan. "This Dale's +signature, Chuck?" + +Chuck Morgan examined the signature closely and long. + +"Looks like it," he said, hesitatingly. + +"It's his signature, all right," spoke up Honey Hoke. "I saw him sign +it." + +"Me, too," said Doc Coffin. + +"Paper's dated to-day," said the sheriff. "How long before he was +killed did Dale sign it, Luke?" + +"About a hour," replied Tweezy. + +"It's made out in yore writin', ain't it?" went on the sheriff. + +"Shore," nodded Luke. "All but the signature. So, you see, Chuck," +he continued, turning to Morgan, "you might as well pack him to yore +house. We intend to take possession immediately." + +"You do, huh," said Chuck. "You try it, thassall I gotta say. You try +it." + +"I'd admire to see you drive those women out of their home on the +strength of that paper, Tweezy," remarked Racey. + +"Sheriff, I'll make out eviction papers immediately and Judge Dolan +will have you serve them on the Dale family." Thus Luke Tweezy, +blustering. + +"That's yore privilege," said the sheriff, "and I'll have to serve +'em, I suppose. But only in the regular course of business, Luke. +I'm mighty busy just now. Yore eviction notice will have to take its +turn." + +"My punchers will throw 'em out then," averred Lanpher. + +"They ain't nary a one of 'em would gorm up their paws on a job like +that for you, Lanpher," Alicran stated in no uncertain tones. "If you +got any dirty work to do you'll do it yoreself." + +"Yo're--" began the 88 manager, and stopped suddenly. + +"What was you gonna say?" Alicran's voice cut sharply across the +general silence. + +Lanpher controlled himself by an effort. Or perhaps it was not such +an effort, after all. It may have been that he remembered the object +lesson of the severed branch of the wild currant bush. At any rate, +he did not pursue further the subject of the 88 cowboys cast as an +eviction gang. + +"I'll talk to you later, Alicran," said he in a tone he strove to make +grimly menacing, but which actually imposed upon no one, least of all +the truculent Alicran. + +"We won't need yore boys, Lanpher," said Racey. "The sheriff will +attend to it." + +"Lookit here, Tweezy," said Judge Dolan, slouching to the front of the +crowd, "are you gonna run them women off thataway after _this_?" Here +the Judge jerked his head backward in the direction of the body. + +"Why not?" Tweezy demanded, sulkily. "We got a right to." + +"It don't always pay to stand on our rights, Luke," suggested the +Judge. "I'd go a li'l easy if I was you." + +"You ain't me," said Tweezy, rudely. + +"Which is something I gotta be grateful for," the Judge returned to +the charge. "But alla same, Luke, I'd scratch my head and think how +this here is gonna look. Here Dale gives you this paper, and a hour +later he's cashed. Of course, it looks like his signature, and you +got witnesses who say it's his signature, but--" The Judge paused and +gravely contemplated Luke Tweezy. + +"I'll tell you what it looks like to me," announced Racey in a loud, +unsympathetic tone. "The whole deal's too smooth. She's so smooth +she's slick, like a counterfeit dollar. You and Lanpher are a couple +of damn thieves, Tweezy." + +But the sheriff's gun was out first. "None of that, Lanpher," he +cautioned. "They ain't gonna be no lockin' horns _here_. That goes for +you, too, Racey." + +"I don't need to pull any gun," Racey declared, contemptuously. "All +I'd have to use is my fingers on that feller. He never went after his +gun till he seen you pull yores. He ain't got any nerve, that's all +that's the matter with him." + +Lanpher snarled curses at this. He yearned for the daredevil +courage sufficient to risk all on a single throw by pulling his gun +left-handed and sending a bullet smack through the scornful face of +Racey Dawson. But it was precisely as Racey said. He did not have the +nerve. With half-a-dozen drinks under his belt he undoubtedly would +have made an attempt to clear his honour. But he was not carrying the +requisite amount of liquor. Lanpher snarled another string of oaths. +"If I didn't have my right arm in a sling--" he began. + +"I guess," interrupted the sheriff, "this will be about all. Lanpher, +yore hoss is outside. Git on and git out." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A CHECK + + +"Lookit here, Judge," said Racey, earnestly, "do you mean to say yo're +gonna let the sheriff serve them eviction papers?" + +Judge Dolan elevated his feet upon his desk and tilted back his chair +before replying. + +"Racey," he said, teetering gently, "I gotta do what the law says in +this thing." + +"Then yo're gonna sic the sheriff on, huh?" + +"I ain't doin' no sicin', not me. Luke Tweezy's the boy you mean." + +"But the law makes you back up Luke." + +"In this case it does." + +"Then it's a helluva law that lets a feller take away the home of two +women." + +"They's lots of times," observed Dolan, judicially, "when I think +she's a helluva law, too. But what you gonna do? Under the law one +man's word is as good as another's till he's proved a liar. And two +men's words are better than one, and so on. And so far nobody ain't +proved Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke and Luke Tweezy are liars." + +"Of course we know they are," protested Racey. + +"Not legally. You gotta remember that knowing a man is a liar is one +thing, and being able to prove it is another breed of cat." + +"Then they ain't nothing to be done short of rubbing out Lanpher and +Tweezy?" + +"And what good would wiping out either or both of them do? Beyond +Lanpher and Tweezy are their heirs and assigns, whoever they may be. +You can't go down the line and abolish 'em all." + +"I s'pose not," grumbled Racey. + +"Of course not. It ain't reasonable. You don't wanna bull along +regardless like a bufflehead in this, Racey. You wanna use yore brains +a few. They'll always go farther than main strength. You got brains, +and you can bet you'll need every single one of 'em if you wanna get +to the bottom of this business." + +"Under the circumstances, then, what's yore advice, Judge?" + +"I ain't got no particular advice to give," replied Dolan, promptly. +"I'm a judge, not a lawyer, but I'm free to say even if I was a +lawyer, I dunno exactly what I'd do, or where I'd begin." + +Racey nodded. He didn't see exactly where to begin, either. + +"Lookit, Judge," he said at last, "can't you sort of delay the +proceedin's for a while?" + +"I'll do what I can," assented Dolan, "but I can't keep it up forever. +I'm sworn to obey the law and see that it is obeyed. And if Luke +Tweezy's paper can't be proved a forgery certain and soon, they's only +one thing for me to do and one thing for the Dales to do. I'm sorry, +but that's the way it stands under the law." + +It was then that the door-latch clicked and one entered without +knocking. It was Luke Tweezy. Beyond the merest flicker of a glance +he did not acknowledge the presence of Racey Dawson. He nodded +perfunctorily to Dolan. + +"Mornin', Judge," said he, "are the papers ready for the sheriff yet?" + +"Not yet, Luke, not yet," Dolan assured, him blandly. "I ain't had +time to get at 'em." + +"When you gonna get at 'em?" + +"Soon as I get time." + +"But lookit here, Judge. We're bein' delayed. We wanna get the Dales +off their ranch soon as we can." + +"Off _their_ ranch is shore the truth," struck in Racey. "You do tell +it sometimes, don't you, Luke?" + +But Luke Tweezy was not to be drawn that morning. He focussed his eyes +and attention steadily on Judge Dolan. + +"We wanna take possession soon as we can," persisted Luke Tweezy. + +"Shore you do," said the Judge, heartily. "No reason why you shouldn't +wanna as I know of." + +"If you can't see yore way to getting at this business within a +reasonable time I'll have to sue out a mandatory injunction against +you, Judge, and--" + +Dolan smiled wintrily. "What judge are you figuring on to grant this +injunction?" + +Luke Tweezy was silent. + +"You don't expect me to grant a mandatory injunction against myself, +do you?" pursued Dolan. + +"I can go to Judge Allison at Marysville or to Piegan City, and I +guess--" + +"I guess not," interrupted the Judge. "Judge Allison, as you know, is +a Federal Judge, and these here eviction proceedin's are territorial +business. And, furthermore, lemme point out that the Piegan City court +ain't got any jurisdiction in this case." + +"Why not?" + +"Because the case ain't come to a hearing yet. That's why. You oughta +know that, Luke. Yo're a lawyer." + +"Alla same--" began Luke. + +"Alla same nothing!" declared Judge Dolan. "_After_ eviction +proceedin's have been started, and if you don't have any luck in +getting them women off the place, then you can apply to this court for +redress. I'll set a date for a hearing. _After_ the hearing, if you +got a notion in yore numskull that I ain't doing you right, you can +apply to the Piegan City court for all the ---- mandatory injunctions +you feel like and be ---- to you. Is they any further business you got +with me, Luke, or any more points of law you wanna be instructed on? +'Cause if they ain't, here's you, there's the door, and right yonder +is outside." + +Luke Tweezy departed abruptly. + +Dolan laughed harshly as the door slammed. "He can't bluff me, the +chucklehead. He knew he couldn't sue out a mandatory injunction yet, +knew it damn well, but he didn't think I knew it, damn his ornery +soul." + +"Oh, he's slick, Luke Tweezy is," said Racey Dawson, "but like most +slick gents he thinks everybody else is a fool." + +"He makes a mistake once in a while," grunted Dolan. + +At which Racey looked up sharply. "A mistake," he repeated. "There's +an idea. I wonder if he has made any mistake." + +"Who ain't?" nodded Dolan. "Luke's made plenty, I'll bet." + +"I dunno about plenty," doubted Racey. "One would be enough." + +Dolan rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "One would be enough," he +admitted. "If you could find the one." + +"It wouldn't have to be a mistake having to do with this particular +case, either, would it?" + +"Not necessarily. Of course it would be better to trip him up on this +case, but if you can get hold of something else Luke has done that +can be proved anyways shady it would be four aces and the joker. Luke +would have to pull in his horns about this mortgage. And if I know +Luke, he'd do it. He's got nerve, but it ain't cold enough nor witless +enough to go up against the shore thing." + +"If only McFluke would talk. He knows the ins and outs of this +business." + +Dolan nodded. "Shore as yo're a foot high Dale gave him that black +eye." + +"And shore as _yo're_ a foot high he downed Dale." + +"I guess likely. But circumstantial evidence is amazing queer. You +can't ever tell how the jury's gonna take it. But anyway we got +McFluke, and he'll do to start in on." + +Entered then Kansas Casey with a serious face. "McFluke has sloped," +said he without preliminary. + +"What!" cried Judge Dolan. + +But it was characteristic of Racey Dawson that he did not say "What!" +He asked "How?" + +"Because the jail was burned down," said Kansas; "you know we had to +put him in yore warehouse, Judge, as the next strongest place, and +they dug him out." + +"'Dug him out?'" Thus Judge Dolan. + +"That's what they did." + +"'They!' 'They!' Who's 'they?'" Again Judge Dolan. + +"If I knowed who they was," Kansas replied, "I'd dump 'em just too +quick. Way I know it's a 'they,' is because the job of diggin' is +bigger than a one-man job." + +"We'll go look into this," Dolan exclaimed, wrathfully, and reached +for his hat. + +"He'd never 'a' been pulled out of the calaboose so easy," said +Kansas, as he led Dolan and Racey up the street to the rear of the +Dolan warehouse, "but yore foundation logs ain't sunk more'n six +inches, and diggin' under and in was a cinch." + +"But why didn't you handcuff this sport to a roof stanchion inside?" +demanded the Judge. + +"We did, man, we did. We got a log chain and the biggest pair of +handcuffs in our stock and we ironed McFluke by the ankles to a +stanchion in the middle of the warehouse. Besides that his hands was +handcuffed, and no matter how he stretched he couldn't reach nothing. +We seen to that." + +"But, my Gawd, hownell did they have time to file through that log +chain or them cuffs? A log chain ain't made of wire an' them cuffs is +all special steel." + +"They didn't file neither the chain nor the cuffs," explained Kansas, +wearily. "They unlocked the cuffs." + +"Unlocked 'em, huh? Where'd they get the key? Lose one of yores, did +yuh?" + +"Ours is all safe. They must 'a' had a key. Anyway, there's the +handcuffs wide open when I found McFluke gone this mornin'." + +Dolan pulled out his watch. "Nine o'clock," said he. "When did you +first find Mac was gone, Kansas?" + +"When I took his breakfast in less'n five minutes ago." + +"Howcome you went to the warehouse so late?" + +"Well," said Kansas, somewhat shamefacedly, "we didn't lock him up +in the warehouse till one o'clock this morning, and I figured a li'l +extra sleep wouldn't do him any harm." + +"Or a li'l extra sleep wouldn't do yoreself any harm neither, huh?" + +"Maybe I did sleep later than usual," admitted Kansas. + +"I guess you did," said Dolan. "I guess you did. And Jake, too. Told +anybody else about this?" + +"Only Jake." + +They had left the street while they talked, and walked down the long +side wall of the warehouse. Now they turned the corner and saw, heaped +against a foundation log, a pile of freshly dug dirt. Beyond the dirt +pile gaped the mouth of a hole leading beneath the log. The hole was +quite large enough for an over-size man to crawl through without +difficulty. + +Judge Dolan got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole. +Then he eased down into it headfirst and pawed his way through. + +"That's what you get for not walking in by the front door in the first +place, Kansas," grinned Racey. "Root hog or die, feller, root hog or +die." + +Swearing under his breath Kansas went to ground like a badger. His +broad shoulders did not scrape the sides of the hall. Observing which +Racey knew that it must have been an easy matter for McFluke to crawl +through, for the saloon-keeper's shoulders, wide as they were, were +not as broad as those of Kansas Casey by a good inch and a half. + +"That hole is four or five inches wider than necessary," ruminated +Racey, preparing to follow the deputy. "I wonder why. Yep, I shore +wonder why. Here they are in a harris of a hurry and they take time +to make a hole big enough for two men almost. Maybe they robbed the +warehouse, too." + +He suggested as much to Dolan when he joined the latter within. + +"No," said Dolan, sweeping with a glance the stacks of cases and +crates that half filled the single floor of the warehouse. "No, I +don't think they's anything missing. Who'd steal truck like this here, +anyway? It ain't valuable enough. Where's Jake, Kansas?" + +"I left him here when I went after you," replied the deputy. "Guess +this is him," he added, as the front door opened. + +It was the sheriff. He shut the door behind him and advanced toward +the little group gathered about the stanchion. "This is a great note, +Jake," said Dolan, eyeing the sheriff severely. "Can't you make out to +hang onto yore prisoners no more?" + +"Hang onto hell!" snapped back the sheriff. "Short of sleeping in here +with him, I done all that could be expected. I put Shorty Rumbold on +as guard, and Shorty--" + +"Where's Shorty?" + +"Went to the Starlight for a drink. He'll be along in a minute." + +"Maybe he went to sleep," suggested Dolan. + +"Not Shorty," denied the sheriff, with a decisive shake of his head. +"I've used Shorty before. He don't go to sleep on duty, Shorty don't. +Here he is now." + +Entered then Shorty Rumbold, a tall, lean-bodied man with a twinkling +eye and a square chin. + +"Shorty," said Dolan, "Jake says he put you on guard here last night." + +"Not here," said Shorty, always painfully meticulous as to facts. +"Outside." + +"Where outside?" + +"Just outside. I sat on the doorstep all night." + +"And didn't you go round to the back once even?" + +"I didn't think they was any use. They's no door in the back, and the +logs are forty inches through, some of 'em. I never thought of 'em +gopherin' under this away." + +"I guess the sheriff didn't, either," said Dolan, with a glance of +strong disapproval at the sheriff. "You didn't hear anything, huh? +Yo're shore of that?" + +"Shore I am. If I'd heard anything I'd 'a' scouted round to see what +made the noise." + +"Maybe you went to sleep." + +"Not me." The twinkle in Shorty's eyes was replaced by a frosty stare. +"I don't sleep on duty, Judge." + +"That's what the sheriff said, Shorty. But, hownell they could dig +that tunnel and not make _some_ noise I don't see." + +"I don't, either," Shorty Rumbold admitted, frankly. "But I didn't +hear a single suspicious sound either inside or outside the jail the +whole night." + +"Did you hear any noise a-tall?" asked Racey Dawson. + +"Only when some drunk gents had a argument out in front of the dance +hall. You couldn't help hearin' 'em. They made noise enough to hear +'em a mile." + +"How long did the argument last?" + +"Oh, maybe a hour--a long time for a plain argument without any +shooting." + +"Did they call each other any fighting names?" pressed on Racey. + +"Plenty." + +"And no shooting?" + +"Nary a shot." + +"Didn't that hit you as kind of odd?" + +"It did at the time sort of." + +"Recognize any of the voices?" + +Shorty Rumbold shook his head. "They was all too hoarse an' loud." + +"That's the how of it, Judge," said Racey to Dolan. "That's why Shorty +didn't hear any sounds of diggin'. The drunk gents a rowing together +for a long time like that without any shooting proves they were doing +it on purpose to keep Shorty from hearing anything else." + +The sheriff swore. "I heard them fellers, too," he said. "They woke +me up with their bellerin' and I had a job gettin' to sleep again. I +guess Racey's right." + +"I guess he is," assented the Judge. "Now we know how they managed +that part of it, where did they get the key to open the cuffs? Kansas +says you ain't lost any keys, Jake." + +"We got 'em all, every one. I don't believe they used a key. Them +handcuff locks was picked." + +"Picked?" + +"Picked. After Kansas went for you I found these here on the +floor." Here he produced from a pocket a bent and twisted piece of +baling-wire, and a steel half-moon horse-collar needle. + +"That's a Number Six needle," observed the sheriff, who invariably +scented clues in the most unpromising objects. "And the point's broke +off." + +"Number Six is a common size," said Racey. "Most stores carry 'em. And +if the point didn't get broke off wigglin' round inside the lock it +would be a wonder." + +"Still it would take a mighty good man to open them locks with only +bale-wire and a harness-needle," said the sheriff, hurriedly. "A +expert, you bet." + +"It don't matter whether he was a expert or not," said Dolan. "He +opened them, and the prisoner has skedaddled. That's the main thing. +Jake, how about trailin' him?" + +"How? They's tracks, a few of 'em, leadin' from the pile of dirt +straight to the hard ground in front of the stage corrals. Beyond +there they ain't any tracks. Trail 'em! How you gonna trail 'em?" + +"I dunno," replied Dolan, promptly passing the buck. "Yo're the +sheriff. She's yore job. You gotta do _something_. C'mon out." + +The five men, Dolan and the sheriff arguing steadily, went out into +the street. Racey walked thoughtfully in the rear. He was revolving in +his mind what the sheriff had said about an expert. Of course it had +been an expert. And experts in lock-picking in the cattle country are +few and far between. + +Racey decided that it would be a good idea for him to have a little +talk on lock-picking with Peaches Austin. Not that he suspected the +excellent Peaches of having picked those locks. But Peaches knew who +had. Oh, most certainly Peaches knew who had. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TAKING FENCES + + +"'Lo, Peaches." + +Peaches Austin, standing at the Starlight bar, was raising a glass to +his lips. But at the greeting he set down the liquor untasted, turned +his head, and looked into the face of Racey Dawson. + +"Whatsa matter, Peaches?" inquired Racey. "You don't look glad to see +me." + +"I ain't," Peaches said, frankly. "I don't give a damn about seein' +you." + +"I'm sorry," grieved Racey, edging closer to the gambler. "Peaches, +yo're breaking my heart with them cruel words." + +At this the bartender removed hastily to the other end of the bar. He +sensed he knew not what, and he felt instead of curiosity a lively +fear. Racey Dawson was the most unexpected sport. + +Peaches looked nervously at Racey. A desperate resolve began to +formulate itself in the brain of Peaches Austin. His right arm tensed. +Slowly his hand slid toward the edge of the bar. + +"Why, no," said Racey, who had never been more wide-awake than at that +moment, "I wouldn't do anything we'd all be sorry for, Peaches. That +is, all of us but you yoreself. You might not be sorry--or anythin' +else." + +This was threatening language, plain and simple. But it was no bluff. +Peaches knew that Racey meant every word he said. Peaches' right hand +moved no farther. + +"Peaches," said Racey, "le's go where we can have a li'l private +talk." + +"All right," Peaches acquiesced, shortly, and left the saloon with +Racey. + +On the sidewalk they were joined by Swing Tunstall. The latter fell +into step on the other side of Peaches Austin. + +"Is he coming, too?" queried the gambler, with a marked absence of +cordiality in expression and tone. + +"He is," answered Racey. + +"I thought this talk was gonna be private." + +"It is--only the three of us. We wouldn't think of letting anybody +else horn in. You can rest easy, Peaches. We'll take care of you." + +The gambler didn't doubt it. His wicked heart sank accordingly. He +knew that he had been a bad, bad boy, and he conceived the notion that +Nemesis was rolling up her sleeves, all to his ultimate prejudice. + +He perceived in front of the dance hall Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke, and +plucked up heart at once. But Racey saw the pair at the same time, and +said, twitching Peaches by the sleeve, "We'll turn off here, I guess." + +Peaches turned perforce and accompanied Racey and Swing into the +narrow space between the express office and a log house. When they +came out into the open Racey obliqued to the left and piloted his +companion to a large log that lay among empty tin cans, almost +directly in the rear of and about fifty yards away from Dolan's +warehouse. + +"Here's a good place," said Racey, indicating the log. "Good seats, +plenty of fresh air, and nobody round to bother us. Sidown, Peaches." + +Peaches sat as requested. The two friends seated themselves one on his +either hand. Racey laughed gently. + +"Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us," he +remarked with enjoyment, "didn't they, Peaches?" + +"I didn't notice," lied Peaches. + +"It don't matter," nodded Racey. "See that pile of dirt over against +the back wall of Dolan's warehouse, Peaches?" + +"I ain't blind." + +"No, then maybe you've heard how and why it come to be dug and all?" + +"I ain't deaf, neither." + +Racey smiled his approval. "I always said you had all yore senses +except the common variety, Peaches." + +"Hop ahead with yore private talk," grunted the badgered gambler. + +"Gimme time, gimme time. It don't cost anything. Whadda you think of +that hole, Peaches?" + +"Good big hole," replied Peaches, conservatively. + +"Too big--that is, too big for just McFluke, or for any other feller +the size of McFluke." + +"What of it?" + +"Don't be in a hurry, Peaches, and you'll last longer. Did you know +Mac's handcuffs were picked open?" + +"How--picked open?" + +"Whoever opened 'em didn't use a key," Racey explained. "They were +picked open with a piece of bale-wire and a collar-needle." + +"I heard that." + +"I thought maybe so. But did you ever think that a feller has got +to have a good and clever pair of hands to pick a lock with only a +collar-needle and bale-wire?" + +"All that stands to reason," admitted Peaches. + +"There can't be a great many fellers like that. No, not many--not +around here, anyway. You'll find such sports in the big cities +mainly." + +"Yeah," chipped in Swing Tunstall, staring hard at Peaches, "I'll bet +you a hundred even they ain't more than one or two such experts in the +whole territory." + +"Whadda you think, Peaches?" inquired Racey. + +"Swing may be right," said Peaches, preserving a wooden countenance. +"I dunno." + +"Shore about that?" Sharply. + +"Shore I'm shore. Why not?" + +"You looked sort of funny when you said it. Well, then, Peaches, we'll +go back to our hole yonder. It's reasonable to suppose that fellers +hustlin' to dig it and without any too much time wouldn't make it any +bigger than they had to. How about it, huh?" + +"Guess so, maybe." + +"Aw right, I told you a while ago the hole was too big for McFluke. +Why was it made too big for McFluke?" + +"Damfino." + +"So as to let in the feller who was to pick open Mac's handcuffs." + +"Well, what does that prove?" + +"It proves that the expert who set Mac loose was a bigger man across +the shoulders than McFluke. Now who all around here, besides Kansas +Casey, is wider across the shoulders than McFluke?" + +Peaches wrinkled his forehead. "I dunno," he said after a space. + +"Think again, Peaches, think again. Don't you know anybody who's +bigger sidewise than McFluke?" + +"I don't. Mac's the biggest man across the shoulders I ever seen." + +"Good enough, Peaches. I've found out what I wanted. I had a fair idea +before, but now I know. I hear you were acting boisterious and noisy +out front of the dance hall last night?" + +"What of it?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin' a-tall. Only I'd think it over--I'd think +everythin' over good an careful, and after I'd done that I'd do what +looked like the best thing to do--under the circumstances. That's all, +Peaches. You can go now. I think yore friends are looking for you. I +saw Doc Coffin peekin' round the corner of the dance hall a couple of +times." + +Peaches arose and faced Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall. "I--" he +began, and stopped. + +"I--" prompted Swing. + +"I what?" smiled Racey. "Speak right out, Peaches. Don't you care if +you do hurt our feelin's. They're tough. They can stand it. Say what's +on yore mind." + +But Peaches did not say what was on his mind. He turned about and +walked hurriedly away. + +"So it _was_ Jack Harpe who picked the cuffs," murmured Racey. +"Peaches, old timer, I didn't think you'd be so easy." + +"Neither did I," said Swing. "And him a gambler. No wonder he ain't +doin' so well." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +DIPLOMACY + + +Worried Mrs. Dale raised a work-scarred hand and pushed back a lock of +gray hair that had fallen over one eye. "It's a forgery," she said, +wretchedly. "I know it's a forgery. He--he wouldn't sign such a paper. +I know he wouldn't." + +Molly Dale, all unmindful of Racey Dawson sitting in a chair tilted +back against the wall, slipped around the table and slid her arm about +her mother's waist. + +"There, there, Ma," she soothed, pulling her mother's head against +her firm young shoulder. "Don't you fret. It will come out all right. +You'll see. You mustn't worry this way. Can't you believe what Racey +says? Try, dear, try." + +But unhappy Mrs. Dale was beyond trying. She saw the home which she +had worked to get and slaved to maintain taken from her and herself +and her daughter turned out of doors. There was no help for it. There +was no hope. The future was pot-black. She broke down and wept. + +"Oh, oh," she sobbed, "if only I'd watched him closer that day. But I +was washing, and I sort of forgot about him for a spell, and when I'd +got the clothes on the line he wasn't anywhere in sight, and--and it's +all my fuf-fault." + +This was too much for Racey Dawson. He got up and went out. Savagely +he pulled his hat over his eyes and strode to where his horse stood in +the shade of a cottonwood. But he did not pick up the trailing reins. +For as he reached the animal he saw approaching across the flat the +figures of a horse and rider. And the man was Luke Tweezy. + +With the sight of Mrs. Dale's tears fresh in his memory and the rage +engendered thereby galvanizing his brain he went to meet Mr. Tweezy. + +"Howdy, Racey," said the lawyer, pulling up. + +"Whadda you want?" demanded Racey, halting a scant yard from Luke +Tweezy's left leg. + +"I come to see Mrs. Dale," replied Tweezy, his leathery features +wrinkling in a grimace intended to pass for a propitiating smile. + +Racey's stare was venomous. "Tweezy," he drawled, "I done told you +something about admiring to see you put these women off this ranch, +didn't I?" + +"Oh, you was just a li'l hasty. I understand. That's all right. I've +done forgot all about it." + +"So I see. So I see. I'm reminding you of it. After this, Luke, I'd +hobble my memory if I was you, then it won't go straying off thisaway +and get you into trouble." + +"Trouble?" + +Racey did not deign to repeat. He nodded simply. + +"I ain't got no gun," explained the lawyer. + +"Alla more easy for me, then. You can't shoot back." + +Luke Tweezy choked. Choked and spat. "---- ----" he began in a violent +tone of voice. + +"Careful, careful," cautioned Racey, promptly kicking the lawyer's +horse in the ribs. "There's ladies in the house. You get a-holt of +yore tongue." + +Luke Tweezy obeyed the command literally. For, his horse going into +the air with great briskness at the impact of Racey's toe, even as the +puncher had intended it should, he, Luke Tweezy, bit his tongue so +hard that he wept involuntary tears of keenest anguish. + +"You stop that cussin'," resumed Racey, seizing the bridle short and +yanking the bouncing horse to a standstill with a swerve and a jerk +that almost unseated its rider. "You be careful how you talk, you--hop +toad!" + +"Leggo that bridle!" yammered Tweezy, almost distraught with anger. +His tongue pained him exquisitely and he was otherwise physically +shaken. "Leggo that bridle!" + +"I'll let it go!" Racey grated through set teeth, and he let it go +with a backward flip to the lower branches of the severe curb bit that +instantly sent the horse on its hind legs. If Luke Tweezy had not +quickwittedly smacked the animal between the ears with the butt of his +quirt it would have continued the motion to a backfall and rolled its +rider out. + +"Tough luck," mourned Racey, sorry to observe that Luke had contrived +to ward off an accident. "I was expecting to see that horn dislocate +yore latest meal. If you ain't quite so set on going to the house you +can flit." + +"I wanna see Mrs. Dale," persisted the lawyer in a strangled voice. +"I come to offer her money. I wanna do her a favour, can't you +understand?" + +"I can't," was the frank reply. "I can't see you doing anybody a +favour or giving away any money. C'mon, get a-going." + +It was then that the lawyer lifted up his voice and shouted aloud for +Mrs. Dale. Undoubtedly Racey would have done Tweezy a mischief had he +been given time. But unfortunately Molly Dale came to the lawyer's +rescue precisely as she had once come to the rescue of his partner in +evil, the bulldozer Lanpher. As it was Racey had contrived to pull +Luke Tweezy partly from the saddle when Molly arrived and forced her +defender to release his victim. + +Reluctantly Racey dropped the leg he held and allowed Tweezy to come +to earth on his hands and knees. + +"What do you want?" inquired Molly, regarding Tweezy much as she would +have regarded a poisonous reptile. + +"I want to see yore mother," snuffled Tweezy, applying his sleeve to +his nose. He had in the mixup smote his swell fork with the organ in +question and it had begun to bleed. + +"Why?" + +"I want to pay her money to go away quietly," said Tweezy, switching +from his sleeve to his handkerchief. "I--" + +"Here she is," interrupted Molly. "Tell her." + +"How do, ma'am," said Luke to the wet-eyed widow. "I guess it ain't +necessary for me to go through a lot of explanations with you. You +know what's what, and you know we'll take possession just as soon as +the sheriff serves the eviction papers on you." + +At this Racey Dawson made a noise in his throat. Molly laid cool +fingers on his wrist. + +"Steady, boy, steady," she whispered under her breath. + +Despite the seriousness of the moment Racey's heart skipped a beat and +the pleasantest shiver in the world ran about his body. "Boy!" she had +called him. "Boy." Her hand was actually touching his own. He-- + +"I don't want to be hard on you, Mis' Dale," resumed Luke, after an +apprehensive glance at Racey Dawson. "I don't like to be hard on +anybody that's sittin' into a run of hard luck, but business is +business, ma'am. You know that. And after all I'm--we're only asking +for what we're by rights entitled to. We got title to this place fair +and square, and--" + +"Title, huh?" struck in Racey, unable to keep silent. "Not yet you +ain't." + +"S-s-sh," breathed Molly, tightening her grip on his wrist. + +"It's like I say, Mis' Dale," Luke Tweezy burred on from behind his +handkerchief, "I ain't got any wish to add to yore troubles, and so I +got my partner to agree for me to give you five hundred dollars cash +money if you'll pack up and clear out quiet and peaceful." + +"Don't you do it, Mis' Dale!" urged Racey. "There's a trick in that +offer." + +"They ain't any trick!" contradicted Luke Tweezy, vehemently. "I just +wanna save trouble, thassall." + +Save trouble! That had been Lanpher's reason for coming the day he +rode through the garden. Save trouble, indeed. + +"If yo're so shore the sheriff is going to serve those eviction +papers," said Racey as calmly as he could because of the warning +pressure on his wrist, "if yo're so shore why are you giving away five +hundred?" + +"Because I don't like to be hard on Mis' Dale. Then, again, I'll admit +we wanna get in here soon as we can." + +"You admit it, huh? That's a good one, that is. Don't you do it, Mis' +Dale. You stand pat." + +"I don't want your five hundred dollars," said Mrs. Dale. + +"Seven-fifty," climbed up Tweezy. + +Mrs. Dale shook her head. "No." + +"One thousand," Tweezy raised his ante. + +"Lemme throw him out, Mis' Dale?" begged Racey Dawson. "Just lemme +throw him out, and I'll guarantee he'll never bother you again." + +Again Mrs. Dale shook her head, and the pressure on Racey's wrist +increased. "You mustn't touch him," said Mrs. Dale. "He'll go." + +"Think it over," Tweezy blundered on. "One thousand dollars gratis +cash money in yore hands if you'll leave at once." + +"I'll wait awhile," said Mrs. Dale. "Please go." + +Luke Tweezy opened his mouth to speak. Racey broke from Molly's +detaining grasp and stepped between him and Mrs. Dale, and Tweezy +closed his mouth without speaking. + +"You heard what she said," Racey drawled, softly. "Git." + +And Tweezy got. + +"Do you think the sheriff will put us out?" asked Mrs. Dale, twisting +a corner of her apron between her hands. + +"He'll take all the time to it he can," Racey evaded the direct reply. +"But whatever happens don't think of taking any offer like that of +Tweezy's. It's a trick, thassall. No matter who comes to you nor what +he offers don't you move till--Well, anyway, Judge Dolan and Jake Rule +are with you from soda to hock, and they'll do all they can to hold +things at a stand-still till I can fix it all up. You must remember +that I know what you dunno, and when I say that everything will end +fine and daisy you better believe I know what I'm talking about." + +Molly looked at him keenly. "Racey, that's the third or fourth time +you've said that. I wonder if you really have something up your +sleeve." + +"Of course I have," Racey insisted. "You wait. You'll see." + +"What do you know? Tell us." + +"Never mind, and I won't. It might spoil everything if I told you. You +just leave it to me." + +He had definitely made his bluff. He would have to make good. And he +no more knew how to make good in the business than the year-old baby +busy with its toes. But ere this men have killed dragons and made +wonders come to pass all for the sake of their ladies' eyes. Men as +prosaic and matter-of-fact as the puncher, Racey Dawson. Quite so. + +Half-an-hour after the departure of Luke Tweezy Mr. Saltoun and Tom +Loudon rode in on lathered horses. They were, it seemed, journeying +homeward from the 88 whither they had gone in an endeavour to persuade +Lanpher and Tweezy to sell the Dale mortgage. + +"Tweezy, huh?" said Racey. "He's just left here." + +"He must 'a' rode like the devil," said Mr. Saltoun. "He was in the +office with Lanpher when we left." + +"I thought I noticed a feller off to the south of us as we come +along," observed Loudon. "He was just a-boilin'. I only saw him the +once as he slid by the mouth of a draw. Looked like he was trying to +keep out of sight. Rode a gray hoss." + +"Tweezy rode a gray," nodded Racey. + +"Him, all right. What did he want here, Racey?" + +"Offered Mis' Dale one thousand cold if she'd pull her freight." + +"She ain't gonna do it, is she?" demanded the alarmed Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey shook his head. "She's gonna stick." + +"She must. Hell, yes. Those papers of Luke's are forged. I know they +are." + +"So does everybody else," put in Tom Loudon, "but if something don't +turn up damn quick--" He broke off, shaking a dubious head. + +"Something will," declared Racey, making his bluff a second time with +an air of supreme confidence. + +"You know something, Racey," prodded Mr. Saltoun who prided himself on +his perspicacity. "Whadda you know?" + +"I ain't telling it," answered Racey, coolly. "I ain't coming back to +the ranch to-day, neither." + +"Oh, you ain't. Listen to the new owner, Tom." + +"That's all right," said Racey. "If I'm going to do the world any good +I've got to have a free hand." + +"You can have two of 'em," conceded Mr. Saltoun. "The bridle's off." + +"Aw right, I'll take Swing Tunstall," Racey hastened to say. + +"I meant yore own two hands," demurred Mr. Saltoun. + +"I know you did, but I meant the other kind. Listen, do you want +Lanpher and Tweezy to get this ranch?" + +"---- it, no!" + +"Then gimme Swing Tunstall." + +"Take him. Need anybody else? Wouldn't you like all the rest of the +outfit, and me, too?" + +"My Gawd, no. This is a job requirin' brains." + +"Say, lookit here, Racey--" + +"When you get to the ranch tell Swing to come along soon as he can," +interrupted Racey. "I'll be expecting him." + +Tuckety-tuck! Tuckety-tuck! Somewhere beyond the cottonwood grove +surrounding Moccasin Spring a galloping horse was coming in. A moment +later horse and rider shot past the tail of the cottonwood grove, and +bore down on the house. + +"Marie!" exclaimed Racey. + +"And riding one of my hosses," observed Mr. Saltoun. + +At that instant Marie caught sight of the three men and swerved her +mount toward them. + +"They said at the Bar S you was here," panted the lookout, pulling up +in front of Racey Dawson. "So I borrowed a fresh hoss and kep' on. +Somethin's happened in Farewell, Racey. Swing Tunstall's shot." + +"Downed?" Racey did not usually jump at conclusions, but Swing +Tunstall was his friend. + +Marie shook her tousled head. "Nicked--shoulder and leg. But it ain't +their fault he wasn't rubbed out." + +"Who's responsible?" demanded Racey. + +"Doc Coffin." + +"You said 'their'." + +"Honey Hoke bumped into Swing just as he went after his gun, so Swing +couldn't get his gun out a-tall. Swing said Honey grabbed his wrist, +but Peaches Austin and Punch-the-breeze Thompson was on the other side +in the way so none of the boys seen what happened to Swing exactly +till after it had." + +"Austin, Thompson, Hoke, and Coffin," said Racey. "What began the +fuss?" + +"Doc Coffin upset a glass of whiskey over Swing's arm, and then cussed +him for getting his arm in the way." + +"And Swing called him a liar, huh?" + +"And a ---- one, too," elaborated Marie. + +"Put-up job." Gruffly Mr. Saltoun gave his opinion. + +"Shore." Tom Loudon nodded gravely. + +"Where are those four men now?" Racey asked, quietly, looking at +Marie. + +"They were in the Starlight when I left town--and _they weren't +drinkin_'." + +"No, they wouldn't be." + +"And the sheriff and Kansas went to Dogville this morning, and the +marshal is sick. I thought you ought to know. My Gawd, I thought you'd +hear the news from somebody else before I got here and go bustin' in +regardless, and--" + +"I guess I'll go in all right," he told her with a slight smile, "but +it won't be regardless." + +With that he turned on a spurred heel and crossed springily to where +his horse stood. + +"Aw, the devil!" exclaimed Marie, looking helplessly at Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. "And he'll do it, too." + +Then she "kissed" to her horse and rode into the cottonwood grove for +a drink at the spring. + +Racey, sticking foot in stirrup, found Molly Dale at his elbow. She +was looking at him the way women do when they either don't understand +or think they understand only too well. + +"Who is that woman?" asked Molly Dale. + +"Huh?" Thus Racey, stupidly. He was thinking of his friend lying +wounded in Farewell. "What woman you mean?... Oh, her, that's Marie, +she's--she's lookout in the Happy Heart." + +"Oh, yes, Marie. I--I've seen you with her--one evening when you and +she were crossing the street and I drove past. I--I, yes, indeed." + +And as she spoke her eyes were very bright, and her figure was stiffer +than the proverbial poker. Which was odd. And at the tail of her words +she gave a stiff nod and hurried into the house. Which was odder. The +species of nod and the hurry--both. + +But Racey was in no mood to speculate on the idiosyncrasies of woman. +Even _the_ woman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. They regarded him silently. + +"I guess," said Racey, whirling an empty tobacco-bag by it's +draw-string, "I'll borrow some of yore smokin', Tom. I'm plumb afoot +for tobacco at the present writing." + +Tom Loudon handed over his pouch without a word. But Mr. Saltoun was +fidgety. Unlike his son-in-law, he felt that he must speak. + +"Lookit here, Racey," he said, hurriedly, "you ain't going to Farewell +alone, are you?" + +"Why, no, certainly not," Racey replied, solemnly. "I'm going to send +word to Yardly for the troops. Hell's bells, there's only four of +them, man!" + +"Yes, well--Who's this? One of our boys?" + +But it was not one of "our" boys. It was Rack Slimson, the proprietor +of the Starlight Saloon. But he was riding in from the direction of +the Bar S. + +He rode soberly, as one bound on a journey of length. Even as Marie +had done he glimpsed the three men and turned his horse toward them. +Ten feet from the flank of Racey Dawson's mount he pulled in and +nodded. There was spite--spite and something else--in the gaze he +fixed on Racey Dawson. + +"Yore friend's hurt," said he. "Got in a fight." + +"Hurt bad?" asked Racey. + +"Not _too_ bad. I've seen worse." + +"Where's he hurt?" + +Rack Slimson merely corroborated what Marie had said. So far he seemed +to be telling the truth. And it was natural that there should be spite +in his eyes. He had no cause to feel affection for either man. But +there was the "something else" besides the spite in those eyes. That +was what interested Racey. + +"You come here special to tell me this?" said Racey, staring. + +"Not me," denied Rack Slimson. "I was just passing by, and I thought +I'd let you know." + +"Just bein' neighbourly, huh?" + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say that." + +"Well, I'm obliged to you, Slimson. I'm shore a heap obliged to you. +Is Swing Tunstall being taken care of all right?" + +"He's in Mike Flynn's house. Joy Blythe is a-nursin' him." + +"Then I ain't needed in Farewell right now." Racey's tone was casual. + +Rack Slimson rose to the bait immediately. "He's asking for you alla +time," said he. + +"He is, is he? Why didn't you say so at first?" + +"I didn't know it was necessary." + +"Which is true more ways than one. Lookit here, Slimson, where might +you happen to be going when you run into me so providential here at +Moccasin Spring?" + +"I might be going most anywhere," Rack Slimson replied with a flash of +temper. + +"No call to get het, Rack, no call to get het. What I'm asking is a +fair question: Where might you be going to-day." + +"Marysville." + +"Ain't you off the trail some?" + +"Shore I am, some. I remembered something I gotta see about at the +88 before I go to Marysville. That's how I'm going west instead of +south." + +"When did you first remember this here something of yores?" + +"When I stopped at the Bar S for a drink of water." + +"And after you'd just happened to remember this something, I s'pose +you just happened to ask where I was and they told you Moccasin +Spring. Is that the how of it?" + +"Yo're a good guesser," replied Rack Slimson with sarcasm. + +"Sometimes I do make a centre shot," Racey admitted, modestly. + +It was then that Marie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, +rode forth from the cottonwood grove. At sight of her Rack Slimson's +eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. + +"Hell," he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey. + +"What you hellin' about?" Racey inquired, pleasantly. + +"You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time," complained Rack Slimson. + +"What makes you think so?" Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack. + +"She told you." Thus Rack, bluntly. + +"'She?' What she you mean?" + +"Aw, her." Rack Slimson jerked his head toward the approaching girl. + +"He's got 'em again," said Racey to Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. "I +don't see any 'her' anywhere. Do you?" + +"Not me," chorussed both men. + +"You see how yo're mistaken, Rack," pointed out Racey. "Yore eyes are +deceivin' you. Don't you trust 'em. You don't see any girls round +here, exceptin' maybe Miss Dale over at the house. You might 'a' seen +her according to whether she came to the kitchen door or not. But you +ain't seen any other girl here. And you better be shore you ain't." + +"Why had I?" blustered Rack Slimson, without, however, making any +hostile motion with his hands. + +"Because I say so." + +"Whatell's it to you?" + +"All you have to do is say in Farewell that you saw Marie here at +Dale's and you'll find out. I'll even go farther than that. I'm +tellin' you, Rack, that if anybody finds out in Farewell that +Marie was here, or if any accident happens to her--any accident, +y'understand--I'll have to take it as evidence that you had to blat. +Fair enough, huh?" + +"But supposing somebody else sees her and tells about it?" protested +Rack Slimson. + +"In that case yo're out of luck," was the unfeeling reply. + +"But--" began again Rack Slimson. + +"You might try prayer," Racey interrupted. "It would maybe help. You +can't tell." + +The unhappy Rack Slimson looked toward Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. But +there was no aid for him in that quarter. In fact, both men eyed him +with frank hostility. + +"So you see Marie is kept out of it." Racey laid his final injunction +on Rack as the girl in question joined them. "You don't guess this +girl is her, do you?" + +"Nun-no," declared Rack, hastily. "I don't. She's somebody else for +all I care." + +"That's the way to talk," Racey said, nodding approvingly. "You keep +right on holding to those sentiments and I wouldn't be surprised if +you lived quite a long while." + +Marie showed her teeth in a laugh. "I ain't a-scared of any such breed +of chunker as Rack Slimson," said she, calmly. "I can manage him my +own self. You goin' back to Farewell, Racey?" + +"Right now." + +"Then I'll be going with you." + +"You'll do no such a thing. There's no sense in yore running into +trouble thataway. You'll come in to Farewell after me and from another +direction." + +"Shore, I was going to. I was only gonna ride along with you part +way." + +Racey shook his head. "Wouldn't be sensible, that wouldn't. Somebody +might see you. You come along later like I told you. Me and Rack will +travel together." + +"I was goin' to the 88," protested Rack. + +"Yo're mistaken," Racey told him, firmly. "Yo're going to +Farewell--with me. Ain't you?" + +"I s'pose so," Rack Slimson capitulated. + +"Then c'mon. Get a-goin'." + +Marie watched the two men ride away together. "Ain't he the hellion?" +she said, admiringly, to Tom and Old Salt. "Bound to have his own way +if it kills him." + +At this there was a slight sound from the direction of the garden. +Marie and the two men turned to look. Trowel in hand Molly Dale was +kneeling on one knee between the brook and a row of blue camass. But +she was not doing any weeding. She was staring fixedly at Marie. While +a man could breathe twice Molly stared at Marie, then she dropped her +head and became very busy with the trowel. + +Marie's sniff was audible at thirty feet. She picked up her reins and +nodded to Tom Loudon and Mr. Saltoun. + +"See you later," said she, and started her horse in the direction of +Farewell. But she whirled him back before he had taken three steps. + +"I clean forgot he was yore hoss," she said, apologetically, to Mr. +Saltoun. "I'll have to go back to the Bar S first." + +"Thassall right," Mr. Saltoun made haste to assure her. "You take him +right along. One of the boys can ride yore hoss to town on the next +trip an' ride this one back." + +"That _will_ save me a lot of trouble," said Marie, turning her +bewildered mount a second time. + +"She ain't ridin' straight toward Farewell," said Tom Loudon, rolling +a slow cigarette. + +"Aw, she's sensible," yawned Mr. Saltoun. "She'll do like Racey says +all right. She must like him a lot. I--Whatsa matter with _you_?" + +For Tom Loudon had contrived to make a long leg and give Mr. Saltoun a +vigorous kick on the ankle. + +"I guess we'll be goin'," dodged Tom Loudon, and then took off his hat +to Miss Dale. "So long, miss. If you--uh--You know where the Bar S is +in case--just in case, y' understand." + +He touched his horse with the spur and moved off with as much dignity +as a colonel of cavalry. Not so Mr. Saltoun. He had been kicked, +and the kick hurt, and he was very red and ruffled in consequence. +Swearing under his breath he followed his son-in-law. + +"Here," he demanded, crowding his horse alongside, "what did yuh kick +me for?" + +Tom Loudon looked over his shoulder before replying. The ranch-house +was a hundred yards in the rear and Molly Dale was not in sight. He +deliberately turned his head and looked his father-in-law straight in +the eye. "What did I kick you for?" he repeated. "I kicked you because +you didn't have any sense." + +This was too much. "Huh? Because I--Lookit here, you--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. You didn't have any sense. Here's Molly +Dale thinks Racey is the only fellah ever rode a cayuse, and you have +to blat out so she can hear you, 'Marie must shore like him a lot'." + +"Well, what of it? I don't see--" + +"You don't? Wait till I tell Kate." + +"It ain't necessary to tell my daughter," Mr. Saltoun remonstrated, +hurriedly. "I suppose my saying that about Marie might give Molly a +wrong idea maybe about Racey. But how do you know she likes Racey? You +been talking to her? Did she tell you so?" + +"I ain't, and she didn't. I been talking to Kate. She told me. Don't +ask me how she knows. She says she knows, and that's enough for me. +You can't fool a woman in things like that." + +"You can't fool 'em in anything," Mr. Saltoun corroborated, bitterly. +"I shore oughtn't to said that about Racey and Marie. I'll go right +back and tell Molly it ain't so." + +Mr. Saltoun started to wheel his horse, but Tom Loudon halted that +manoeuvre. + +"You gotta let it go now," said he. "If you tell her you didn't mean +what you said she shore _will_ think it's true." + +"We-ell, if you think I'd better not, I won't," Mr. Saltoun assented, +doubtfully. "But I wouldn't say anything to Kate if I was you." + +"Then I won't," said Tom Loudon, his tongue in his cheek. + +"Where you think yo're going?" Mr. Saltoun queried presently. "This +ain't the way to the ranch." + +"I know it ain't. It's the way to Farewell." + +"Whyfor Farewell?" + +"It's just possible Racey may need a li'l help before he's through +with this job." + +"You're right," Mr. Saltoun said, contritely. "I've been so took up +with this Dale mortgage and the idea of Luke Tweezy and that skunk +Lanpher getting this land that I ain't give much thought to anything +else. Of course Racey will need help, and you and I are the fellers to +give it to him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +STRATEGY + + +Racey Dawson and Rack Slimson, rising a hill on the way to Farewell, +simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other. Rack's +expression was dolefully sullen. Racey's was hard and uncompromising. + +"Who was it put you up to this?" asked Racey. + +"What?" + +"Coming out here after me." + +"I didn't come out after you, I tell you!" + +"Shore, shore," soothed Racey, "I know all about that. Who put you up +to it?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about." + +"The ignorance of some people," said Racey, recalling sundry occasions +when other folk had oddly failed to grasp his meaning. + +They rode onward silently. + +When they reached the southern slope of Indian Ridge, Racey headed to +the east. A spirit of unease lit heavily upon the sagging shoulders of +Rack Slimson. + +"You ain't goin' straight for Farewell," he remarked at a venture. + +"I ain't--no." + +"I thought you was." + +"I am--but not straight." + +"Huh?" Rack Slimson wrinkled his forehead at this. + +"We're goin' in town from the side," explained Racey Dawson. + +This, too, was a puzzler. "Why?" queried Rack Slimson. + +"So's nobody will know we're coming till we're there." The smile with +which Racey garnished his answer was chilling to the soul of Mr. +Slimson. + +"But I don't see--" + +"You wouldn't. I'll tell you how it is all in words of one syllable. +You and me are coming into town from the east where that draw is and +those shacks behind the dance hall. We'll leave our hosses in the +draw, and proceed, like they say in the army, on foot. Then you and +me--" + +"But why me?" Rack Slimson desired to know. "What are you always +putting 'me' in for?" + +"Because yo're a-going with me, Rack, that's why. Yo're a-going with +me while I'm hunting for Coffin and Honey Hoke and Punch-the-breeze +Thompson and Peaches Austin. Those four will likely be together, see, +and I wanna use you for a breastwork sort of." + +"A breastwork!" cried the now thoroughly upset Mr. Slimson. "A +breastwork!" + +"Shore a breastwork. I'll shove you ahead of me into the saloon and if +they--there's four of 'em, y'understand--cut down on me you'll be in +the way." + +"But they'll down me!" + +"I'm counting on that." + +"But--" + +"Aw, shut up, you ---- skunk! You come out to Moccasin Spring on +purpose to get me to come to Farewell and be peaceably shot by Doc +Coffin and his gang. Can't tell me you didn't. I know better." + +"I didn't! I didn't! I--" + +"Aw right you didn't. In that case you got nothing to scare you. If +Doc and his outfit ain't got any harsh thoughts against me they won't +shoot when we run up on 'em. That'll prove yo're telling the truth, +and I'll beg yore pardon. I'll do more'n beg yore pardon. I'll eat +yore shirt an' my saddle." + +Racey's assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicions +proved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson. + +"I--lookit here," he began, desperately, "can't we fix this here up +some way? I dunno as--" + +"Shore we can fix it up," interposed Racey, heartily. "Go after yore +gun any time you feel like it. I been letting you keep it on purpose." + +Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation. He had not the slightest +desire to go after his gun. He was not fast enough, and he knew it. + +"It ain't necessary to do that," said he. + +"Suit yoreself," Racey told him calmly. "Hop into action any time you +feel like it. Of course before we get to that draw outside Farewell +where we're gonna leave our hosses I'll have to take yore gun away. +Later I might be too busy to do it--and I can't afford to take _every_ +chance. Not with four or five men. You can see that yoreself." + +Rack Slimson saw. He saw other things too. Oh, there was no warmth in +the sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled with +bitterness unutterable. + +"We'll be at the draw some time soon," suggested Racey ten minutes +later. + +But Rack Slimson's hands continued to remain in plain sight, the while +Rack gnawed a thin and bloodless lip. + +When at long last the draw opened before them Racey calmly reached +over and removed the saloon-keeper's sixshooter. After satisfying +himself that the weapon was fully loaded he stuffed it down inside the +waistband of his trousers. Then he buttoned the two lower buttons of +his vest and pulled the garment in question over the protruding butt. + +For a space of time they rode the bottom of the draw. Where a few +heavy willows grew about a tiny spring Racey pulled in. + +"We'll leave the cayuses here," said he. "We're right close in back of +Marie's shack." + +They dismounted, tied the horses to separate willows, and climbed the +side of the draw. + +"No hurry," cautioned Racey, for Rack Slimson was showing signs of a +nervous haste. "Besides, I want to pat you all over for a hideout." + +Behind the blind end of Marie's shack Rack Slimson submitted to +being searched for concealed weapons. Racey found none, not even a +pocket-knife. + +"Let's go," said Racey Dawson. "We'll go to yore saloon first. And you +pray hard that nobody sees us from the back window." + +They diagonalled down past the stage company's corral to the house +next door to the Starlight. + +"They haven't seen us yet," Racey observed, cheerfully, to Rack +Slimson whose wretched knees had been knocking together ever since he +had dismounted. "Slide over this way a li'l more, Rack. Now take off +yore spurs." + +Racey stooped and removed his own. And not for an instant did he lose +the magic of the drop. As a matter of fact, he had kept Rack covered +from the moment Rack set his boot-soles to earth. Rack's spurs jingled +on the ground. Racey let them lie. His own spurs he jammed each into a +hip pocket. + +"I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly, +to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to the +Starlight's back door." + +The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, the +proprietor in the lead. + +"Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to be +empty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes." + +He held Rack Slimson by the belt and pushed him toward the door giving +into the front room. This door was shut. They paused behind it. + +"He oughta be along pretty soon," complained a fretful voice that +Racey recognized as belonging to Honey Hoke. + +"We don't mind waiting," chimed in Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"It's the best thing we do." This was big Doc Coffin speaking. + +The two behind the door heard a bottle-neck clink against the rim of a +glass. + +"You better not take too much," advised Thompson. + +"Aw, who's takin' too much?" flung back Honey Hoke. + +"Well, you don't see the rest of us touching a single drop, do you? +Speaking personal, I wouldn't drown _my_ insides with liquor when I'm +due to go up against a proposition like Racey Dawson." + +Here was praise indeed. Racey thumbed Rack Slimson in the ribs. Rack +turned his head and saw that Racey was grinning. Rack grew even more +spineless. + +"You see," pointed out Racey in a sardonic whisper. "Yo're up against +the pure quill, feller." + +Which remark at any other time would have been in the worst possible +taste, but license is extended to men in peril of their lives. + +"They're at the table in the corner beside the bar, this end, ain't +they?" resumed Racey. "Ain't it lucky the door opens that way?" + +Then he was silent for a time while he strove to catch the accents of +Peaches Austin. He wanted to know if they were all four at the one +table. But Peaches was either not talking or elsewhere. A moment later +the question was answered for him by Honey Hoke. + +"If he slips by Peaches without Peaches seem' him--" began Honey. + +"Aw, hownell can he?" sneered Doc Coffin. "They's Peaches camped down +in front of the blacksmith shop right where he can see the trail alla +way down Injun Ridge. A dog couldn't get past Peaches without being +seen, let alone a two-legged man on a four-legged hoss." + +"S'pose he goes round the ridge," offered the doubter, unconsciously +hitting the nail on the head. + +"He won't," declared the confident Doc. "He'll come boiling right in +like he owned the place. Don't you lose no sleep over _that_." + +"Maybe Rack couldn't find him," pursued Honey Hoke, and an answering +quiver ran through the frame of Rack Slimson. + +"Rack will find him all right," said Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"He might be suspicious of Rack, alla same," Honey Hoke wavered on. + +"Not the way Rack will tell him. Didn't we fix it up just what Rack +was to say and all before he went? Shore we did. He won't make no +mistake, Rack won't. You'll see." + +"And anyway," broke in Doc Coffin, "they's four of us to take care of +any mistakes." + +At which the three laughed loudly. + +"I hope," Racey whispered in Rack's rather grimy left ear, "I hope you +heard all those fellers said. Proves I was right, don't it? Nemmine +nodding yore head more'n once. Hold still. Yo're doin' fine. Yep, I'm +shore glad we stood here a-listenin' like we have. Makes me feel a +heap easier in my mind about you. Otherwise I might always have had a +doubt I did right. I'd have been shore, y' understand, but I wouldn't +have been _dead_ shore." + +At which the unfortunate Rack came within an eyewink of fainting. As +it was his stomach seemed to roll over and over. He began to feel a +little sick. + +"The bartender now," went on Racey after a moment, "is he likely to +mix into this?" + +"I dunno," breathed Rack. + +"Who is he? I ain't been in yore place for some time." + +Rack told him the name of the bartender, and Racey nodded quite as if +Rack were facing him and could see everything he did. + +"Then that's all right," whispered Racey. "I know that feller. He's a +friend of Mike Flynn's. He won't do anythin' hostyle. Let's go right +in. Open the door. G'on, damn yore soul, or I'll blow you apart!" + +Rack Slimson opened the door and immediately endeavoured to spring to +one side. But he reckoned not on the strength of Racey Dawson. The +latter swung Rack back into place between himself (Racey Dawson) and +the table at which Doc Coffin and his two friends were sitting. + +It was a painfully surprised trio that confronted Racey and his +unwilling barricade. The bartender was likewise surprised. He +immediately fell flat on the floor. Not so the three men at the table. +They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the body +of their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there was +nothing to say. + +"I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes bright +with cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enough +to take care of any mistakes?" + +At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward. Racey drove an +accurate bullet through Doc Coffin's mouth. The bullet ranging upward, +and making its exit through the parietal bone, let in the light on +Doc's hitherto darkened intellect in more ways than one. + +Doc Coffin's forefinger, tightening convulsively on the trigger of its +wearer's sixshooter, sent an unaimed shot downward. But previous to +embedding itself in a floor board, the bullet passed through Honey +Hoke's foot. This disturbed Honey's aim to such an extent that instead +of shooting Racey through the head he shot Rack through the hat. + +Racey, attending strictly to his knitting, bored Honey Hoke with a +bullet that removed the top of the second knuckle of Honey's right +hand, shaved a piece from the wrist bone, and then proceeded to +thoroughly lacerate most of the muscles of the forearm before finally +lodging in the elbow. Thus was Honey Hoke rendered innocuous for the +time being. He was not a two-handed gunfighter. + +As yet Punch-the-breeze Thompson had remained strictly neutral. His +hands were on the table top, and had been from the beginning. + +"It's yore move, Thompson," Racey said with significance. + +"Then I'll be goin'," said Thompson, calmly. "See you later--maybe." + +So saying he rose to his feet, turned his back on Racey, and walked +out of the place. Racey had no illusions as to Thompson, but he +obviously could not shoot him in the back. He let him go. Watching +from a window he saw Thompson go to the hitching-rail in front of the +saloon, untie his horse, mount, and ride away northward. + +And the blacksmith shop in front of which Peaches Austin was supposed +to be on guard lay at the south end of the street. Where, then, was +Thompson going? + +"Where's he goin'?" he demanded of the now wriggling Rack Slimson. + +"Huh? Who? Punch? I dunno." + +"Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dunno." + +"Yo're a liar. Where is he?" + +"I dunno! I dunno! I tell you! Yo're gug-gug-chokin' me!" + +"Yo're lying again. If I was choking you you couldn't talk. Yo're +talkin', ain't you? Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dud-dud-dunno," insisted Rack Slimson, his teeth chattering as +Racey shook him. + +"Is he in town?" + +"I dud-dunno." + +"Is Thompson going after him, do you think?" + +"I dud-dunny-dunno!" + +"I guess maybe you don't, after all," Racey said, disgustedly, +flinging the unfortunate saloon-keeper from him with such force that +the fellow skittered quite across the floor and sat down in the +washpan into which the bartender was accustomed to throw the broken +glassware. + +"Ow-wow!" It was a hearty, full-lunged howl that Rack Slimson uttered +as he bounded erect and clutched at his trousers. + +Racey's eyes brightened at the sight. "Y' oughta known better than to +sit down in all that glass. I could 'a' told you you'd get prickles in +you. Why don't you stand still and let yore barkeep pick 'em out for +you? You can get at most of the big pieces with yore fingers," he +added to the bartender, who was gingerly emerging on all fours round +the end of the bar. "And the little ones you can dig out with a +sharp knife. Yep, Rack, old-timer, I'll bet you won't carry any more +messages on horseback for a while." + +There was a sudden crashing thud at the back of the room. Honey Hoke +had fallen out of his chair. Now he lay on the floor, his legs drawn +up and the back of his frowsy head resting against a rung of the chair +in which still sat the dead body of Doc Coffin. + +Racey went to Honey and spread him out in a more comfortable position. + +Calloway and Judge Dolan entered the saloon together. + +"We thought we heard shootin'--" began Galloway, staring in +astonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed the +better to endure the ministrations of the bartender. + +"We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweeping +past Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room. + +"What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of +'em cashed?" + +Racey shook his head. "Doc Coffin passed out," said he in a hard, dry +voice. "But Honey Hoke's heart is beatin' regular enough. Guess he's +only fainted from loss of blood." + +The Judge nodded. "They do that sometimes." Here he looked at Doc +Coffin's body lying humped over the table, an arm hanging free, the +head resting on the table-top. + +"Were they rowin' together?" was the Judge's next question. + +Racey gave him a circumstantial account of the shooting and the +incidents that had led up to it. The Judge heard him through without a +word. + +"They asked for it," said he, when Racey made an end. "'Sfunny Punch +didn't pick up a hand. Tell you what you do, Racey: You come to my +office in about a hour. Nothing to do with this business. I got no +fault to find with what you done. Even break and all that. Something +else I wanna see you about. Huh? What's that, Piggy?" + +The place was beginning to fill up with inquisitive folk from the +vicinity, and Racey decided to withdraw. He went out the back way. +Closing the door, he set his shoulders against it, and remained +motionless a moment. His eyes were on the distant hills, but they +neither saw the hills nor anything that lay between. + +"I had to do it," he muttered, bitterly. "I didn't want to down +him. But I had to. They were gonna down me if they could. And +he--they--they asked for it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE QUARREL + + +"Lo, Peaches, ain't you afraid of gettin' sunburnt?" Peaches Austin, +gambler though he was, flickered his eyelashes. He was startled. He +had not had the slightest warning of Racey Dawson's approach. + +"Didn't hear me, did you?" Racey continued, conversationally. "I +didn't want you to. That's why I kept my spurs off and sifted round +from the back of the blacksmith shop. And you were expecting me to +come scampering down the trail over Injun Ridge, weren't you? Joke's +on you, Peaches, sort of." + +Still Peaches said nothing. He sat and gazed at Racey Dawson. + +"Don't be a hawg," resumed Racey. "Move over and lemme sit down, too. +That's the boy. Now we're both comfortable, Peaches, you mean to sit +there and tell me you didn't hear any shooting up at the Starlight a +while back?" + +Peaches Austin wetted his lips with the tip of a careful tongue. "I +heard shootin'," he admitted, stiff-lipped. + +"And what did you think it was?" + +"I didn't know." + +"Didn't you see Thompson ride away?" + +"Shore." + +"And didn't you think anything about that, either?" + +"Oh, I thought, but--" + +"But you had yore orders to sit here and wait for li'l Willie. And you +always obey orders. That it, Peaches?" + +"What are you drivin' at?" + +"Yo're always asking me that, Peaches. Try something new for a change. +Look." + +Racey extended a long arm past Peaches' nose and pointed up the +street toward the Starlight Saloon. A man was backing out through the +doorway. Another followed, walking forward. Between them they were +carrying a third man. The hat of the third man was over his face. His +arms, which hung down, jerked like the arms of a doll. Even at that +distance Peaches could see that there was no life in the third man. + +"That's Doc Coffin," Racey murmured without rancour. "I wonder where +they're taking him? He used to bach with Nebraska Jones, didn't he? I +guess that's where they're taking him to. Yep, they've gone round the +corner of the stage company's corral." + +"Where's Honey?" queried Peaches in a still, small voice. + +"In the Starlight. He ain't hurt bad. Foot and arm. Lucky, huh?" + +Peaches Austin considered these things a moment. "Doc Coffin was +reckoned a fast man," he said in the tone of one who, after adding +up a column of figures, has found the correct total, "and Honey Hoke +wasn't none slow himself. And you got 'em both." + +"I didn't get 'em both," corrected Racey. "Honey is only wounded." + +"Same thing. You could 'a' got 'him if you wanted to. Yo're lucky, +that's what it is. Yo're lucky. And you been lucky from the beginning. +I ain't superstitious, but--" Here he lied. Like most gamblers Peaches +was sadly superstitious. He looked at Racey, and there was something +much akin to wonder on his countenance. He shook his head and was +silent a long thirty seconds. "Yo're too lucky for me--I quit," he +finished. + +"How much?" + +"Complete. I tell you, I don't buck no such luck as yores no longer. +I'll never have none myself if I do. I'm goin'." + +Peaches Austin got to his feet and walked across the street to the +hotel. Twenty minutes later Racey, sitting on the bench in front of +the blacksmith shop, saw him issue from the hotel, carrying a saddle, +packed saddlebags, and _cantenas_, blanket and bridle, and go to the +hotel corral. + +Within three minutes Peaches Austin rode out from behind the hotel. As +he passed the blacksmith shop he said "So long" to Racey. + +"See you later," nodded that serene young man. + +"I hope not," tossed back Peaches, and rode on down the trail that +leads over Indian Ridge to Marysville and the south. + +Racey watched him out of town. Then he went to Mike Flynn's to see +and, if it were possible, to cheer up his wounded friend, Swing +Tunstall. But he was not allowed to see him. Swing, it appeared, had +been given an opiate by Joy Blythe, who was acting as nurse, and she +refused to awaken her patient for anybody. So there. + +Racey went to the Happy Heart to while away the remainder of the +hour set by Judge Dolan. The bartender greeted him respectfully and +curiously. So did several other men he knew. For that respect and +that curiosity he understood the reason. It lay on a bunk in Nebraska +Jones's shack. + +No one asked him to drink. People are usually a little backward in +social intercourse with a citizen who has just killed his fellowman. +Of course in time the coolness wears off. In this case the time would +be short, Doc Coffin having been one of those that more or less +encumber the face of the earth. But for the moment Racey felt his +ostracism and resented it. + +He set down his drink half drunk and walked out of the Happy Heart. + + * * * * * + +"See anything of Luke Tweezy lately?" asked Judge Dolan when Racey was +sitting across the table from him in the Judge's office. + +"Saw him to-day." + +"Where?" + +"Moccasin Spring." + +Judge Dolan nodded and rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "Luke is +in town now," said he. + +"I ain't lost any Luke Tweezys," observed Racey, looking up at the +ceiling. + +"I wonder how long Luke is figuring on staying in town," went on Judge +Dolan, sticking like a stamp to his original subject. + +"Nothing to me." + +"It might be. It might be. You never can tell about them things, +Racey." + +Racey Dawson's eyes came down from the ceiling. He studied the Judge's +face attentively. What was Dolan driving at? Racey had known the Judge +for several years, and he was aware that the more indirect the Judge +became in his discourse the more important the subject matter was +likely to be. + +"No," said Racey, willing to bite, "you never can tell." + +"We was talking one day about a feller making mistakes." The tangent +was merely apparent. + +"Yep," acquiesced Racey. "We were saying Luke Tweezy made a good +many." + +"Something like that, yeah. You run across any of Luke's mistakes yet, +Racey?" + +Racey shook his head. "No." + +"Did you go to Marysville?" + +"Why for Marysville?" + +"Luke Tweezy lives in Marysville." + +"And you think there's somebody in Marysville would talk?" + +Judge Dolan looked pained. "I didn't say so," he was quick to remark. + +"I know you didn't, but--" + +"I don't guess they's many folks in Marysville _know_ much about +Luke--no, not many. Luke is careful and clever, damn clever. +But they's other things besides folks which might have useful +information." + +"Yeah?" + +"Yeah. A gent, a lawyer anyway, keeps a lot of papers in his safe as +a rule. Sometimes them papers make a heap interesting readin'." The +Judge paused and regarded Racey coolly. + +"They might prove interesting reading, that's a fact," drawled Racey. + +"Now I ain't suggestin' anything," pursued Judge Dolan. "I couldn't on +account of my oath. But it ain't so Gawd-awful far from Farewell to +Marysville." + +"It ain't _too_ far." + +"I got a notion Luke Tweezy will find important business to keep him +here in Farewell the next four or five days." + +"I wonder what kind of a safe Luke has got," murmured Racey. + +"Damfino," said the Judge. "You know anything about dynamite--how it's +handled, huh?" + +"Shore, handle it carefully." + +"I mean how to prepare a fuse and detonator and stick it in the +cartridge. You know how?" + +"I helped a miner man once for a week. Shore I know. You cut the fuse +square-ended. Stick the square end into the cap until it touches the +fulminate, and crimp down the copper shell all round with a dull knife +to hold the fuse. Then you make a hole in the end of the cartridge +and--" + +"I guess you know yore business, Racey," interrupted Judge Dolan. +"You'll find a package on that shelf by the door. Handle it carefully. +I'm glad you dropped in, Racey, Nice weather we're having." + +"But there are some people about due for a cold wave," capped Racey, +stopping on his way out to take the package from the shelf and wink at +Judge Dolan. + +The wink was not returned. But the Judge's tongue may have been in his +cheek. He was a most human person, was Judge Dolan of Farewell. + +Racey, handling the package with care, went back to the draw where +he had left the two horses. In the draw he opened the package. It +contained six sticks of dynamite and the necessary detonators and +fuse. + +"Good old Judge," said Racey, admiringly, and rewrapped the dynamite, +the detonators, and the fuse with even more care than he had employed +in unwrapping them. + +He rolled the package into his slicker and tied down the slicker +behind the cantle of his saddle. Untying the two horses he mounted his +own and, leading the other, rode to the hotel corral. + +Bill Lainey was only too glad to lend him a fresh horse and a bran +sack. + +It was dusk when he dismounted at the Dale corral. There was a lamp +in the kitchen. Its rays shone out through the open door and made a +rectangle of golden light on the dusty earth. Molly was standing at +the kitchen table. She was stirring something in a bowl. She did not +turn her head when he came to the door. + +"Evenin', Molly," said Racey. + +"Good evening." Just that. + +"Uh. Yore ma around?" + +"She's gone to bed." Still the dark head was not raised. + +He misunderstood both her brevity and the following silence. He +left his hat on the washbench outside the door and stepped into the +kitchen. + +"Don't take it so to heart, Molly," he said, awkwardly. + +"It's hard, but--Shucks, lookit, I've got something to tell you." + +In very truth he had something to tell her but he had not meant to +tell her so soon. + +"Lemme take care of you, Molly--dear. You know I love you, and--" + +"Stop!" Molly turned to him an expressionless face. She looked at him +steadily. "You say you love me?" she went on. + +"Shore I say it." He was plainly puzzled at her reception of what he +had said. Girls did not act this way in books. + +"How about that--that other girl? Marie, I think her name is." + +"What about her?" + +"A good deal." + +"What has she got to do with my loving you, I'd like to know?" + +"She loves you." + +"Marie? Loves me? Yo're crazy!" + +"Oh, am I? If she hadn't loved you do you think for one minute she'd +come riding all the way out here to give you a warning?" + +"Marie and I are friends," he admitted. "But there ain't any law +against that." + +"None at all." Molly's eyes dropped. Her head turned back. She resumed +her operations with a spoon in the bowl. + +"Lookit here, Molly--" + +"Don't you call me Molly." Her tone was as lacking in expression as +was her face. + +"But you've got to listen to me!" he insisted, desperately. "I tell +you there ain't anything between Marie and me." + +"Then there ought to be." Thus Molly. Womanlike she yearned to use her +claws. + +"But--" + +"Oh, I've heard all about your carryings on with that--creature; how +you talk to her, and people have seen you walking with her on the +street. I saw you myself. Yesterday when Mis' Jackson drove out here +to buy three hens she told me when the girl was arrested and fined for +trying to murder a man you stepped up and paid her fine. Did you?" + +"I did. But--" + +"There aren't any buts! You've got a nerve, you have, making love to +me after running round with that wretched hussy!" + +"She ain't a hussy!" denied the exasperated Racey, who was always +loyal to absent friends. "She's all right. Just because she happens to +be a lookout in the Happy Heart ain't anything against her. It don't +give you nor anybody else license to insult her." + +This was too much. Not content with confessing his friendship for the +girl, he was standing up for her. Molly whirled upon him. + +"Go!" Tone and business could not have been excelled by Peg Woffington +herself. + +Racey went. + +"What's the matter?" queried a sleepy voice from the doorway giving +into an inner room, as Racey's spurred heels jingled past the +washbench. "What's goin' on? Who was here? What you yelling about, +anyway?" + +"Racey was here, Ma," said Molly. + +"Seems to me you made an uncommon racket about it," grumbled her +mother, plodding into the kitchen in her slippers. + +Her gray hair was all in strings about her face. Her eyes and cheeks +were puffed with sleep. She had pulled a quilt round her shoulders +over her nightdress. Now she gave the quilt a hitch up and sat down in +a chair. + +"Make me a cup o' coffee, will you, Molly?" said Mrs. Dale. "My head +aches sort of. I hope you didn't have a fight with Racey Dawson." + +"Well, we didn't quite agree," admitted Molly, snapping shut the cover +of the coffee-mill and clamping the mill between her knees. "I don't +like him any more, Ma." + +"And after he's helped us so! I was counting on him to fix up this +mortgage business! Whatever's got into you, Molly?" + +"He's been running round with that awful lookout girl at the Happy +Heart." + +"Is that all?" yawned Mrs. Dale, greatly relieved. "I thought it might +have been something serious." + +"It is serious! What right has he to--" + +"Why hasn't he? You ain't engaged to him." + +"I know I'm not, but he--I--you--" Molly began to flounder. + +"Has he ever told you he loved you?" Mrs. Dale inquired, shrewdly. + +"Not in so many words, but--" + +"But you know he does. Well, so do I know he does. I knew it soon as +you did--before, most likely. Don't you fret, Molly, he'll come back." + +"No, he won't. Not now. I don't want him to." + +"Then who's to fix up this mortgage business with Tweezy, I'd like +to know? I declare, I wish I'd taken that lawyer's offer. We'd have +something then, anyhow. Now we'll have to get out without a nickel. +Oh, Molly, what did you quarrel with Racey for?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +BURGLARY + + +Merely because he believed that the well-known all was over between +Molly Dale and himself, Racey did not relinquish his plans for the +future. + +He rode to Marysville as he had intended. That is, he rode to the +vicinity of Marysville. For, arriving at a hill five miles outside of +town in the broad of an afternoon, he stopped in a hollow under the +cedars and waited for night. Daylight was decidedly not appropriate +for the act he contemplated. + +"I wonder," he muttered, as he lay with his back braced against a tree +and stared at the bulge in his slicker, "I wonder if I ought to use +all them sticks at once. I never heard that miner man say how much of +an argument a safe needed. I s'pose I better use 'em all." + +Luke Tweezy was a bachelor. His office was in his four-room house, and +he did not employ a housekeeper. Further than this, Racey Dawson +knew nothing of the lawyer's establishment. But he believed that his +knowledge was sufficient to serve his purpose. + +About midnight Racey Dawson removed himself, his horse, and his +dynamite from the hollow on the hill to where a lone pine grew almost +directly in the rear of and two hundred yards from the residence of +Luke Tweezy. He had selected the tall and lonely pine as the best +place to leave his horse because, should he be forced to run for +it, he would have against the stars a plain landmark to run for. +He thoroughly expected to be forced to run. Six sticks of dynamite +letting go together would arouse a cemetery. And Marysville was a +lively village. + +Racey, taking no chances on the Lainey horse stampeding at the +explosion, rope-tied the animal to the trunk of the pine. After which +he removed his spurs, carefully unwrapped the dynamite and stuck three +sticks in each hip-pocket. The caps, in their little box, he put in +the breast-pocket of his shirt. With the coil of fuse in one hand and +the bran sack given him by Lainey in the other he walked toward the +house of Tweezy. + +The house was of course dark. Nor were there any lights in the +irregular line of houses stretching up and down this side of the +street. The neighbours had apparently all gone to bed. Through an +opening between two houses Racey saw a brightly lighted window in a +house an eighth of a mile away. That would be Judge Allison's house. +The Judge, then, was awake. Two hundred and twenty yards was not a +long distance even for a portly man like Judge Allison to cover at +speed. And Racey had known Judge Allison to move briskly on occasion. + +Racey, moving steadily ahead, slid past someone's barn and opened up +a view of the dance hall. It had previously been concealed from his +sight by the high posts and rails of three corrals. The dance hall was +going full blast. At least all the windows were bright with light. He +was too far away to hear the fiddles. + +The dance hall! He might have known it would still be operating at +midnight. But it was almost twice as far from the Tweezy house to the +dance hall as it was from the Judge's house to Tweezy's. That was +something. Indeed it was a great deal. But he would have to work +fast. All the neighbours would come bouncing out at the crash of the +explosion. + +Racey paused to flatten an ear at the kitchen door. He heard nothing, +and tiptoed along the wall to the window of the room next the kitchen. +The ground plan of the house was almost an exact square. There was a +room in each angle. The office, which Racey knew contained the safe, +was diagonally across from the kitchen. + +Racey, halting at the window of the room next the kitchen, was +somewhat surprised to find it open. He stuck in his head and saw a +faint glow beyond the half-closed door of the office. The glow seemed +to be brighter near the floor. Racey listened intently. He heard a +faint grumble and now and then a squeak. + +He crouched beneath the window and removed his boots. Then he crawled +over the sill and hunkered down on the uncarpeted floor. The floor +boards did not creak. Still crouching, his arms extended in front of +him, he made his way silently across the room, skirting safely in the +process two chairs and a table, and stood upright behind the crack of +the door. + +Looking through the crack he perceived that the glow he had seen from +the window emanated from a tin can pierced with several holes. The +dim, uncertain light revealed the figure of a tall and hatless man +kneeling beside the safe. The man's back was toward the lighted tin +can. One of the tall man's hands was slowly turning the knob of the +combination. The side of the man's head was pressed against the front +of the safe near the combination. Racey could not see the man's face. + +Across the window of the room two blankets had been hung. The door +into the other front room was open. Then suddenly the doorway was no +longer a black void. A man stood there--a fat man with a stomach that +hung out over the waistband of his trousers. There was something very +familiar about the figure of that fat man. + +The fat man leaned against the doorjamb and pushed back his wide black +hat. The light in the tin can illumined his countenance dimly. But +Racey's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness. He was +able to recognize Jacob Pooley--Fat Jakey Pooley, the register of the +district, whose home was in Piegan City. + +"You ain't as fast as you used to be," observed Fat Jakey in a soft +whisper. + +"Shut up!" hissed the kneeling man, and turned his face for an instant +toward Fat Jakey, so that the light shone upon his features. + +It was Jack Harpe. + +"What's biting your ear?" Fat Jakey asked, good-naturedly. + +"I've told you more'n once to let what's past alone," grumbled Jack +Harpe. + +"Hell, there's nobody around." + +"Nemmine whether they is or not. You get out of the habit." + +"Rats," sneered Fat Jakey. + +"What was that?" Jack Harpe's figure tautened in a flash. + +"Rats," repeated Fat Jakey. + +"I thought I heard something," persisted Jack Harpe. + +"You heard rats," chuckled Fat Jakey. "You're nervous, that's what's +the matter, or else you ain't able to open the safe." + +"I can open the safe all right," growled Jack Harpe, bending again to +his work. + +"I wonder what he did hear," Racey said to himself. "I thought I heard +something, too." + +Whatever it was he did not hear it again. + +"There she is," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, and threw open the safe +door. + +It was at this precise juncture that a voice from the darkness behind +Fat Jakey said, "Hands up!" + +Oh, it was then that events began to move with celerity. Fat Jakey +Pooley ducked and leaped. Jack Harpe kicked the tin can, the candle +fell out and rolled guttering in a quarter circle only to be +extinguished by one of Fat Jakey's flying feet. + +There was a slithering sound as the blankets across the window were +ripped down, followed by a scraping and a heaving and a grunting as +two large people endeavoured to make their egress through the same +window at the same time. + +"So that window was open alla time," thought Racey as he prudently +waited for the owner of the voice in the other room to discover +himself. But this the voice's owner did not immediately do. Racey +could not understand why he did not shoot while the two men were +struggling through the window. Lord knows he had plenty of time and +opportunity. + +Even after Jack Harpe and Fat Jakey had reached the outer air and +presumably gone elsewhere swiftly, there was no sound from the other +room. Racey, his gun ready, waited. + +At first his impulse had been incontinently to flee the premises as +Jack and Jake had done. But a saving second thought held him where +he was. It was more than possible that the mysterious fourth man had +designs on the contents of the safe. In which event-- + +Racey stood pat. + +He heard no sound for at least a minute after Jack and Jake had left, +then he heard a soft swish, and a few stars which had been visible +through the upper half of the window were blotted out. The blankets +were being readjusted. + +A match was struck and a figure stooped for the candle that had been +dashed out by the foot of Fat Jakey Pooley. A table shielded the +figure from Racey. Then the figure straightened and set the flaring +match to the candle end. And the face that bent above the light was +the face of one he knew. + +"Molly!" he whispered, and slipped from his ambush. + +At which Molly dropped candle and match and squeaked in affright. But +her scare did not prevent her from drawing a sixshooter. He heard the +click of the hammer, and whispered desperately, "Molly! Molly! It's +me! Racey!" + +He struck a match and retrieved the candle and lit it quickly. By its +light he saw her staring at him uncertainly. Her eyes were bright with +conflicting emotions. Her sixshooter still pointed in his general +direction. + +"Put yore gun away," he advised her. "We've got no time to lose. Hold +the candle for me! Put it in the can first!" + +Automatically she obeyed the several commands. + +He knelt before the open safe and, beginning at the top shelf, he +stuffed into his bran sack every piece of paper the safe contained. +Besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. These he did +not take. + +When the safe was clean of papers Racey tied the mouth of the bran +sack, took Molly by the hand, and blew out the candle. + +"C'mon," he said, shortly. "We'll be leavin' here now." + +Towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. +Holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window. No +blow or shot followed the action. He clapped the hat on his head, and +looked out cautiously. He satisfied himself that the coast was clear +and flung a leg over the sill. + +When he had helped out Molly he gave her the sack to hold and pulled +on his boots. + +"Where's yore hoss?" he whispered. + +"I tied him at the corner of the nearest corral," was the answer. + +"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand. + +They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him. + +"Whatsa matter?" + +"Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm--I'm all right. I +just stepped on a sharp stone." + +"Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't +you say something? Here." + +So saying he scooped her up in his arms, settled her in place with due +regard for the box of caps in his breast-pocket, and plowed on through +the night. Her arms went round his neck and her head went down on his +shoulder. She sighed a gentle little sigh. For a sigh like that Racey +would cheerfully have shot a sheriff's posse to pieces. + +"I left my shoes in my saddle pocket," she said, apologetically. "I--I +thought it would be safer." + +There was a sudden yell somewhere on Main Street. It sounded as if it +came from uncomfortably close to the Tweezy house. Then a sixshooter +cracked once, twice, and again. At the third shot Racey was running as +tight as he could set foot to the ground. + +Encumbered as he was with a double armful of girl and a fairly heavy +sackful of papers he yet made good time to the corner of the nearest +corral. The increasing riot in Main Street undoubtedly was a most +potent spur. + +"Which way's the hoss?" he gasped when the dark rail of the corral +fretted the sky before them. + +"You're heading straight," she replied, calmly. "Thirty feet more and +you'll run into him. Better set me down." + +He did--literally. He turned his foot on a tin can and went down +ker-flop. Forced to guard his box of caps with one hand he could not +save Molly Dale a smashing fall. + +"Ah-ugh!" guggled Molly, squirming on the ground, for she had struck +the pit of her stomach on a round rock the size of a football and the +wind was knocked out of her. + +Racey scrambled to his feet, and knowing that if Molly was able to +wriggle and groan she could not be badly hurt, picked up the sack and +scouted up Molly's horse. He found it without difficulty, and tied the +sack with the saddle strings in front of the horn. He loosed the horse +and led it to where Molly still lay on the ground. The poor girl was +sitting up, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth and +fighting for her breath with gasps and crows. + +But there was not time to wait till she should regain the full use of +her lungs--not in the face of the shouts and yells in Main Street. +Lord, the whole town was up. Lights were flashing in every house. +Racey stooped, seized Molly under the armpits, and heaved her bodily +into the saddle. + +"Hang onto the horn," he ordered, "and for Gosh sake don't make so +much noise!" + +Molly obeyed as best she could. He mounted behind her, and of course +had to fight the horse, which harboured no intention of carrying +double if it could help itself. Racey, however, was a rider, and he +jerked Molly's quirt from where it hung on the horn. Not more than +sixty seconds were wasted before they were travelling toward the lone +pine as tight as the horse could jump. + +At the pine Racey slipped to the ground and ran to untie his horse. + +"Can you hang on all right at a trot if I lead yore hoss?" he queried, +sharply, his fingers busy with the knot of the rope. + +"I cue-can and gug-guide him, too," she stuttered, picking up her +reins and making a successful effort to sit up straight. "Lul-look! At +Tut-Tweezy's huh-house!" + +He looked. There were certainly three lanterns bobbing about in the +open behind the house of Luke Tweezy. He knew too well what those +lights meant. The Marysville citizens were hunting for a hot trail. + +He swung up with a rush. + +"Stick right alongside me," he told her. "We'll trot at first till +we get behind the li'l hill out yonder. After that we can hit the +landscape lively." + +She spoke no word till they had rounded the little hill and were +galloping south. Then she said in her normal voice, "This isn't the +way home." + +"I know it ain't. We've got to lose whoever follows us before we skip +for home." + +"Of course," she told him, humbly. "I might have known. You always +think of the right thing, Racey." + +All of which was balm to a hitherto tortured soul. + +"That's all right," he said, modestly. + +"And how strong you are--carrying me and that heavy sack all that +distance." Both admiration and appreciation were in her tone. Any +man would have been made happy thereby. Racey was overjoyed. And the +daughter of Eve at his side knew that he was overjoyed and was made +glad herself. She did not realize that Eve invariably employed the +same method with our grandfather Adam. + +He reached across and patted her arm. + +"Yo're all right," he told her. "When we get out of this yo're going +to marry me." + +Her free hand turned under his and clasped his fingers. S6 they rode +for a space hand-in-hand. And Racey's heart was full. And so was hers. +If they forgot for the moment what dread possibilities the future held +who can blame them? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE LETTERS + + +"But what was yore idea in coming to Marysville a-tall?" + +"To get that release Father signed--I thought it might be in his +safe." + +"Anybody give you the idea it might be?" + +She shook her head. "Nobody." + +"You've got more brains than I have, for a fact. But how were you +figuring on getting into the safe?" + +"Oh, I brought a bunch of keys along. What are you laughing at? I +thought one might fit." + +"Keys for a safe! Say, don't you know you don't open safes with keys? +They've got combinations, safes have." + +"I didn't know it. How could I? I never saw a safe in my life till +I saw this one to-night. I thought they had locks like any other +ordinary--Oh, I think you're horrid to laugh!" + +"I'm not laughing. Lean over, and I'll show you.... There, I ain't +laughing, am I?" + +"Not now, but you were.... Not another one, Racey. Sit back where you +belong, will you? You can hold my hand if you like. But I wasn't such +a fool as you seem to think, Racey. I brought an extra key along in +case the others didn't fit." + +"Extra key?" + +"Surely--seven sticks of dynamite, caps, and fuse. Chuck had a lot he +was using for blowing stumps, so I borrowed some from his barn. He +didn't know I took it." + +"I should hope not," Racey declared, fervently. "You leave dynamite +alone, do you hear? Where is it now?" + +"Oh, I left it on the floor in Tweezy's house when I found I didn't +need it any longer." + +"Thank God!" breathed Racey, whose hair had begun to rise at the bare +idea of the explosives still being somewhere on her person. "What was +yore motive in hold in' up Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley?" + +"Was that who they were? I couldn't see their faces. Well, when I had +broken the lock and opened the back window and crawled through, I went +into the front room where I thought likely the safe would be, and I +was just going to strike a match when I heard a snap at the front +window as the lock broke. Maybe I wasn't good and scared. I paddled +into the other front room by mistake. Got turned around in the dark, I +suppose. And before I could open a window and get out I heard two men +in the front room I'd just left. I didn't dare open a window then. +They'd have heard me surely, so I just knelt down behind a bed. And +after a while, when one man was busy at the safe, the fat man came +into my room and sat down on a chair inside the door. Lordy, I hardly +dared breathe. It's a wonder my hair didn't turn white. Once I thought +they must have heard me--the time the fat man said 'rats'. Honestly, I +was so scared I was almost sick." + +"But you have nerve enough to try and hold them up." + +"I had to. When I found out they were going to rob the safe, I had to +do something. Why, they might have taken the very paper I wanted, and +somehow later Tweezy might have gotten it back. I couldn't allow that. +I knew that I must get at what was inside the safe before they did. I +just had to, so when the fat man got up from his chair and stood in +the doorway with his back to me, I just gritted my teeth and stood up +and said 'Hands up.'" + +"My Gawd, girl, you might 'a' been shot!" + +"I had a sixshooter," she said, tranquilly. "But I wouldn't have shot +first," she added, reflectively. + +Willy-nilly then he took her in his arms and held her tightly. + +"But I don't see why," he said after an interval, "you had to go off +on a wild-goose chase thisaway. Didn't I tell you I was going to fix +it up for you? Couldn't you 'a' trusted me enough to lemme do it my +own way?" + +"We had that--that quarrel in the kitchen, and I thought you didn't +like me any more, and--and wouldn't have any more to do with me and +that it was my job to do something to help out the family.... Please! +Racey! I can't breathe!" + +Another interval, and she resolutely pushed his arms down and held him +away from her with both hands on his shoulders. + +"Tell me," said she, her blue eyes plumbing the very depths of his +soul, "tell me you don't love anybody else." + +He told her. + +Later. "There was a time once when I thought you liked Luke Tweezy," +he observed, lazily. + +"How horrible," she murmured with a slight shudder as she snuggled +closer. + +And that was that. + +"I think, dearest," said Molly, raising her head from his shoulder +some twenty minutes later, "that it's light enough now to see what's +in the sack." + +So, in the brightness of a splendid dawn, snugly hidden on the +tree-covered flank of one of the Frying Pan Mountains, they opened the +bran sack and went through every paper it contained. + +There were deeds, mortgages, legal documents of every description. +They found the Dale mortgage, but they did not find the release +alleged to have been signed by Dale immediately prior to his death. + +"Of course that mortgage is recorded," said Racey, dolefully, staring +at the pile of papers, "so destroyin' that won't help us any. The +release he's carrying with him, and I don't see anything--" + +"Here's one we missed," said Molly Dale in a hopeless tone, picking up +a slip of paper from where it had fallen behind a saddle. The slip +of paper was folded several times. She opened it and spread it out +against her knee. "Why, how queer," she muttered. + +"Huh?" In an instant Racey was looking over her shoulder. + +When both had thoroughly digested the meaning of the writing on that +piece of paper they sat back and regarded each other with wide eyes. + +"This ought to fix things," breathed Molly. + +"Fix things!" cried Racey. "Cinch! We've got him like that." + +He snapped his fingers joyfully. + +Molly reached for the bran sack. "You only shook it out," she said. +"I'm going to turn it inside out. Maybe we'll find something else." + +They did find something else. They found a document caught in the end +seam. They read it with care and great interest. + +"Well," said Racey, when he came to the signatures, "no wonder Jack +Harpe and Jakey Pooley wanted to get into the safe. No wonder. If we +don't get the whole gang now we're no good." + +"And to think we never thought of such a thing." + +"I was took in. I never thought anything else. And it does lie just +right for a cow ranch." + +"Of course it does. You couldn't help being fooled. None of us had any +idea--" + +"I'd oughta worked it out," he grumbled. "There ain't any excuse for +my swallowing what Jack Harpe told me. Lordy, I was easy." + +"What do you care now? Everything's all right, and you've got me, +haven't you?" And here she leaned across the bran sack to kiss him. + +She could not understand why his return kiss lacked warmth. + + * * * * * + +"Sun's been up two hours," he announced. "And the hosses have had a +good rest. We'd better be goin'." + +"What are you climbing the tree for, then?" she demanded. + +"I want to look over our back trail," he told her, clambering into the +branches of a tall cedar. "I know we covered a whole heap of ground +last night, but you never can tell." + +Apparently you never could tell. For, when he arrived near the top of +the cedar and looked out across a sea of treetops to the flat at the +base of the mountain, he saw that which made him catch his breath and +slide earthward in a hurry. + +"What is it?" asked Molly in alarm at his expression. + +"They picked up our trail somehow," he answered, whipping up a blanket +and saddle and throwing both on her horse. "They're about three miles +back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground." + +"Saddle your own horse," she cried, running to his side. "I'll attend +to mine." + +"You stuff all the papers back in the sack. That's yore job. Hustle, +now. I'll get you out of this. Don't worry." + +"I'm not worrying--not a worry," she said, cheerfully, both hands busy +with Luke Tweezy's papers. "I'd like to know how they picked up the +trail after our riding up that creek for six miles." + +"I dunno," said he, his head under an upflung saddle-fender. "I shore +thought we'd lost 'em." + +She stopped tying the sack and looked at him. "How silly we are!" +she cried. "All we have to do is show these two letters to the posse +an'--" + +"S'pose now the posse is led by Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley," said he, +not ceasing to pass the cinch strap. + +Her face fell. "I never thought of that," she admitted. "But there +must be some honest men in the bunch." + +"It takes a whole lot to convince an honest man when he's part of a +posse," Racey declared, reaching for the bran sack. "They don't stop +to reason, a posse don't, and this lot of Marysville gents wouldn't +give us time to explain these two letters, and before they got us back +to town, the two letters would disappear, and then where would we be? +We'd be in jail, and like to stay awhile." + +"Let's get out of here," exclaimed Molly, crawling her horse even +quicker than Racey did his. + +Racey led the way along the mountain side for three or four miles. +Most of the time they rode at a gallop and all the time they took care +to keep under cover of the trees. This necessitated frequent zigzags, +for the trees grew sparsely in spots. + +"There's a slide ahead a ways," Racey shouted to the girl. "She's +nearly a quarter-mile wide, and over two miles long, so we'll have to +take a chance and cross it." + +Molly nodded her wind-whipped head and Racey snatched a wistful glance +at the face he loved. Renunciation was in his eyes, for that second +letter found caught in the bran sack's seam had changed things. He +could not marry her. No, not now. And yet he loved her more than ever. +She looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back--crookedly. + +"What's the matter?" she cried above the drum of the flying hoofs. + +"Nothing," he shouted back. + +He hoped she believed him. And bitter almonds were not as bitter as +that hope. + +Then the wide expanse of the slide was before them. Now some slides +have trails across their unstable backs, and some have not. Some are +utterly unsafe to cross and others can be crossed with small risk. +There was no trail across this particular slide, and it did not +present a dangerous appearance. Neither does quicksand--till you step +on it. + +Racey dismounted at the edge and started across, leading his horse. +Twenty yards in the rear Molly Dale followed in like manner. At every +step the footing gave a little. Once a rounded rock dislodged by the +forefoot of Racey's horse bounded away down the long slope. + +The slither of a started rock behind him made him turn his head with a +jerk. Molly's horse was down on its knees. + +"Easy, boy, easy," soothed Molly, coaxingly, keeping the bridle reins +taut. + +The horse scrambled up and plunged forward, and almost overran Molly. +She seized it short by the rein-chains. The horse pawed nervously and +tried to rear. More rocks skidded downward under the shove of the hind +hoofs. To Racey's imagination the whole slide seemed to tremble. + +Molly's face when the horse finally quieted and she turned around was +pale and drawn. Which was not surprising. + +"It's all right, it's all right, it's all right," Racey found himself +repeating with stiff lips. + +"Of course it is," nodded Molly, bravely. "There's no danger!" + +"No," said Racey. "Better not hold him so short. Don't wind that rein +round yore wrist! S'pose he goes down you'd go, too. Here, you lemme +take him. I'll manage him all right." + +"I'll manage him all right myself!" snapped Molly, up in arms +immediately at this slur upon her horsemanship. "You go on." + +Racey turned and went on. It was not more than a hundred yards to +where the grass grew on firm ground. Racey and his horse reached solid +earth without incident. Then--a scramble, a scraping, and a clattering +followed in a breath by the indescribable sound of a mass of rocks in +motion. + +Racey had wasted no time in looking to see what had happened. He knew. +At the first sound of disaster he had snapped his rope strap, freed +his rope and taken two half hitches round the horn. Then he leaped +toward the slide, shaking out his rope as he went. + +Twenty feet out and below him Molly Dale and her struggling horse were +sliding downward. If the horse had remained quiet--but the horse was +not remaining quiet and Molly's wrist was tangled in the bridle reins. + +In the beginning the movement was slow, but as Racey reached the edge +of the slide an extra strong plunge of the horse drove both girl and +animal downward two yards in a breath. Molly turned a white face +upward. + +"So long, Racey," she called, bravely, and waved her free hand. + +But Racey was going down to her with his rope in one hand. With the +other hand and his teeth he was opening his pocket-knife. The loose +stones skittered round his ankles and turned under his boot soles. He +took tremendous steps and, with that white face below him, lived an +age between each step. + +"Grab the rope above my hand!" he yelled, although by now she was not +a yard from him. + +Racey was closer to the end of his rope than he realized. At the +instant that her free hand clutched at the rope it tightened with a +jerk as the cow pony at the other end, feeling the strain and knowing +his business, braced his legs and swayed backward. Molly's fingers +brushed the back of Racey's hand and swept down his arm. Well it was +for him that he had taken two turns round his wrist, for her forearm +went round his neck and almost the whole downward pull of girl and +horse exerted itself against the strength of Racey Dawson's arm and +shoulder muscles. + +Molly's face and chin were pressed tightly against Racey's neck. Small +blame to her if her eyes were closed. The arm held fast by the bridle +was cruelly stretched and twisted. And where the rein was tight across +the back of her wrist, for he could reach no lower, Racey set the +blade of his pocket-knife and sawed desperately. It was not a sharp +knife and the leather was tough. The steel did not bite well. Racey +sawed all the harder. His left arm felt as if it were being wrenched +out of its socket. The sweat was pouring down his face. His hat jumped +from his head. He did not even wonder why. He must cut that bridle +rein in two. He must--he must. + +Snap! Three parts cut, the leather parted, Molly's left arm and +Racey's right fell limply. Molly's horse went down the slide alone. +Neither of them saw it go. Molly had fainted, and Racey was too spent +to do more than catch her round the waist and hold her to him in time +to prevent her following the horse. + +Smack! something small and hot sprinkled Racey's cheek. He looked +to the left. On a rock face close by was a splash of lead. Smack! +Zung-g-g diminuendo, as a bullet struck the side of a rock and buzzed +off at an angle. + +Racey turned his head abruptly. At a place where trees grew thinly on +the opposite side of the slide and at a considerably lower altitude +than the spot where he and Molly hung at the end of their rope shreds +of gray smoke were dissolving into the atmosphere. The range was +possibly seven hundred yards. The hidden marksman was a good shot to +drive his bullets as close as he had at that distance. + +Straight out from the place of gray smoke four men and four horses +were making their way across the slide. They were halfway across. But +they had stopped. The down rush of Molly's horse had apparently given +them pause. Now two men started ahead, one stood irresolute and +one started to retrace his steps. It is a true saying that he who +hesitates is lost. Straight over the irresolute man and his horse +rolled the dust cloud whose centre was Molly's horse. When the dust +cloud passed on it was much larger, and both the man and his horse had +disappeared. + +The man who had started to retreat continued to retreat, and more +rapidly. The two who had held on did not cease to advance, but they +proceeded very slowly. + +"If that feller with the Winchester don't get us we're all right for a +spell," Racey muttered. + +He knew that on their side of the slide for a distance of several +hundred yards up and down the side of the mountain and for several +miles athwart it the underbrush was impenetrable for horses and wicked +travelling for men. There had been a forest fire four years before, +and everyone knows what happens after that. + +In but one place, where a ridge of rock reared through the soil, was +it possible to cross the stretch of burned-over ground. Naturally +Racey had picked this one spot. Whether the posse had not known of +this rock ridge, or whether they had simply miscalculated its position +it is impossible to say. + +"Those two will shore be out of luck when they get in among the +stubs," he thought to himself, as he waited for his strength to come +back. + +But youth recovers quickly and Racey was young. It may be that +the lead that was being sent at him and Molly Dale was a potent +revivifier. + +Certainly within three or four minutes after he had cut the bridle +Racey began to work his way up the rope to where his patient and +well-trained horse stood braced and steady as the proverbial boulder. + +Monotonously the man behind the Winchester whipped bullet after bullet +into the rocky face of the slide in the immediate vicinity of Racey +Dawson and the senseless burden in the crook of his left arm. +Nevertheless, Racey took the time to work to the right and recover the +hat that a bullet had flicked from his head. + +Then he resumed his slow journey upward. + +Ages passed before he felt the good firm ground under his feet and +laid the still unconscious Molly on the grass behind a gray and +barkless windfall that had once been a hundred-foot fir. + +Then he removed his horse farther back among the stubs where it could +not be seen, took his Winchester from the scabbard under the left +fender and went back to the edge of the slide to start a return +argument with the individual who had for the last ten minutes been +endeavouring to kill him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +HUE AND CRY + + +"Did you hit him?" + +"I don't think so," replied Racey without turning his head. "Keep +down." + +"I am down." + +"How you feel?" + +"Pretty good--considering." + +"Close squeak--considerin'." + +"Yes," said she in a small voice, "it was a close squeak. You--you +saved my life, Racey." + +"Shucks," he said, much embarrassed, "that wasn't anythin'--I +mean--you--you know what I mean." + +"Surely, I know what you mean. All the same, you saved my life. Tell +me, was that man shooting at us all the time after I fainted until you +got me under cover?" + +"Not all the time, no." + +"But most of the time. Oh, you can make small of it, but you were very +brave. It isn't everybody would have stuck the way you did." + +Smack! Tchuck! A bullet struck a rock two feet below where Racey lay +on his stomach, his rifle-barrel poked out between two shrubs of +smooth sumac--another bored the hole of a gray stub at his back. + +He fired quickly at the first puff of smoke, then sent two bullets a +little to the left of the centre of the second puff. + +"Not much chance of hittin' the first feller," he said to Molly. "He's +behind a log, but that second sport is behind a bush same as me.... +Huh? Oh, I'm all right. I got the ground in front of me. He +hasn't. Alla same, we ain't stayin' here any longer. I think I saw +half-a-dozen gents cuttin' across the end of the slide. Give 'em time +and they'll cut in behind us, which ain't part of my plans a-tall. +Let's go." + +He crawfished backward on his hands and knees. Molly followed his +example. When they were sufficiently far back to be able to stand +upright with safety they scrambled to their feet and hurried to the +horse. + +"I'll lead him for a while," said Racey, giving Molly a leg up, for +the horse was a tall one. "He won't have to carry double just yet." + +So, with Racey walking ahead, they resumed their retreat. + +The ridge of rock cutting across the burned-over area could not +properly be called rimrock. It was a different formation. Set at an +angle it climbed steadily upward to the very top of the mountain. +In places weatherworn to a slippery smoothness; in others jagged, +fragment-strewn; where the rain had washed an earth-covering upon the +rock the cheerful kinnikinick spread its mantle of shining green. + +The man and the girl and the horse made good time. Racey's feet began +to hurt before he had gone a mile, but he knew that something besides +a pair of feet would be irreparably damaged if he did not keep going. +If they caught him he would be lynched, that's what he would be. If he +weren't shot first. And the girl--well, she would get at the least ten +years at Piegan City, _if_ they were caught. But "if" is the longest +and tallest word in the dictionary. It is indeed a mighty barrier +before the Lord. + +"Did you ever stop to think they may come up through this brush?" said +Molly, on whom the silence and the sad gray stubs on either hand were +beginning to tell. + +"No," he answered, "I didn't, because they can't. The farther down you +go the worse it gets. They'd never get through. Not with hosses. We're +all right." + +"Are we?" She stood up in her stirrups, and looked down through a +vista between the stubs. + +They had reached the top of the mountain. It was a saddle-backed +mountain, and they were at the outer edge of the eastern hump. Far +below was a narrow valley running north and south. It was a valley +without trees or stream and through it a string of dots were slipping +to the north. + +"Are we all right?" she persisted. "Look down there." + +At this he turned his head and craned his neck. + +"I guess," he said, stepping out, "we'd better boil this kettle a li'l +faster." + +She made no comment, but always she looked down the mountain side and +watched, when the stubs gave her the opportunity, that ominous string +of dots. She had never been hunted before. + +They crossed the top of the mountain, keeping to the ridge of rock, +and started down the northern slope. Here they passed out of the +burned-over area of underbrush and stubs and scuffed through brushless +groves of fir and spruce where no grass grew and not a ray of sunshine +struck the ground and the wind soughed always mournfully. + +But here and there were comparatively open spaces, grassy, drenched +with sunshine, and sparsely sprinkled with lovely mountain maples and +solitary yellow pines. In the wider open spaces they could see over +the tops of the trees below them and catch glimpses of the way they +must go. + +A deep notch, almost a cañon, grown up in spruce divided the mountain +they were descending from the next one to the north. This next one +thrust a rocky shoulder easterly. The valley where the horsemen rode +bent round this shoulder in a curve measured in miles. They could not +see the riders now. + +"There's a trail just over the hill," said Racey, nodding toward the +mountain across the notch. "It ain't been regularly used since the +Daisy petered out in '73, but I guess the bridge is all right." + +"And suppose it ain't all right?" + +"We'll have to grow wings in a hurry," he said, soberly, thinking +of the deep cleft spanned by the bridge. "Does this trail lead to +Farewell?" + +"Same thing--it'll take us to the Farewell trail if we wanted to go +there, but we don't. We ain't got time. We'll stick to this trail till +we get out of the Frying-Pans and then we'll head northeast for the +Cross-in-a-box. That's the nearest place where I got friends. And I +don't mind saying we'll be needing friends bad, me and you both." + +"Suppose that posse reaches the trail and the bridge before we do?" + +"Oh, I guess they won't. They have to go alla way round and we go +straight mostly. Don't you worry. We'll make the riffle yet." + +His voice was more confident than his brain. It was touch and go +whether they would reach the trail and the bridge first. The posse in +the valley--that was what would stack the cards against them. And if +they should pass the bridge first, what then? It was at least thirty +miles from the bridge to the Cross-in-a-box ranch-house. And there was +only one horse. Indeed, the close squeak was still squeaking. + +"Racey, you're limping!" + +"Not me," he lied. "Stubbed my toe, thassall." + +"Nothing of the kind. It's those tight boots. Here, you ride, and let +me walk." So saying, she slipped to the ground. + +As was natural the horse stopped with a jerk. So did Racey. + +"You get into that saddle," he directed, sternly. "We ain't got time +for any foolishness." + +Foolishness! And she was only trying to be thoughtful. Foolishness! +She turned and climbed back into the saddle, and sat up straight, her +backbone as stiff as a ramrod, and looked over his head and far away. +For the moment she was so hopping mad she forgot the danger they were +in. They made their way down into the heavy growth of Engelmann spruce +that filled the notch, crossed the floor of the notch, and began again +to climb. + +An hour later they crossed the top of the second mountain and saw far +below them a long saddle back split in the middle by a narrow cleft. +At that distance it looked very narrow. In reality, it was forty feet +wide. Racey stopped and swept with squinting eyes the place where he +knew the bridge to be. + +"See," he said, suddenly, pointing for Molly's benefit. "There's the +Daisy trail. I can see her plain--to the left of that arrowhead bunch +of trees. And the bridge is behind the trees." + +"But I don't see any trail." + +"Grown up in grass. That's why. It's behind the trees mostly, anyhow. +But she's there, the trail is. You can bet on it." + +"I don't want to bet on it." Shortly. She was still mad at him. He had +saved her life, he had succeeded in saving the family ranch, he had +put her under eternal obligations, but he had called her thought for +him foolishness. It was too much. + +Yet all the time she was ashamed of herself. She knew that she was +small and mean and narrow and deserved a spanking if any girl did. She +wanted to cuff Racey, cuff him till his ears turned red and his head +rang. For that is the way a woman feels when she loves a man and he +has hurt her feelings. But she feels almost precisely the same way +when she hates one who has. Truth it is that Love and Hate are close +akin. + +Down, down they dropped two thousand feet, and when they came out upon +the fairly level top of the saddle back Racey mounted behind Molly. + +"He'll have to carry double now," he explained. "She's two mile to the +bridge, and my wind ain't good enough to run me two mile." + +It was not his wind that was weak, it was his feet--his tortured, +blistered feet that were two flaming aches. Later they would become +numb. He wished they were numb now, and cursed silently the man who +first invented cowboy boots. Every jog of the trotting horse whose +back he bestrode was a twitching torture. + +"We'll be at the bridge in another mile," he told her. + +"Thank Heaven!" + +Silent and grass-grown lay the Daisy trail when they came out upon it +winding through a meagre plantation of cedars. + +"No one's come along yet," vouchsafed Racey, turning into the trail +after a swift glance at its trackless, undisturbed surface. + +He tickled the horse with both spurs and stirred him into a gallop. +There was not much spring in that gallop. Racey weighed fully one +hundred and seventy pounds without his clothes, Molly a hundred and +twenty with all of hers, and the saddle, blanket, sack, rifle, and +cartridges weighed a good sixty. On top of this weight pile many weary +miles the horse had travelled since its last meal and you have what it +was carrying. No wonder the gallop lacked spring. + +"Bridge is just beyond those trees," said Racey in Molly's ear. + +"The horse is nearly run out," was her comment. + +"He ain't dead yet." + +They rocked around the arrowhead grove of trees and saw the bridge +before them--one stringer. There had been two stringers and adequate +flooring when Racey had seen it last. The snows of the previous winter +must have been heavy in the Frying-Pan Mountains. + +Molly shivered at the sight of that lone stringer. + +"The horse is done, and so are we," she muttered. + +"Nothing like that," he told her, cheerfully. "There's one stringer +left. Good enough for a squirrel, let alone two white folks." + +"I--I couldn't," shuddered Molly. + +They had stopped at the bridge head, Racey had dismounted, and she, +was looking down into the dark mouth of the cleft with frightened +eyes. + +"It must be five hundred feet to the bottom," she whispered, her chin +wobbling. + +"Not more than four hundred," he said, reassuringly. "And that log +is a good strong four-foot log, and she's been shaved off with the +broadaxe for layin' the flooring so we got a nice smooth path almost +two feet wide." + +In reality, that smooth path retained not a few of the spikes that had +once held the flooring and it was no more than eighteen inches wide. +Racey gabbled on regardless. If chatter would do it, he'd get her mind +off that four-hundred-foot drop. + +"I cue-can't!" breathed Molly. "I cue-can't walk across on that +lul-log! I'd fall off! I know I would!" + +"You ain't gonna walk across the log," he told her with a broad grin. +"I'll carry you pickaback. C'mon, Molly, slide off. That's right. Now +when I stoop put yore arms round my neck. I'll stick my arms under +yore legs. See, like this. Now yo're all right. Don't worry. I won't +drop you. Close yore eyes and sit still, and you'll never know what's +happening. Close 'em now while I walk round with you a li'l bit so's +to get the hang of carryin' you." + +She closed her eyes, and he began to walk about carrying her. At least +she thought he was walking about. But when he stopped and she opened +her eyes, she discovered that the horse was standing on the other side +of the cleft. At first she did not understand. + +"How on earth did the horse get over?" she asked in wonder. + +"He didn't," Racey said, quietly, setting her down, "but we did. I +carried you across while you had yore eyes shut. I told you you'd +never know what was happenin'." + +She sat down limply on the ground. Racey started back across the +stringer to get the horse. He hurried, too. That posse they had seen +in the valley! There was no telling where it was. It might be four +miles away, or four hundred yards. + +"C'mon, feller," said Racey, picking up the reins of the tired horse. +"And for Gawd's sake pick up yore feet! If you don't that dynamite is +gonna make one awful mess at the bottom of the cañon." + +Dynamite! Mess! There was an idea. Although in order to spare Molly +an extra worry for the time being, he had told her they would push on +together, it had been his intention to hold the bridge with his rifle +while Molly rode alone to the Cross-in-a-box for help. But those +six sticks of dynamite would simplify the complex situation without +difficulty. + +He did not hurry the horse. He merely walked in front holding the +bridle slackly. The horse followed him as good as gold--and picked up +his feet at nearly every spike. Once or twice a hind hoof grazed a +spike-head with a rasping sound that sent Racey's heart bouncing up +into his throat. Lord, so much depended on a safe passage! + +For the first time in his eventful life Racey Dawson realized that he +possessed a full and working set of nerves. + +When they reached firm ground Racey flung the reins to Molly. + +"Unpack the dynamite," he cried. "It's in the slicker." + +With his bowie he began furiously to dig under the end of the stringer +where it lay embedded in the earth. Within ten minutes he had a hole +large enough and long enough to thrust in the whole of his arm. He +made it a little longer and a little wider, and at the end he drove an +offset. This last that there might be no risk of the charge blowing +out through the hole. + +When the hole was to his liking, he sat back on his haunches and +grabbed the dynamite sticks Molly held out to him. With strings cut +from his saddle, he tied the sticks into a bundle. Then he prepared +his fuse and cap. In one of the sticks he made a hole. In this hole he +firmly inserted the copper cap. Above the cap he tied the fuse to the +bundle with several lappings of a saddle-string. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "I guess that cap will stay put. You and the +hoss get out of here, Molly. Go along the trail a couple of hundred +yards or so. G'on. Get a move on. I'll be with you in a minute. Better +leave my rifle." + +Molly laid the Winchester on the grass beside him, mounted the horse, +and departed reluctantly. She did not like to leave Racey now. She +had burned out her "mad". She rode away chin on shoulder. The cedars +swallowed her up. + +Racey with careful caution stuffed the dynamite down the hole and into +the offset. Then he shovelled in the earth with his hands and tamped +it down with a rock. + +Was that the clack of a hoof on stone? Faint and far away another +hoof clacked. He reached up to his hatband for a match. There were +no matches in his hatband. Feverishly he searched his pockets. Not a +match--not a match anywhere! + +He whipped out his sixshooter, held the muzzle close to the end of the +fuse and fired. He had to fire three times before the fuse began to +sparkle and spit. + +Clearly it came to his ears, the unmistakable thudding of galloping +hoofs on turf. The posse was riding for the bridge full tilt. He +picked up his rifle and dodged in among the trees along the trail. +Forty yards from the mined stringer he met Molly riding back with a +scared face. + +"What is it?" she cried to him. "I heard shots! Oh, what is it?" + +"Go back! Go back!" he bawled. "I only cut that fuse for three +minutes." + +Molly wheeled the horse and fled. Racey ran to where a windfall lay +near the edge of the cleft and some forty yards from the stringer. +Behind the windfall he lay down, levered a cartridge into the chamber, +and trained his rifle on the bridge head. + +The galloping horsemen were not a hundred paces from the stringer when +the dynamite let go with a soul-satisfying roar. Rocks, earth, chunks +and splinters of wood flew up in advance of a rolling cloud of smoke +that obscured the cleft from rim to rim. + +A crash at the bottom of the narrow cañon told Racey what had happened +to that part of the stringer the dynamite had not destroyed. + +Racey lowered the hammer of his rifle to the safety notch just as +the posse began to approach the spot where the bridge had been. It +approached on foot by ones and twos and from tree to tree. Racey could +not see any one, but he could see the tree branches move here and +there. + +"I guess," muttered Racey, as he crawfished away from the windfall, "I +guess that settles the cat-hop." + + * * * * * + +The sun was near its rising the following day when Racey and Molly, +their one horse staggering with fatigue, reached the Cross-in-a-box. +Racey had walked all the distance he was humanly able to walk, but +even so the horse had carried double the better part of twenty miles. +It had earned a rest. + +So had Racey's feet. + + * * * * * + +"My Gawd, what a relief!" Racey muttered, and sat back and gingerly +wiggled his toes. + +"Damn shame you had to cut 'em up thataway," said Jack Richie, +glancing at Racey's slit boots. "They look like new boots." + +"It is and they are, but I couldn't get 'em off any other way, and +I'll bet I won't be able to get another pair on inside a month. Lordy, +man, did you ever think natural-born feet would swell like that?" + +"You better soak them awhile," said Jack Richie. "C'mon out to the +kitchen." + +"Shore feels good," said Racey, when his swelled feet were immersed in +a dishpan half full of tepid water. "Lookit, Jack, let Miss Dale have +her sleep out, and to-morrow sometime send a couple of boys with her +over to Moccasin Spring." + +"Whatsa matter with you and one of the boys doing it?" + +"Because I have to go to Piegan City." + +"Huh?" + +"Yep--Piegan City. I'm coming back, though, so you needn't worry about +losing the hoss yo're gonna lend me." + +"That's good. But--" + +"And if any gents on hossback _should_ drop in on you and ask +questions just remember that what they dunno won't hurt 'em." + +Jack Richie nodded understandingly. "Trust me," he said. "As I see it, +Miss Dale and you come in from the north, and--" + +"Only me--you ain't seen any Miss Dale--and I only stopped long enough +to borrow a fresh hoss and then rode away south." + +"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie. + +"In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll +know more than that. And so will a good many other folks." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE REGISTER + + +"Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside +the register's desk, "where is McFluke?" + +Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, +wide-set eyes did not flicker. He placed the tips of his fingers +together, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Racey between the +eyebrows. + +"McFluke?" he repeated. "I don't know the name." + +"I mean the murderer Jack Harpe sent to you to be taken care of," +explained Racey. + +Mr. Pooley continued to stare. For a long moment he made no comment. +Then he said, "Still, I don't know the name." + +"If you will lean back a li'l more," Racey told him, "you can look out +of the window and see two chairs in front of the Kearney House. On the +right we have Bill Riley, a Wells Fargo detective from Omaha, on the +left Tom Seemly from the Pinkerton Agency in San Francisco. They know +something but not everything. Suppose I should spin 'em _all_ my +_li'l_ tale of grief--what then, Mr. Pooley?" + +"Still--I wouldn't know the name McFluke," maintained Mr. Pooley. + +"I'm sorry, Mr. Pooley," said Racey, rising to his feet. "I shore am." + +"Don't strain yoreself," advised Mr. Pooley, making a brave rustle +among the papers on his desk. + +"I won't," Racey said, turning at the door to bestow a last! grin upon +Mr. Pooley. "So long. Glad I called." + +Mr. Pooley laughed outright. "G'by," he called after Racey as the door +closed. + +Mr. Pooley leaned far back in his chair. He saw Racey Dawson stop on +the sidewalk in front of the two detectives. The three conversed a +moment, then Racey entered the Kearney House. The two detectives +remained where they were. + +Mr. Pooley arose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +"You gotta get out of here!" It was Mr. Pooley speaking with great +asperity. + +"Why for?" countered our old friend McFluke, one-time proprietor of a +saloon on the bank of the Lazy. + +"Because they're after you, that's why." + +"Who's they?" + +"Racey Dawson for one." + +McFluke sat upright in the bunk. "Him! That ----!" + +"Yes, him," sneered Pooley. "Scares you, don't it? And he's got two +detectives with him, so get a move on. I don't want you anywhere on my +property if they do come sniffin' round." + +"I'm right comfortable here," declared McFluke, and lay down upon the +bunk. + +"You'd better go," said Mr. Pooley, softly. + +"Not unless I get some money first." + +"So that's the game, is it? Think I'll pay you to drift, huh? How +much?" + +"Oh, about ten thousand." + +"Is that all?" + +"Well, say fifteen--and not a check, neither." + +"No," said Mr. Pooley, "it won't be a check. It won't be anything, +you--worm." + +So saying Mr. Pooley laid violent hands on McFluke, yanked him out of +the bunk, and flung him sprawling on the floor. + +"Not one cent do you get from me," declared Mr. Pooley. "I never paid +blackmail yet and I ain't beginning now. I always told Harpe you'd +upset the applecart with yo're bullheaded ways. You stinking murderer, +it wasn't necessary to kill Old Man Dale! Suppose he did hit you, what +of it? You could have knocked him out with a bungstarter. But no, you +had to kill him, and get everybody suspicious, didn't you? Why--you, +you make me feel like cutting your throat, to have you upset my plans +this way!" + +McFluke raised himself on an arm. "I didn't upset yore plans none," he +denied, sulkily. "Everythin's comin' out all right. Hell, he wouldn't +play that day, anyway! Said he'd never touch a card or look at a +wheel again as long as he lived, and when I laughed at him he hit me. +Whatell else could I do? I hadda shoot him. I--" + +"Shut up, you and your 'I's' and 'He wouldn't' and 'I hadda!' If +you've told me that tale once since you came here you've told me forty +times. Get up and get out! Yore horse is tied at the corral gate. I +roped him on my way in. C'mon! Get up! or will I have to crawl yore +hump again?" + +But McFluke did not get up. Instead he scrabbled sidewise to the wall +and shrank against it. His eyes were wide, staring. They were fixed on +the doorway behind Mr. Pooley. + +"I didn't do it, gents!" cried McFluke, thrusting out his hands before +his face as though to ward off a blow. "I didn't kill him! I didn't! +It's all a lie! I didn't kill him!" + +Fat Jacob Pooley whirled to face three guns. His right hand fell away +reluctantly from the butt of his sixshooter. Slowly his arms went +above his head. Racey Dawson and his two companions entered the +room. The eldest of these companions was one of the Piegan City +town marshals. He was a friend of Jacob Pooley's. But there was no +friendliness in his face as he approached the register, removed his +gun, and searched his person for other weapons. Jacob Pooley said +nothing. His face was a dark red. The marshal produced a pair of +handcuffs. The register recoiled. + +"Not those!" he protested. "Don't put handcuffs on me!" + +"Put yore hands down," ordered the marshal. + +"Look here, I'll go quietly. I'll--" + +"Put yore hands _down_!" repeated the inexorable marshal. + +Jacob Pooley put his hands down. + +Racey and the other man were handcuffing McFluke, who was keeping up +an incessant wail of, "I didn't do it! I didn't, gents, I didn't!" + +"Oh, shut up!" ordered Racey, jerking the prisoner to his feet. "You +talk too much." + +"Where's yore Wells Fargo and Pinkerton detectives?" demanded Mr. +Pooley. + +"This gent is the Wells Fargo detective," replied Racey, indicating +the man who had helped him handcuff McFluke. "There ain't any +Pinkerton within five hundred miles so far as I know.... Huh? Them? +Oh, they were just drummers from Chicago I happened to speak to +because I figured you'd be expectin' me to after I'd told you who they +were. The real Wells Fargo, Mr. Johnson here, was a-watchin' yore +corral alla time, so when you got a friend of yores to pull them two +drummers into a poker game and then saddled yore hoss and went bustin' +off in the direction of yore claim we got the marshal and trailed +you." + +"You can't prove anything!" bluffed Mr. Pooley. + +"We were here beside the door listenin' from the time McFluke said he +was too comfortable to move out of here." Thus the marshal wearily. + +Mr. Pooley considered a moment. "Who snitched where Mac was?" he +asked, finally. + +"Nobody," replied Racey, promptly. + +"Somebody must have. Who was it?" + +"Nobody, I tell you. McFluke had to go somewhere, didn't he? He +couldn't hang around Farewell. Too dangerous. But the chances were +he wouldn't leave the country complete till he got his share. And as +nothing had come off it wasn't any likely he'd got his share. So he'd +want to keep in touch with his friends till the deal was put through. +It was only natural he'd drift to you. And when I come here to Piegan +City and heard you had hired a man to live on yore claim and then got +a look at him without him knowing it the rest was easy." + +"But what," inquired Mr. Pooley, perplexedly, "has Wells Fargo to do +with this business?" + +"Anybody that knows Bill Smith alias Jack Harpe as well as you do," +spoke up Mr. Johnson, grimly, "is bound to be of interest to Wells +Fargo." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE LAST TRICK + + +"I'd take it kindly if you gents would stick yore guns on the +mantel-piece," said Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy looked at each other. + +"I ain't wearing a gun," said Luke Tweezy, crossing one skinny knee +over the other. + +"But Mr. Harpe is," pointed out Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe jackknifed his long body out of his chair, which was placed +directly in front of an open doorway giving into an inner room, +crossed the floor, and placed his sixshooter on the mantel-piece. + +"What is this," he demanded, returning to his place "a trial?" + +"Not a-tall," the Judge made haste to assure him. "Just a li'l +friendly talk, thassall. I'm a-lookin' for information, and I've an +idea you and Luke can give it to me." + +"I'd like a li'l information my own self," grumbled Luke Tweezy. "When +are you gonna make the Dales vacate?" + +"All in good time," the Judge replied with a wintry smile. "I'll be +getting to that in short order. Here comes Kansas and Jake Rule now." + +"What you want with the sheriff?" Luke queried, uneasily. + +"He's gonna help us in our li'l talk," explained the Judge, smoothly. + +"I think I'll get my gun," observed Jack Harpe. + +He made as if to rise but sank back immediately for Racey Dawson had +suddenly appeared in the open doorway behind him and run the chill +muzzle of a sixshooter into the back of his neck. + +"Never sit with yore back to a doorway," advised Racey Dawson. "If +you'll clamp yore hands behind yore head, Jack, we'll all be the +happier. Luke, fish out the knife you wear under yore left armpit, lay +it on the floor and kick it into the corner." + +Luke Tweezy's knife tinkled against the wall at the moment that the +sheriff, his deputy, and two other men entered from the street. The +third man was Mr. Johnson, the Wells Fargo detective. The fourth man +wore his left arm in a sling and hobbled on a cane. The fourth man was +Swing Tunstall. + +"What kind of hell's trick is this?" demanded Jack Harpe, glaring at +the Wells Fargo detective. + +"It's the last trick, Bill," said Mr. Johnson. + +At the mention of which name Jack Harpe appeared to shrink inwardly. +He looked suddenly very old. + +"Take chairs, gents," invited Judge Dolan, looking about him in the +manner of a minstrel show's interlocutor. "If everybody's comfortable, +we'll proceed to business." + +"I thought you said this wasn't a trial," objected Luke Tweezy. + +"And so it ain't a trial," the Judge rapped out smartly. "The trial +will come later." + +Luke Tweezy subsided. His furtive eyes became more furtive than ever. + +"Go ahead, Racey," said Judge Dolan. + +Racey, still holding his sixshooter, leaned hipshot against the +doorjamb. + +"It was this way," he began, and told what had transpired that day in +the hotel corral when he had been bandaging his horse's leg and had +overheard the conversation between Lanpher and Jack Harpe and later, +Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"They's nothing in that," declared Jack Harpe with contempt, twisting +his neck to glower up at Racey. "Suppose I did wanna get hold of the +Dale ranch. What of it?" + +"Shore," put in Luke Tweezy. "What of it? Perfectly legitimate +business proposition. Legal, and all that." + +"Not quite," denied Racey. "Not the way you went about it. Nawsir. +Well, gents," he resumed, "what I heard in that corral showed plain +enough there was something up. Dale wouldn't sell, and they were bound +to get his land away from him. So they figured to have Nebraska Jones +turn the trick by playin' poker with the old man. When Nebraska--They +switched from Nebraska to Peaches Austin, plannin' to go through with +the deal at McFluke's from the beginning. And that was where Tweezy +come in. He was to get the old man to McFluke's, and with the help of +Peaches Austin cheat Dale out of the ranch." + +"That's a damn lie!" cried Tweezy. + +"I suppose you'll deny," said Racey, "that the day I saw you ride in +here to Farewell--I mean the day Jack Harpe spoke to you in front of +the Happy Heart, and you didn't answer him--that day you come in from +Marysville on purpose to tell Jack an' Lanpher about the mortgage +having to be renewed and that now was their chance. I suppose you'll +deny all that, huh?" + +"Yo're--yo're lyin'," sputtered Luke Tweezy. + +"Am I? We'll see. When playin' cards with old Dale didn't work they +caught the old man at McFluke's one day and after he'd got in a fight +with McFluke and McFluke downed him, they saw their chance to produce +a forged release from Dale." + +"Who did the forging?" broke in the Judge. + +"I dunno for shore. This here was found in Tweezy's safe." He held out +a letter to the Judge. + +Judge Dolan took the letter and read it carefully. Then he looked +across at Luke Tweezy. + +"This here," said he, tapping the letter with stiffened forefinger, +"is a signed letter from Dale to you. It seems to be a reply in the +negative to a letter of yores askin' him to sell his ranch." + +The Judge paused and glanced round the room. Then his cold eyes +returned to the face of Luke Tweezy who was beginning to look +extremely wretched. + +"Underneath the signature of Dale," continued the Judge, "somebody has +copied that signature some fifty or sixty times. I wonder why." + +"I dunno anything about it," Luke Tweezy denied, feebly. + +"We'll come back to that," the Judge observed, softly. "G'on, Racey." + +"I figure," said Racey, "that they'd hatched that forgery some while +before Dale was killed. The killing made it easier to put it on +record." + +"Looks that way," nodded the Judge. + +"Lookit here," boomed Jack Harpe, "you ain't got any right to judge us +thisaway. We ain't on trial." + +"Shore you ain't," asserted the Judge. "I always said you wasn't. This +here is just a talk, a friendly talk. No trial about it." + +"Here's another letter, Judge," said Racey Dawson. + +The Judge read the other letter, and again fixed Luke Tweezy with his +eye. + +"This ain't a letter exactly," said Judge Dolan. "It's a quadruplicate +copy of an agreement between Lanpher of the 88 ranch, Jacob Pooley of +Piegan City, and Luke Tweezy of Marysville, parties of the first part, +and Jack Harpe, party of the second part, to buy or otherwise obtain +possession of the ranch of William Dale, in the northeast corner of +which property is located an abandoned mine tunnel in which Jack +Harpe, the party of the second part, has discovered a gold-bearing +lode." + +"A mine!" muttered Swing Tunstall. "A gold mine! And I thought they +wanted it for a ranch." + +"So did I," Racey nodded. + +"I know that mine," said Jake Rule. "Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar +drove the tunnel, done the necessary labour, got their patent, and +sold out when they couldn't get day wages to old Dale for one pony +and a jack. But Dale never worked it. A payin' lode! Hell! Who'd 'a' +thought it?" + +"Old Salt an' Tom Loudon got a couple o' claims on the other side of +the ridge from Dale's mine," put in Kansas Casey. "They bought 'em off +of Slippery Wilson and his wife. Them claims oughta be right valuable +now." + +"They are," nodded Judge Dolan. "The agreement goes on to say that +Jack Harpe found gold-bearing lodes in both of Slippery's old tunnels, +that these claims will be properly relocated and registered--I guess +that's where Jakey Pooley come in--and all three mines will be worked +by a company made up of these four men, each man to receive one +quarter of the profits. This agreement is signed by Jack Harpe, Simon +Lanpher, and Jacob Pooley." + +"And after Pooley was arrested," contributed Racey Dawson, "the Piegan +City marshal went through his safe and found the original of this +agreement signed by Tweezy, Lanpher, and Harpe." + +Luke Tweezy held up his hand. "One moment," said he. "Where was the +agreement signed by Harpe, Pooley, and Lanpher found?" + +"In yore safe," replied Racey Dawson. + +"Did you find it there?" + +"Yep." + +"What were you doing at my safe?" + +"Now don't get excited, Luke. I happened to be in the neighbourhood of +yore house in Marysville about a month ago when I noticed one of yore +back windows open. I snooped in and there was Jack Harpe working on +yore combination with Jakey Pooley watchin' him. Jack Harpe was the +boy who opened the safe.... Huh? Shore, I know him and Jakey Pooley +sicked posses on my trail. Why not? They hadda cover their own tracks, +didn't they? But that ain't the point. What I can't help wondering is +why Harpe and Pooley was fussin' with the safe in the first place. +What do you guess, Luke?" + +Evidently Tweezy knew the answer. With a yelp of "Tried to cross me, +you--!" he flung himself bodily upon Jack Harpe. + +In a moment the two were rolling on the floor. It required four men +and seven minutes to pry them apart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + + +Molly Dale looked at Racey with adoring eyes. "How on earth did +you guess that the Bill Smith who robbed the Wells Fargo safe at +Keeleyville and killed the agent was Jack Harpe?" + +"Oh, that was nothing. You see, I'd heard somebody say--I disremember +exactly who now--that Jack Harpe's real name was Bill Smith, that he'd +shaved off his beard and part of his eyebrows to make himself look +different, and that he'd done something against the law to some +company in some town. I didn't know what company nor what town, but I +had somethin' to start with when McFluke was let loose. I figured out +by this, that, and the other that Jack Harpe had let McFluke loose. Aw +right, that showed Jack Harpe was a expert lock picker. He showed us +at Marysville that he was a expert on safe combinations. Now there +can't be many men like that. So I took what I knew about him to the +detective chiefs of three railroads. He'd done somethin' against +a company, do you see, and of course I went to three different +_railroad_ companies before I woke up and went to the Wells Fargo an' +found out that such a man as Jack Harpe named Bill Smith was wanted +for the Keeleyville job. So you see there wasn't much to it. It was +all there waitin' for somebody to find it." + +"But it lacked the somebody till you came along," she told him with +shining eyes. + +"Shucks." + +"No shucks about it. That we have our ranch to-day with a sure-enough +producing gold mine in one corner of it is all due to you." + +"Shucks, suppose now those handwritin' experts Judge Dolan got from +Chicago hadn't been able to prove at the time that the forgery and +the fifty or sixty copies of yore dad's name were written by the same +hand, ink, and pen? Suppose now they hadn't? What then? Where'd you +be, I'd like to know? Nawsir, you give them the credit. They deserve +it. Well, I'm shore glad yo're all gonna be rich, Molly. It's fine. +That's what it is--fine--great. Well, I've got to be driftin' along. +I'm going to meet Swing in town. We're riding south Arizona way +to-morrow." + +"Arizona!" + +"Yeah, we're going to give the mining game a whirl." + +"Why--why not give it a whirl up here in this country?" + +"Because there ain't another mine like yores in the territory. No, +we'll go south. Swing wants to go--been wanting to go for some time." + +"Bub-but I thought you were going to stay up here," persisted Molly, +her cheeks a little white. + +"Not--not now," Racey said, hastily. "So long, take care of yoreself." + +He reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then picked up his +hat and walked out of the house without another word or a backward +look. + + * * * * * + +"What makes me sick is not a cent out of Old Salt," said Racey, +wrathfully, as he and Swing Tunstall walked their horses south along +the Marysville trail. + +"What else could you expect?" said the philosopher Swing. "We +specified in the agreement that it was cows them jiggers was gonna run +on the range. We didn't say nothin' about a mine." + +"'We?'" repeated Racey. "'We?' You didn't have a thing to do with that +agreement. I made it. It was my fool fault we worked all those months +for nothing." + +"What's the dif?" Swing said, comfortably. "We're partners. Deal +yoreself a new hand and forget it. Tough luck we couldn't 'a' made a +clean sweep of that bunch, huh?" + +"Oh, I dunno. Suppose Peaches, Nebraska, and Thompson did get away. We +did pretty good, considerin'. You can't expect everything." + +"Alla same they'd oughta been a reward--for Jack Harpe, anyway. Wells +Fargo is shore getting mighty close-fisted." + +"Jack did better than I thought he would. He never opened his yap +about Marie being in that Keeleyville gang." + +"Maybe he didn't know for shore or else knowed better. Bull was in +that gang, too, and Bull got his throat cut. If Jack had done any +blattin' about Marie and Keeleyville he might 'a' had to stand trial +for murder right here in this county instead of going down to New +Mexico to be tried for a murder committed ten years ago with all that +means--evidence gone rusty with age and witnesses dead or in jail +themselves most like. Oh, he'll be convicted, but it won't be first +degree, you can stick a pin in that." + +"I wonder if he did kill Bull." + +"I wonder, too. Didja know who Bull really was, Swing?... Marie's +brother. Yep, she told me about it yesterday." + +"Her own brother, huh? That's a odd number. Alla same I'll bet she +don't miss him much." + +"Nor Nebraska, neither. _He'll_ never come back to bother her again, +that's a cinch. Who's that ahead?" + +"That" was Molly waiting for them at a turn in the trail. When they +came up to her she nodded to both men, but her smile was all for Racey +Dawson. He felt his pulse begin to beat a trifle faster. How handsome +she was with her dark hair and blue eyes. And at the moment those blue +eyes that were looking into his were deep enough to drown a man. + +"Can I see you a minute, Racey?" said she. + +Swing immediately turned his horse on a dime and loped along the back +trail. Left alone with Racey she moved her horse closer to his. Their +ankles touched. His hands were clasped on the saddle-horn. She laid +her cool hand on top of them. + +"Racey," she said, her wonderful eyes holding him, "why are you going +away?" + +This was almost too much for Racey. He could hardly think straight. "I +told you," he said, hoarsely. "We're goin' to Arizona--minin'." + +She flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. "You used to +like me, Racey," she told him. + +He nodded miserably. + +"Don't you like me any more?" she persisted. + +He did not nod. Nor did he speak. He stared down at the back of the +hand lying on top of his. + +"Look at me, boy," she directed. + +He looked. The fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his +fingers. + +"Look me in the eye," said she, "and tell me you don't love me." + +"I cuc-can't," he muttered in a panic. + +"Then why are you going away?" Her voice was gentle--gentle and +wistful. + +"Because yo're rich now, that's why," he replied, thickly, the words +wrung out in a rush. "You've lots o' money, and I ain't got a thing +but my hoss and what I stand up in. How can I love you, Molly?" + +"Lean over here, and I'll show you how," said Molly Dale. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Heart of the Range, by William Patterson White + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF THE RANGE *** + +***** This file should be named 10473-8.txt or 10473-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/7/10473/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For example: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06 + + (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99, + 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90) + +EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are +filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part +of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is +identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single +digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: + https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL + + diff --git a/old/10473-8.zip b/old/10473-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ac67fda --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10473-8.zip diff --git a/old/10473.txt b/old/10473.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf906cf --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10473.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12823 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Heart of the Range, by William Patterson White + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Heart of the Range + +Author: William Patterson White + +Release Date: December 16, 2003 [EBook #10473] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF THE RANGE *** + + + + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + +[Illustration: "They picked up our trail somehow ... they're about +three miles back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground"] + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + +BY WILLIAM PATTERSON WHITE + +AUTHOR OF + +"_The Rider of Golden Bar_," "_Hidden Trails_," "_Lynch Lawyers_," +"_The Owner of the Lazy D_," "_Paradise Bend_," _etc_. + + +1921 + + + + +TO RANGER + +A GOOD HORSE AND A BETTER FRIEND + + + + +CONTENTS + +CHAPTER + + +I. THE HORSE THIEF + +II. THE YELLOW DOG + +III. THE TALL STRANGER + +IV. THE OLD LADY + +V. McFLUKE's + +VI. CHANGE OF PLAN + +VII. THE RIDDLE + +VIII. THE STARLIGHT + +IX. THROWING SAND + +X. THE BACK PORCH + +XI. THE LOOKOUT + +XII. THE DISCOVERY + +XIII. A BOLD BAD MAN + +XIV. THE SURPRISE + +XV. FIRE! FIRE! + +XVI. THE BAR S + +XVII. SIGNED PAPER + +XVIII. THE SHOWDOWN + +XIX. THE SHOOTING + +XX. DRAWING THE COVER + +XXI. GONE AWAY + +XXII. A CHECK + +XXIII. TAKING FENCES + +XXIV. DIPLOMACY + +XXV. STRATEGY + +XXVI. THE QUARREL + +XXVII. BURGLARY + +XXVIII. THE LETTERS + +XXIX. HUE AND CRY + +XXX. THE REGISTER + +XXXI. THE LAST TRICK + +XXXII. THE END OF THE TRAIL + + + + +THE HEART OF THE RANGE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +THE HORSE THIEF + + +It was a warm summer morning in the town of Farewell. Save a dozen +horses tied to the hitching-rail in front of various saloons and the +Blue Pigeon Store and Bill Lainey, the fat landlord of the hotel, who +sat snoring in a reinforced telegraph chair on the sidewalk in the +shade of his wooden awning, Main Street was a howling wilderness. + +Dust overlay everything. It had not rained in weeks. In the blacksmith +shop, diagonally across the street from the hotel, Piney Jackson was +shoeing a mule. The mule was invisible, but one knew it was a mule +because Piney Jackson has just come out and taken a two-by-four from +the woodpile behind the shop. And it was a well-known fact that Piney +never used a two-by-four on any animal other than a mule. But this by +the way. + +In the barroom of the Happy Heart Saloon there were only two customers +and the bartender. One of the former, a brown-haired, sunburnt young +man with ingenuous blue eyes, was singing: + + "_Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, + An' merrily jump the stile O! + Yore cheerful heart goes all the day, + Yore sad tires in a mile O_!" + +Mr. Racey Dawson, having successfully sung the first verse, rested +both elbows on the bar and grinned at the bartender. That worthy +grinned back, and, knowing Mr. Dawson, slid the bottle along the bar. + +"Have one yoreself, Bill," Mr. Dawson nodded to the bartender. +"Whu--where's Swing? Oh, yeah." + +Mr. Dawson, head up, chest out, stepping high, and walking very +stiffly as befitted a gentleman somewhat over-served with liquor, +crossed the barroom to where bristle-haired Swing Tunstall sat on a +chair and slumbered, his head on his arms and his arms on a table. + +Mr. Dawson stooped and blew into Mr. Tunstall's right ear. Mr. +Tunstall began to snore gently. Growing irritated by this continued +indifference on the part of Mr. Tunstall, Mr. Dawson seized the chair +by rung and back and incontinently dumped Mr. Tunstall all abroad on +the saloon floor. + +Mr. Tunstall promptly hitched himself into a corner and drifted deeper +into slumber. + +Mr. Dawson turned a perplexed face on the bartender. + +"Now what you gonna do with a feller like that?" Mr. Dawson asked, +plaintively. + +Mr. Jack Richie, manager of the Cross-in-a-box ranch, entering at the +moment, temporarily diverted Mr. Dawson's attention. For Mr. Dawson +had once ridden for the Cross-in-a-box outfit. Hence he was moved +literally to fall upon the neck of Mr. Richie. + +"Lean on yore own breakfast," urged Mr. Richie, studiously dissembling +his joy at sight of his old friend, and carefully steering Mr. Dawson +against the bar. "Here, I know what you need. Drink hearty, Racey." + +"'S'on me," declared Mr. Dawson. "Everythin's on me. I gug-got money, +I have, and I aim to spend it free an' plenty, 'cause there's more +where I'm goin'. An' I ain't gonna earn it punchin' cows, neither." + +"Don't do anything rash," Mr. Richie advised, and took advantage of a +friend's privilege to be insulting. "I helped lynch a road-agent only +last month." + +"Which the huh-holdup business is too easy for a live man," opined Mr. +Dawson. "We want somethin' mum-more diff-diff-diff'cult, me an' Swing +do, so we're goin' to Arizona where the gold grows. No more wrastlin' +cows. No more hard work for us. _We're_ gonna get rich quick, we are. +What you laughin' at?" + +"I never laugh," denied Mr. Richie. "When yo're stakin' out claims +don't forget me." + +"We won't," averred Mr. Dawson, solemnly. "Le's have another." + +They had another--several others. + +The upshot was that when Mr. Richie (who was the lucky possessor of +a head that liquor did not easily affect) departed homeward at four +P.M., he left behind him a sadly plastered Mr. Dawson. + +Mr. Tunstall, of course, was still sleeping deeply and noisily. +But Mr. Dawson had long since lost interest in Mr. Tunstall. It is +doubtful whether he remembered that Mr. Tunstall existed. The two +had begun their party immediately after breakfast. Mr. Tunstall had +succumbed early, but Mr. Dawson had not once halted his efforts to +make the celebration a huge success. So it is not a subject for +surprise that Mr. Dawson, some thirty minutes after bidding Mr. Richie +an affectionate farewell, should stagger out into the street and ride +away on the horse of someone else. + +The ensuing hours of the evening and the night were a merciful blank +to Mr. Dawson. His first conscious thought was when he awoke at dawn +on a side-hill, a sharp rock prodding him in the small of the back and +the bridle-reins of his dozing horse wound round one arm. Only it was +not his horse. His horse was a red roan. This horse was a bay. It +wasn't his saddle, either. + +"Where's my hoss?" he demanded of the world at large and sat up +suddenly. + +The sharp movement wrung a groan from the depths of his being. The +loss of his horse was drowned in the pains of his aching head. Never +was such all-pervading ache. He knew the top was coming off. He knew +it. He could feel it, and then did--with his fingers. He groaned +again. + +His tongue was dry as cotton, and it hurt him to swallow. He stood up, +but as promptly sat down. In a whisper--for speech was torture--he +began to revile himself for a fool. + +"I might have known it," was his plaint. "I had a feelin' when I took +that last glass it was one too many. I never did know when to stop. +I'd like to know how I got here, and where my hoss is, and who belongs +to this one?" + +He eyed the mount with disfavour. He had never cared for bays. + +"An' that ain't much of a saddle, either," he went on with his +soliloquy. "Cheap saddle--looks like a boy's saddle--an' a old +saddle--bet Noah used one just like it--try to rope with that saddle +an' you'd pull the horn to hellen gone. Wonder what's in that +saddle-pocket." + +He pulled himself erect slowly and tenderly. His knees were very +shaky. His head throbbed like a squeezed boil, but--he wanted to learn +what was in that saddle-pocket. Possibly he might obtain therein a +clue to the horse's owner. + +He slipped the strap of the pocket-flap, flipped it open, inserted his +fingers, and drew forth a small package wrapped in newspaper and tied +with the blue string affected by the Blue Pigeon Store in Farewell. + +Mr. Dawson balanced the package on two fingers for a reflective +instant, then he snapped the string and opened the package. + +"Socks an' a undershirt," he said, disgustedly, and started to say +more, but paused, for there was something queer about that undershirt. +His head was still spinning, and his eyes were sandy, but he perceived +quite plainly that there were narrow blue ribbons running round the +neck of that undershirt. He unrolled the socks and found them much +longer in the leg than the kind habitually worn by men. Mr. Dawson +agitatedly dived his hand once more into the saddle-pocket. And this +time he pulled out a tortoise-shell shuttle round which was wrapped +several inches of lingerie edging. But Mr. Dawson did not call it +lingerie edging. He called it tatting and swore again. + +"That settles it," he said, cheerlessly. "I've stole some woman's +cayuse." + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE YELLOW DOG + + +It was a chastened Racey Dawson that returned to Farewell. He went +directly to the blacksmith shop. + +"'Lo, Hoss Thief," was Piney Jackson's cheerful greeting. + +"Whose is it?" demanded Racey Dawson, wiping his hot face. "Whose hoss +have I stole?" + +"Oh, you'll catch it," chuckled the humorous Piney. "Yep, you betcha. +You've got a gall, you have. Camly prancing out of a saloon an' +glooming onto a lady's hoss. What kind o' doin's is that, I'd like to +know?" + +"You blasted idjit!" cried the worried Racey. "Whose hoss is this?" + +"I kind o' guessed maybe something disgraceful like this here would +happen when I seen you and yore friend sashay into the Happy Heart. +And the barkeep said you had two snifters and a glass o' milk, too. +Honest, Racey, you'd oughta be more careful how you mix yore drinks." + +"Don't try to be a bigger jack than you are," Racey adjured him in +a tone that he strove to make contemptuous. "You think yo're awful +funny--just too awful funny, don't you? I'm askin' you, you fish-faced +ape, whose hoss this is I got here?" + +"Don't you know?" grinned Piney, elevating both eyebrows. "Lordy, I +wouldn't be in yore shoes for something. Nawsir. She'll snatch you +baldheaded, she will. The old lady was wild when she come out an' +found her good hoss missing. And she shore said what she thought of +you some more when she seen she had to ride home on that old crow's +dinner of a moth-eaten accordeen you left behind." + +Racey Dawson was too reduced in spirit to properly take umbrage at +this insult to his horse. He could only repeat his request that Piney +make not of himself a bigger fool than usual. And when Piney did +nothing but laugh immoderately, Racey grinned foolishly. + +"If my head didn't ache so hard," he assured the chortling blacksmith, +"I'd shore talk to you, but--Say, lookit here, Piney, quit yore +foolin', will you? Who owns this hoss, anyway?" + +"Here comes Kansas," said Piney. "Betcha five even he arrests you for +a hoss thief." + +"Gimme odds an' I'll go you," Racey returned, promptly. + +"Even," stuck out Piney. + +"Naw, he might do it. You Farewell jiggers hang together too hard for +me to take any chances. 'Lo, Kansas." + +"Howdy, Racey," nodded Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. "How long you +been rustlin' hosses?" + +"A damsight longer'n I like," Racey replied, frankly. "Who _does_ own +this hoss?" + +"Y' oughta asked that question yesterday," said Kansas, severely, but +with a twinkle in his black eyes that belied his tone. "This here +would be mighty serious business for you if the Sheriff was in town. +Jake's so particular about being legal an' all. Yessir, Racey, +old-timer, I expect you'd spend some time in the calaboose--if you +wasn't lynched previous." + +"Don't scare the poor feller," pleaded Piney in a tone of deepest +compassion. "He'll be cryin' in a minute." + +"In a minute I'll be doing somethin' besides cry if you fellers don't +stop yore funning. This here is past a joke, this is, and--" + +"Shore it's past a joke," Kansas concurred, warmly, "an' I ain't +funning, not for a minute. You go give that hoss back, Racey, or +you'll be sorry." + +"Well, for Gawd's sake tell me who to give it back to!" bawled Racey, +and immediately batted his eyes and gingerly patted the back of his +head. + +"Head ache?" queried Kansas. "I expect it might after last night. You +go give that hoss back like a good boy." + +So saying Kansas Casey turned his back and retreated rapidly in the +direction of the Starlight Saloon. + +Racey Dawson glared vindictively after the departing deputy. Then he +switched his angry blue eyes to the blacksmith's smiling countenance. + +"You can all," said Racey Dawson, distinctly, "go plumb to hell." + +He turned the purloined pony on a dime and loped up the street, +followed by the ribald laughter of Piney Jackson. + +"They think they're so terrible funny," Racey muttered, mournfully, +as he dismounted and tied at the hitching rail in front of the Happy +Heart. "Now if I can only find Swing--" + +But Swing Tunstall, it appeared on consulting the bartender, had gone +off hunting him (Racey). The latter did not appeal to the bartender to +divulge the name of the horse's owner. He had, he believed, furnished +the local populace sufficient amusement for one day. He had a small +drink, for he felt that he needed a bracer, and with the liquor he +imbibed inspiration. + +Miss Blythe, Mike Flynn's partner in the Blue Pigeon Store! She would +know whose horse it was, for certainly the horse's owner had bought +the undershirt and the stockings at the Blue Pigeon. Furthermore, +Miss Blythe looked like a right-minded individual. She would take no +pleasure in devilling a man. Not she. + +Racey Dawson set down his glass and hurried to the Blue Pigeon Store. +Miss Blythe, at his entrance, ceased checking tomato cans and came +forward. + +"Ma'am," said Racey, "will you come to the door a minute? No, no, +don't be scared!" he added as the lady drew back a step. "I'm kind +of in trouble, an' I want you to help me out. I'm--my name's Racey +Dawson, an' I used to ride for the Cross-in-a-box before I got a job +up at the Bend. Jack Richie knows me. I ain't crazy--honest." + +For Miss Blythe continued to look doubtful. "I--" she began. + +"Lookit," he interrupted, "yesterday I got a heap drunk an' I rode off +on somebody's hoss without meaning to--I mean I thought it was my hoss +and it wasn't. An' I thought maybe you'd tell me who the hoss belongs +to so's I can return him and get mine back. She took mine, they tell +me. Not that I blame her a mite," he added, hastily. + +Pretty Miss Blythe smiled suddenly. "I did hear something about a +switch in horses yesterday afternoon," she admitted. "But I thought +Mr. Flynn said Tom Dowling was the man's name. Certainly I remember +you now, Mr. Dawson, although at first your--your beard--" + +"Yeah, I know," he put in, hurriedly. "I ain't shaved since I left the +Bend, and I slept mostly on my face last night, but it's li'l ol' me +all right behind the whiskers and real estate. Yeah, that's the hoss +yonder--the one next the pinto." + +"I know the horse," said Miss Blythe, drawing back from the doorway. +"It belongs to the Dales over at Medicine Spring on Soogan Creek." + +"Oh, I know _them_," Racey declared, confidently (he had been at the +Dales' precisely once). "The girl married Chuck Morgan. Shore, Mis' +Dale's hoss, huh? I'll take it right back soon's I get shaved. I +s'pose I'll have a jomightyful time explaining it to the old lady." + +"It isn't the mother's horse. It's the daughter's. She was in town +yesterday." + +"You mean Chuck's wife, Mis' Morgan?" + +"I mean _Miss_ Molly Dale, the _other_ daughter." + +"I didn't know they had another daughter," puzzled Racey, thinking of +what Piney Jackson had said anent an "old lady." "They must 'a' kept +her in the background when I was there that time. What is she--a old +maid?" + +"Oh, middle-aged, perhaps," was the straight-faced reply. + +"Shucks, I might have known it," grumbled Racey; "middle-aged old +maid! I know what they're like. I had one once for a school-teacher. I +can feel her lickings yet. She was the contrariest female I ever met. +Shucks, I--Well, if I gotta, I gotta. Might's well get it over with +now as later. Thanks, ma'am, for helping me out." + +Racey Dawson shambled dejectedly forth to effect the feeding of Miss +Molly Dale's horse at the hotel corral. For his own breakfast he went +to Sing Luey's Canton Restaurant. Because while Bill Lainey offered +no objections to feeding the horse, Mrs. Lainey utterly refused to +provide snacks at odd hours for good-for-nothing, stick-a-bed punchers +who were too lazy to eat at the regular meal-time. So there, now. + +"But I ain't gonna shave," he told himself, as he disposed of fried +steak and potatoes sloshed down by several cups of coffee. "If she's a +old maid like they say it don't matter how tough I look." + +He was reflectively stirring the grounds in the bottom of his sixth +cup when a small and frightened yellow dog dashed into the restaurant +and fled underneath Racey's table, where he cowered next to Racey's +boots and cuddled a lop-eared head against Racey's knee. + +Racey had barely time to glance down and discover that the yellow +nondescript was no more than a pup when a burly youth charged into +the restaurant and demanded in no uncertain tones to know where that +adjective dog had hidden himself. + +Racey took an instant dislike to the burly youth, still--it was his +dog. And it is a custom of the country to let every man, as the saying +is, skin his own deer. He that takes exception to this custom and +horns in on what cannot rightfully be termed his particular business, +will find public opinion dead against him and his journey unseasonably +full of incident. + +Racey moved a leg. "This him, stranger?" + +The burly youth (it was evident that he was not wholly sober) glared +at Racey Dawson. "Shore it's him!" he declared. "Whatell you hidin' +him for? Get outa the way!" + +Whereupon the burly youth advanced upon Racey. + +This was different. Oh, quite. The burly youth had by his brusque +manner and rude remarks included Racey in his (the burly youth's) +business. + +Racey met the burly youth rather more than halfway. He hit him so hard +on the nose that the other flipped backward through the doorway and +landed on his ear on the sidewalk. + +Racey followed him out. The burly youth, bleeding copiously from the +nose, sat up and fumbled uncertainly for his gun. + +"No," said Racey with decision, aiming his sixshooter at the word. +"You leave that gun alone, and lemme tell you, stranger, while we're +together, that I want to buy that pup of yores. A gent like you ain't +fit company for a self-respecting dog to associate with. Nawsir." + +"You got the drop," grumbled the burly youth. + +"Which is one on you," Racey observed, good-humouredly. + +"Maybe I'll be seein' you again," suggested the other. + +"Don't lemme see you first," advised Racey. "Never mind getting up. +Just sit nice and quiet like a good boy, and keep the li'l hands +spread out all so pretty with the thumbs locked over yore head. 'At's +the boy. How much for yore dog, feller?" + +"What you done to my dog?" A woman's voice broke on Racey's ears. But +he did not remove his slightly narrowed eyes from the face of the +burly youth. + +"What you done to my dog?" The question was repeated, and the speaker +came close to the burly youth and looked down at him. Now that the +woman was within his range of vision Racey perceived that she was the +Happy Heart lookout, a good-looking creature with brown hair and a +lithe figure. + +The girl's fists were clenched so tightly that her knuckles showed +whitely against the pink. Two red spots flared on the white skin of +her cheeks. + +"Dam yore soul!" swore the lady. "I want my dog! How many tunes I +gotta ask you, huh? Where is he? Say somethin', you dumb lump of slum +gullion!" + +"He ain't yore dog!" denied the burly youth. "He never was yores! He's +mine, you--!" + +Which last was putting it pretty strongly, even for the time, the +place, and the girl. She promptly swung a brisk right toe, kicked the +burly youth under the chin, and flattened him out. + +"That'll learn you to call me names!" she snarled. "So long as I act +like a lady, I'm a-gonna be treated like one, and I'll break the neck +of the man who acts different, and you can stick a pin in that, you +dirty-mouthed beast!" + +Muttering profanely true to form, the aforementioned beast essayed to +rise. But here again Racey and his ready gun held him to the ground in +a sitting position. + +"You leave her alone," commanded Racey. "You got what was coming to +yuh. Let it go at that. The lady says it's her dog, anyway." + +"It's my dog, I tell yuh! I--" + +"Yo're a liar!" averred the girl. "You kicked the dog out when he was +sick, and I took him in and tended him and got him well. If that don't +make him my dog what does?" + +"Correct," said Racey. "Call him." + +The girl put two fingers in her mouth and whistled shrilly. Forth from +the Canton came the dog on the jump and bounced into the girl's arms +and began to lick her ear with despatch and enthusiasm. + +"You see how it is," Racey indicated to the man on the ground. "It's +the lady's dog. You can go now." + +The burly youth stared stupidly. + +"You heard what I said," Racey told him, impatiently. "G'on. Go +some'ers else. Get outa here." + +"Say," remarked the burly youth in what was intended to be a menacing +growl, "this party ain't over yet." + +"Ain't you been enough of a fool already to-day?" interrupted Racey. +"You ain't asking for it, are you?" + +"You can't run no blazer on me," denied the other, furiously. + +Racey promptly holstered his sixshooter. "Now's yore best time," he +said, quietly. + +When the smoke cleared away there was a rent in the sleeve of Racey's +shirt and the burly youth sat rocking his body to and fro and groaning +through gritted teeth. For there was a red-hot hole in his right +shoulder which hurt him considerably. + +Racey Dawson gazed dumbly down at the muzzle of his sixshooter from +which a slim curl of gray smoke spiralled lazily upward. Then his eyes +veered to the man he had shot and to the man's sixshooter lying on the +edge of the sidewalk. It, too, like his own gun, was thinly smoking at +the muzzle. The burly youth put a hand to his shoulder. The fingers +came away red. Racey was glad he had not killed him. He had not +intended to. But accidents will happen. + +He stepped forward and kicked the burly youth's discarded sixshooter +into the middle of the street. He looked about him. The girl and her +dog had vanished. + +Kansas Casey had taken her place apparently. From windows and doorways +along the street peered interested faces. One knew that they were +interested despite their careful lack of all expression. It is never +well to openly express approval of a shooting. The shooter undoubtedly +has friends, and little breaches of etiquette are always remembered. + +Racey Dawson looked at Kansas Casey and shoved his sixshooter down +into its holster. + +"It was an even break," announced Racey. + +"Shore," Kansas nodded. "I seen it. There'll be no trouble--from us," +he added, significantly. + +The deputy sheriff knelt beside the wounded man. Racey Dawson went +into the Happy Heart. He felt that he needed a drink. When he came out +five minutes later the burly youth had been carried away. Remained a +stain of dark red on the sidewalk where he had been sitting. Piggy +Wadsworth, the plump owner of the dance-hall, legs widespread and arms +akimbo, was inspecting the red stain thoughtfully. He was joined by +the storekeeper, Calloway, and two other men. None of them was aware +of Racey Dawson standing in front of the Happy Heart. + +"Was it there?" inquired Calloway. + +"Yeah," said Piggy. "Right there. I seen the whole fraycas. Racey +stood here an'--" + +At this point Racey Dawson went elsewhere. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE TALL STRANGER + + +"You'll have to manage it yoreself." Lanpher, the manager of the 88 +ranch, was speaking, and there was finality in his tone. + +"You mean you don't wanna appear in the deal a-tall," sneered his +companion. + +Racey Dawson, who had been kneeling on the ground engaged in bandaging +a cut from a kick on the near foreleg of the Dale pony when the two +men led their horses into the corral, craned his neck past the pony's +chest and glanced at Lanpher's tall companion. For the latter's words +provoked curiosity. What species of deal was toward? Having ridden for +Lanpher in the days preceding his employment by the Cross-in-a-box +and consequently provided with many opportunities for studying the +gentleman at arm's-length, Racey naturally assumed that the deal was a +shady one. Personally, he believed Lanpher capable of anything. +Which of course was unjust to the manager. His courage was not quite +sufficient to hold him abreast of the masters in wickedness. But he +was mean and cruel in a slimy way, and if left alone was prone to make +life miserable for someone. Invariably the someone was incapable of +proper defense. From Farewell to Marysville, throughout the length +and breadth of the great Lazy River country, Lanpher was known +unfavourably and disliked accordingly. + +To his companion's sneering remark Lanpher made no intelligible reply. +He merely grunted as he reached for the gate to pull it shut. His +companion half turned (his back had from the first been toward +Racey Dawson), and Racey perceived the cold and Roman profile of a +long-jawed head. Then the man turned full in his direction and behold, +the hard features vanished, and the man displayed a good-looking +countenance of singular charm. The chin was a thought too wide and +heavy, a trait it shared in common with the mouth, but otherwise the +stranger's full face would have found favour in the eyes of almost any +woman, however critical. + +Racey Dawson, at first minded to reveal his presence in the corral, +thought better of it almost immediately. While not by habit an +eavesdropper he felt no shame in fortuitously overhearing anything +Lanpher or the stranger might be moved to say. Lanpher merited no +consideration under any circumstances, and the stranger, in appearance +a similar breed of dog as far as morals went, certainly deserved no +better treatment. So Racey remained quietly where he was, and was glad +that besides the pony to whom he was ministering there were several +others between him and the men at the gate. + +"Why don't you wanna appear in this business?" persisted the stranger, +pivoting on one heel in order to keep face to face with Lanpher. + +"I gotta live here," was the Lanpher reply. + +"Well, ain't I gotta live here, too, and I don't see anything round +here to worry me. S'pose old Chin Whisker does go on the prod. What +can he do?" + +"'Tsall right," mumbled Lanpher, shutting the gate and shoving home +the bar. "You don't know this country as well as I do. I got trouble +enough running the 88 without borrowing any more." + +"Now I told you I was gonna get his li'l ranch peaceable if I could. I +got it all planned out. I don't do anything rough unless I gotto. But +I'm gonna get old Chin Whisker out o' there, and you can stick a pin +in that." + +"'Tsall right. 'Tsall right. You wanna remember ol' Chin Whisker ain't +the only hoss yo're trying to ride. If you think that other outfit +is gonna watch you pick daisies in their front yard without doing +anything, you got another guess. But I'll do what I said--and no +more." + +"I s'pose you think that by sticking away off yonder where the grass +is long nobody will suspicion you. If you do, yo're crazy. Folks ain't +so cross-brained as all that." + +"Not so dam loud!" Lanpher cautioned, excitedly. + +"Say, whatsa matter with you?" demanded the stranger, leaning back +against the gate and spreading his long arms along the top bar. "Which +yo're the most nervous gent I ever did see. The hotel ain't close +enough for anybody to hear a word, and there's only hosses in the +corral. Get a-hold of yoreself. Don't be so skittish." + +"I ain't skittish. I'm sensible. I know--" Lanpher broke off abruptly. + +"What do you know?" + +"What yo're due to find out." + +"Now lookit here, Mr. Lanpher," said the stranger in a low, cold tone, +"you said those last words a leetle too gayful to suit me. If yo're +planning any skulduggery--don't." + +"I ain't. Not a bit of it. But I got my duty to my company. I can't +get mixed up in any fraycas on yore account, because if I do my ranch +will lose money. That's the flat of it." + +"Oh, it is, huh? Yore ranch will lose money if you back me up, hey? +And you ain't thinkin' nothin' of yore precious skin, are yuh? Oh, +no, not a-tall. I wonder what yore company would say to the li'l deal +between you and me that started this business. I wonder what they'd +think of Mr. Lanpher and his sense of duty. Yeah, I would wonder a +whole lot." + +"Well--" began Lanpher, lamely. + +"Hell!" snarled the stranger. "You make me sick! Now you listen to me. +Yo're in this as deep as I am. If you think you ain't, try to pull +yore wagon out. Just try it, thassall." + +"I ain't doing none of the work, that's flat," Lanpher denied, +doggedly. + +"You gotta back me up alla same," declared the stranger. + +"That wasn't in the bargain," fenced Lanpher. + +"It is now," chuckled the stranger. "If I lose, you lose, too. +Lookit," he added in a more conciliatory tone, "can't you see how it +is? I need you, an' you need me. All I'm asking of you is to back +me up when I want you to. Outside of that you can sit on yore +shoulder-blades and enjoy life." + +"We didn't bargain on that," harked back Lanpher. + +"But that was then, and this is now. Which may not be logic, but it +_is_ necessity, an' Necessity, Mr. Lanpher, is the mother of all kinds +of funny things. So you and I we got to ride together." + +Lanpher pushed back his hat and looked over the hills and far away. +The well-known carking care was written large upon his countenance. + +Slowly his eyes slid round to meet for a brief moment the eyes of his +companion. + +"I can't answer for my men," said Lanpher, shortly. + +"Can you answer for yoreself?" inquired the stranger quickly. + +"I'll back you up." Grudgingly. + +"Then that's all right. You can keep the men from throwing in with the +other side, anyway, can't you?" + +"I can do that much." + +"Which is quite a lot for a ranch manager to be able to do," was the +stranger's blandly sarcastic observation. "C'mon. We've gassed so much +I'm dry as a covered bridge. I--What does Thompson want now? 'Lo, +Punch." + +"'Lo, Jack. Howdy, Lanpher." Racey could not see the newcomer, but +he recognized the voice. It was that of Punch-the-breeze Thompson, +a gentleman well known to make his living by the ingenious +capitalization of an utter lack of moral virtue. "Say, Jack," +continued Thompson, "Nebraska has been plugged." + +"Plugged?" Great amazement on the part of the stranger. + +"Plugged." + +"Who done it?" + +"Feller by the name of Dawson." + +"Racey Dawson?" nipped in Lanpher. + +"Yeah, him." + +Lanpher chuckled slightly. + +"Why the laugh?" asked Jack Harpe. + +"I'd always thought Nebraska could shoot." + +"Nebraska is supposed to be some swift," admitted the stranger. "How'd +it happen, Punch?" + +Thompson told him, and on the whole, gave a truthful account. + +"What kind of feller is this Dawson?" the stranger inquired after a +moment's silence following the close of the story. + +"A skipjack of a no-account cow-wrastler," promptly replied Lanpher. +"He thinks he's hell on the Wabash." + +"Allasame he must be old pie to put the kybosh on Nebraska thataway." + +"Luck," sneered Lanpher. "Just luck." + +"Is he square?" probed the stranger. + +"Square as a billiard-ball," said Lanpher. "Why, Jack, he's so crooked +he can't lay in bed straight." + +At which Racey Dawson was moved to rise and declare himself. Then the +humour of it struck him. He grinned and hunkered down, his ears on the +stretch. + +"Well," said the stranger, refraining from comment on Lanpher's +estimate of the Dawson qualities, "we'll have to get somebody in +Nebraska's place." + +"I'm as good as Nebraska," Punch-the-breeze Thompson stated, modestly. + +"No," the stranger said, decidedly. "Yo're all right, Punch. But even +if we can get old Chin Whisker drunk, the hand has gotta be quicker +than the eye. Y' understand?" + +Thompson, it appeared, did understand. He grunted sulkily. + +"We'll have to give Peaches Austin a show," resumed the stranger. +"Nemmine giving me a argument, Punch. I said I'd use Austin. C'mon, +le's go get a drink." + +The three men moved away. Racey Dawson cautiously eased his long body +up from behind the pony. With slightly narrowed eyes he stared at the +gate behind which Jack Harpe and his two friends had been standing. + +"Now I wonder," mused Racey Dawson, "I shore am wonderin' what kind of +skulduggery li'l Mr. Lanpher of the 88 is a-trying to crawl out of and +what Mr. Stranger is a-trying to drag him into. Nebraska, too, huh? I +was wondering what that feller's name was." + +He knelt down again and swiftly completed the bandaging of the cut on +the pony's near fore. + +As he rode round the corner of the hotel to reach Main Street he saw +Luke Tweezy single-footing into town from the south. The powdery dust +of the trail filled in and overlaid the lines and creases of Luke +Tweezy's foxy-nosed and leathery visage. Layers of dust almost +completely concealed the original colour of the caked and matted hide +of Luke Tweezy's well-conditioned horse. It was evident that Luke +Tweezy had come from afar. + +In common with most range riders Racey Dawson possessed an automatic +eye to detail. Quite without conscious effort his brain registered +and filed away in the card-index of his subconscious mind the picture +presented by the passing of Luke Tweezy, the impression made +thereby, and the inference drawn therefrom. The inference was almost +trivial--merely that Luke Tweezy had come from Marysville, the town +where he lived and had his being. But triviality is frequently +paradoxical and always relative. If Dundee had not raised an arm to +urge his troopers on at Killiekrankie the world would know a different +England. A single thread it was that solved for Theseus the mystery of +the Cretan labyrinth. + +Racey Dawson did not like Luke Tweezy. From the sparse and sandy +strands of the Tweezy hair to the long and varied lines of the Tweezy +business there was nothing about Mr. Tweezy that he did like. For Luke +Tweezy's business was ready money and its possibilities. He drove hard +bargains with his neighbours and harder ones with strangers. He bought +county scrip at a liberal discount and lent his profits to the needy +at the highest rate allowed by law. + +Luke Tweezy's knowledge of what was allowed by territorial law was not +limited to money-lending. He had been admitted to the bar, and no case +was too small, too large, or too filthy for him to handle. + +In his dislike of Luke Tweezy Racey Dawson was not solitary. Luke +Tweezy was as generally unpopular as Lanpher of the 88. But there +was a difference. Where Lanpher's list of acquaintances, nodding and +otherwise, was necessarily confined to the Lazy River country, Luke +Tweezy knew almost every man, woman, and child in the territory. +It was his business to know everybody, and Luke Tweezy was always +attending to his business. + +He had nodded and spoken to Racey Dawson as they two passed, and Racey +had returned the greeting gravely. + +"Slimy ol' he-buzzard," Racey Dawson observed to himself and reached +for his tobacco. + +But there was no tobacco. The sack that he knew he had put in his vest +pocket after breakfast had vanished. Lack of tobacco is a serious +matter. Racey wheeled his mount and spurred to the Blue Pigeon Store. + +Five minutes later, smoking a grateful cigarette, he again started +to ride out of town. As he curved his horse round a freight wagon in +front of the Blue Pigeon he saw three men issue from the doorway of +the Happy Heart Saloon. Two of the men were Lanpher and the stranger. +The third was Luke Tweezy. The latter stopped at the saloon +hitching-rail to untie his horse. "See yuh later, Luke," the stranger +flung over his shoulder to Luke Tweezy as he passed on. He and Lanpher +headed diagonally across the street toward the hotel. It seemed odd to +Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy by no word or sign made acknowledgment +of the stranger's remark. + +Racey tickled his mount with the rowels of one spur and stirred him +into a trot. Have to be moving along if he wanted to get there some +time that day. He wished he didn't have to go alone, so he did. The +old lady would surely lay him out, and he wished for company to share +his misery. Why couldn't Swing Tunstall have stayed reasonably in +Farewell instead of traipsing off over the range like a tomfool. Might +not be back for a week, Swing mightn't. Idiotic caper (with other +adjectives) of Swing's, anyway. Why hadn't he used his head? Oh, +Racey Dawson was an exceedingly irritable young man as he rode out of +Farewell. The aches and pains were still throbbingly alive in his own +particular head. The immediate future was not alluring. It was a hard +world. + +When he and his mount were breasting the first slight rise of the +northern slope of Indian Ridge--which ridge marks with its long, +broad-backed bulk the southern boundary of the flats south of Farewell +and forces the Marysville trail to travel five miles to go two--a +rider emerged from a small boulder-strewn draw wherein tamaracks grew +thinly. + +Racey stared--and forgot his irritation and his headache. The draw +was not more than a quarter-mile distant, and he perceived without +difficulty that the rider was a woman. She quirted her mount into +a gallop, and then seesawed her right arm vigorously. Above the +pattering drum of her horse's hoofs a shout came faintly to his ears. +He pulled up and waited. + +When the woman was close to him he saw that it was the good-looking, +brown-haired Happy Heart lookout, the girl whose dog he had protected. +She dragged her horse to a halt at his side and smiled. And, oddly +enough, it was an amazingly sweet smile. It had nothing in common with +the hard smile of her profession. + +"I'm sorry I had to leave without thanking you for what you done for +me back there," said she, with a jerk of her head toward distant +Farewell. + +"Why, that's all right," Racey told her, awkwardly. + +"It meant a lot to me," she went on, her smile fading. "You wouldn't +let that feller hurt me or my dog, and I think the world of that dog." + +"Yeah." Thus Racey, very much embarrassed by her gratitude and quite +at a loss as to the proper thing to say. + +"Yes, and I'm shore grateful, stranger. I--I won't forget it. That dog +he likes me, he does. And I'm teaching him tricks. He's awful cunnin'. +And company! Say, when I'm feeling rotten that there dog _knows_, and +he climbs up in my lap and licks my ear and tries his best to be a +comfort. I tell you that dog likes me, and that means a whole lot--to +me. I--I ain't forgetting it." + +Her face was dark red. She dropped her head and began to fumble with +her reins. + +"You needn't 'a' come riding alla way out here just for this," chided +Racey, feeling that he must say something to relieve the situation. + +"It wasn't only this," she denied, tiredly. "They was something else. +And I couldn't talk to you in Farewell without him and his friends +finding it out. That's why I borrowed one of Mike Flynn's hosses an' +followed you thisaway--so's we could be private. Le's ride along. I +expect you was going somewhere." + +They rode southward side by side a space of time in silence. Racey +had nothing to say. He was too busy speculating as to the true +significance of the girl's presence. What did she want--money? These +saloon floozies always did. He hoped she wouldn't want much. For he +ruefully knew himself to be a soft-hearted fool that was never able to +resist a woman's appeal. He glanced at her covertly. Her little chin +was trembling. Poor kid. That's all she was. Just a kid. Helluva life +for a kid. Shucks. + +"Lookit here," said Racey, suddenly, "you in hard luck, huh? Don't you +worry. Yore luck is bound to turn. It always does. How much you want?" + +So saying he slid a hand into a side-pocket of his trousers. The girl +shook her head without looking at him. + +"It ain't money," she said, dully. "I make enough to keep me going." +Then with a curious flash of temper she continued, "That's always the +way with a man, ain't it? If he thinks yo're in trouble--Give her some +money. If yo're sick--Give her money. If yo're dyin'--Give her money. +Money! Money! Money! I'm so sick of money I--Don't mind me, stranger. +I don't mean nothing. I'm a--a li'l upset to-day. I--it's hard for me +to begin." + +Begin! What was the girl driving at? + +"Yes," said she. "It's hard. I ain't no snitch. I never was even when +I hadn't no use for a man--like now. But--but you stuck up for me +and my dog, and I gotta pay you back. I gotta. Listen," she pursued, +swiftly, "do you know who that feller was you shot?" + +"No." Racey shook his head. "But you don't owe me anything. Forget it. +I dunno what yo're drivin' at, and I don't wanna know if it bothers +you to tell me. But if I can do anything--anything a-tall--to help +you, why, then tell me." + +"I know," she nodded. "You'd always help a feller. Yo're that kind. +But I'm all right. That jigger you plugged is Tom Jones." + +The girl looked at Racey Dawson as though the name of Tom Jones should +have been informative of much. But, Fieldings excluded, there are many +Tom Joneses. Racey did not react. + +"Dunno him," denied Racey Dawson. "I heard his name was Nebraska." + +"Nebraska is what the boys call him," she said. "He used to be foreman +of the Currycomb outfit south of Fort Seymour." + +"I've heard of Nebraska Jones and the Currycomb bunch all right," he +admitted, soberly. "And I'd shore like to know _what_ was the matter +with Nebraska to-day." + +"So would I. _You_ were lucky." + +Racey nodded absently. The Currycomb outfit! That charming aggregation +of gunfighters had borne the hardest reputation extant in a +neighbouring territory. Regarding the Currycomb men had been +accustomed to speak behind their hands and under their breaths. For +the Currycomb politically had been a power. Which perhaps was the +_reason_ why, although the rustling of many and many a cow and the +killing of more than one man were laid at their unfriendly door, +nothing had ever been proved against them. + +They had prospered exceedingly, these Currycomb boys, till the +election of an opposition sheriff. Which election had put heart into +the more decent set and a crimp in the Currycomb. It did not matter +that legally the Currycomb possessed a clean bill of health. The +community had decided that the Currycomb must be abolished. It +was--cow, cayuse, and cowboy. + +While some had remained on the premises at an approximate depth +beneath the grass of two feet (for the ground was hard), the other +Currycombers had scattered wide and far and their accustomed places +knew them no more. + +Now it seemed that at least one of the Currycomb boys, and that one +the most notorious character of the lot, had scattered as far as +Farewell and obtruded his personality upon that of Racey Dawson. +Nebraska Jones! A cold smile stretched the corners of Racey's mouth as +he thought on what he had done. He had beaten to the draw the foreman +of the Currycomb. Which undoubtedly must have been the first time +Nebraska had ever been shaded. + +The girl was watching his face. "Don't begin to get the notion you +beat him to it," she advised, divining his thought. "He was stunned +sort of that first time, an' the second time his gun caught a little. +Nebraska is slow lightnin' on the pull. Keep thinkin' you was lucky +like you done at first." + +Racey laughed shamefacedly. "Yo're too much of a mind reader for me. +But what you telling all this to me for? I ain't the sheriff with a +warrant for Nebraska Jones." + +"I'm telling you so you'll know what to expect. So you'll get out of +town and stay out. Because, shore as yo're a foot high, you won't live +a minute longer than is plumb necessary if you don't." + +"I beat Nebraska once, and he won't get well of that lead in the +shoulder so jo-awful soon." + +"Can you beat a shot in the dark? Can you dodge a knife in the night? +It ain't a question of Nebraska Jones himself. It's the gang he's +managed to pick up in this town. They are meaner than a nest of cross +rattlesnakes. I know 'em. I know what they'll do. Right this minute +they're fixing up some way to give you yore come-uppance." + +"Think so?" + +"Think so! Say, would I come traipsing out here just for my health--or +yores? Figure it out." + +"Seems like you know a lot about Nebraska and his gang," he cast at a +venture, glancing at her sharply. + +"I lived with Nebraska--for a while," she said, matter-of-factly, +giving him a calm stare. "Li'l Marie knows all they is to know about +Nebraska Jones--and a little bit more. Which goes double for his +gang." + +"Shucks," Racey grunted contemptuously. "Does he and his gang run +Farewell? I'd always thought Farewell was a man's size town." + +"They're careful," explained the girl. "They got sense enough not +to run any blazers they can't back to the limit. Yeah, they're +careful--now." + +"Now, huh? Later, when they've filled their hands and there's more of +'em playin' they might not be so careful, huh, Marie?" + +"Unless yo're a heap careful right now you won't have a thing to do +with 'later,'" she parried. "You do like I say, Mister Man. I ain't a +bit anxious to see you wiped out." + +"Wiping me out would shore cramp my style," he admitted. "I--" + +At this juncture hoofbeats sounded sharply on the trail behind them. +Racey turned in a flesh, his right hand dropping. But it was only +Lanpher and the stranger riding out of a belt of pines whose deep and +lusty soughing had drowned the noise of their approach. + +Lanpher and his comrade rode by at a trot. The former mumbled a +greeting to Racey but barely glanced at the girl. Women did not +interest Lanpher. He was too selfishly stingy. The stranger was more +appreciative. He gave the girl a stare of frank admiration before he +looked at Racey Dawson. The latter perceived that the stranger's eyes +were remarkably black and keen, perceived, too, that the man as he +rode past and on half turned in the saddle for a second look at the +girl. + +"Who's yore friend?" asked Marie, an insolent lift to her upper lip +and a slightly puzzled look in her brown eyes as her gaze followed the +stranger and Lanpher. + +"Friend?" said Racey. "Speaking personal, now, I ain't lost either of +'em." + +"I know who Lanpher is," she told him, impatiently. "I meant the +other." + +"I'll never tell yuh. I dunno him." + +"I think I've seen him somewhere--sometime. I can't remember where or +how--I see so many men. There! I almost had it. Gone again now. Don't +it make you sick when things get away from you like that? Makes you +think yo're a-losing yore mind almost." + +"He looked at you almighty strong," proffered Racey. "Maybe _he'll_ +remember. Why don't you ask him?" + +"Maybe I will at that," said she. + +"Didja know he was a friend of Nebraska's?" he asked, watching her +face keenly. + +She shook her head. "Nebraska knows a lot of folks," she said, +indifferently. + +"He knows Punch-the-breeze Thompson, too." + +"Likely he would, knowing Nebraska. He belongs to Nebraska's bunch." + +"What does Nebraska do for a living?" + +"Everybody and anything. Mostly he deals a game in the Starlight." + +"What does Peaches Austin work at?" he pursued, thinking that it might +be well to learn what he could of the enemy's habits. + +"He deals another game in the Happy Heart." + +"'The hand is quicker than the eye,'" he quoted, cynically, recalling +what the stranger had said to Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"Oh, Peaches is slick enough," said she, comprehending instantly. "But +Nebraska is slicker. Don't never sit into no game with Nebraska Jones. +Lookit here," she added, her expression turning suddenly anxious, "did +I take my ride for nothing?" + +"Huh?... Oh, that! Shore not. You bet I'm obliged to you, and I hope I +can do as much for you some day. But I wasn't figuring on staying here +any length of time. Swing--he's my friend--and I are going down to try +Arizona a spell. We'll be pulling out to-morrow, I expect." + +"Then all you got to look out for is to-night. But I'm telling you you +better drag it to-morrow shore." + +Racey smiled slowly. "If it wasn't I got business down south I'd +admire to stay. I ain't leaving a place just because I ain't popular, +not nohow. I'm over twenty-one. I got my growth." + +"It don't matter why you go. Yo're a-going. That's enough. It's a good +thing for you you got business, and you can stick a pin in that." + +"I'll have to do something about them friends of his alla same, before +I go," Racey said, thoughtfully. + +"Huh?" Perplexedly. + +"Yeah. If they're a-honing to bushwhack me for what I did to Nebraska, +it ain't fair for me to go sifting off thisaway and not give 'em +some kind of a run for their alley. Look at it close. You can see it +ain't." + +"I don't see nothing--" + +"Shore you do. It would give 'em too much of a chance to talk. They +might even get to saying they ran me out o' town. And the more I think +of it the more I'm shore they'll be saying just that." + +"But you said you was going away. You said you had business in +Arizona." + +"Shore I have, and shore I'm going. But first I gotta give Nebraska's +friends a chance to draw cards. A chance, y' understand." + +"You'll be killed," she told him, white-lipped. + +"Why, no," said he. "Not never a-tall. Drawing cards is one thing and +playing the hand out is a cat with another kind of tail. I got hopes +they won't get too rough with me." + +"Well, of all the stubborn damn fools I ever saw--" began the girl, +angrily. + +At which Racey Dawson laughed aloud. + +"That's all right," she snapped. "You can laugh. Might 'a' knowed you +would. A man is such a plumb idjit. A feller does all she can to show +him the right trail out, and does he take it? He does not. He laughs. +That's what he does. He laughs. He thinks it's funny. You gimme a +pain, you do!" + +On the instant she jerked her pony round, whirled her quirt +cross-handed, and tore down the back-trail at full gallop. + +"Aw, hell," said Racey, looking after the fleeing damsel regretfully. +"I clean forgot to ask her about the rest of Nebraska's friends." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE OLD LADY + + +"Hope Old Man Dale is home," said Racey to himself when he saw ahead of +him the grove of cottonwoods marking the location of Moccasin Spring. +"But he won't be," he added, lugubriously. "I never did have any +luck." + +He passed the grove of trees and opened up the prospect of house and +stable and corral with cottonwood and willow-bordered Soogan Creek in +the background. + +"Changed some since I was here last," he muttered in wonder. For +nesters as a rule do not go in for flowers and shrubs. And here, +besides a small truck garden, were both--all giving evidence of much +care and attention. + +Racey dismounted at the corral and approached the kitchen door. A +fresh young voice in the kitchen was singing a song to the brave +accompaniment of a twanging banjo: + + "_When I was a-goin' down the road + With a tired team an' a heavy load, + I cracked my whip an' the leader sprung, + An' he almost busted the wagon tongue. + Turkey in the straw, ha! ha! ha! + Turkey in_--" + +The singing stopped in the middle of a line. The banjo went silent +in the middle of a bar. Racey looked in at the kitchen door and saw, +sitting on a corner of the kitchen table, a very pretty girl. One knee +was crossed over the other, in her lap was the mute banjo, and she was +looking straight at him. + +Racey, heartily and internally cursing himself for having neglected to +shave, pulled off his hat and achieved a head-hob. + +"Good morning," said the pretty girl, putting up a slim tanned hand +and tucking in behind a well-set ear a strayed lock of black hair. + +"Mornin'," said Racey, and decided then and there that he had never +before seen eyes of such a deep, dark blue, or a mouth so alluringly +red. + +"What," said the pretty girl, laying the banjo on the table and +sliding down till her feet touched the floor, "what can I do for you?" + +"Nun-nothin'," stuttered the rattled Racey, clasping his hat to his +bosom, so that he could button unseen the top button of his shirt, +"except cuc-can you find Miss Dale for me. Is she home?" + +"Mother's out. So's Father, I'm the only one home." + +"It's yore sister I want, _Miss_ Dale--yore oldest sister." + +"You must mean Mrs. Morgan. She lives--" + +"No, I don't mean her. Yore _oldest_ sister, Miss. Her whose hoss was +taken by mistake in Farewell yesterday." + +"That was my horse." + +"Yores! But they said it was an _old_ lady's hoss! Are you shore it--" + +"Of course I'm sure. Did you bring him back?... Where?... The corral?" + +The girl walked swiftly to the window, took one glance at the bay +horse tied to the corral gate, and returned to the table. + +"Certainly that's _my_ horse," she reiterated with the slightest of +smiles. + +Racey Dawson stared at her in horror. Her horse! He had actually run +off with the horse of this beautiful being. He had thereby caused +inconvenience to this angel. If he could only crawl off somewhere and +pass away quietly. At the moment, by his own valuation, any one buying +him for a nickel would have been liberally overcharged. Her horse! +"I--I took yore hoss," he spoke up, desperately. "I'm Racey Dawson." + +"So you're the man--" she began, and stopped. + +He nodded miserably, his contrite eyes on the toes of her shoes. Small +shoes they were. Cheerfully would he have lain down right there on the +floor and let her wipe those selfsame shoes upon him. It would have +been a positive pleasure. He felt so worm-like he almost wriggled. +Slowly, oh, very slowly, he lifted his eyes to her face. + +"I--I was drunk," he confessed, hoping that an honest confession would +restrain her from casting him into outer darkness. + +"I heard you were," she admitted. + +"I thought it was yore oldest sister's pony," he bumbled on, feeling +it incumbent upon him to say something. "They told me something about +an old lady." + +"Jane Morgan's the only other sister I have. Who told you this wild +tale?" + +"Them," was his vague reply. He was not the man to give away the +jokers of Farewell. Old lady, indeed! Miss Blythe to the contrary +notwithstanding this girl was not within sight of middle-age. "Yeah," +he went on, "they shore fooled me. Told me I'd taken an old maid's +hoss, and--" + +"Oh, as far as that goes," said the girl, her long eyelashes demurely +drooping, "they told you the truth. I'm an old maid." + +"You? Shucks!" Hugely contemptuous. + +"Oh, but I am," she insisted, raising her eyes and tilting sidewise +her charming head. "I'm not married." + +"Thank--" he began, impulsively, but choked on the second word and +gulped hard. "I mean," he resumed, hastily, "I don't understand why I +never saw you before. I was here once, but you weren't around." + +"When were you here?... Why, that was two years ago. I was only a kid +then--all legs like a calf. No wonder you didn't notice me." + +She laughed at him frankly, with a bewildering flash of white teeth. + +"I shore must 'a' been blind," he said, truthfully. "They ain't any +two ways about _that_." + +Under his admiring gaze a slow blush overspread her smooth cheeks. She +laughed again--uncertainly, and burst into swift speech. "My manners! +What have I been thinking of? Mr. Dawson, please sit down, do. I know +you must be tired after your long ride. Take that chair under the +mirror. It's the strongest. You can tip it back against the wall if +you like. I'll get you a cup of coffee. I know you're thirsty. I'm +sorry Mother and Father aren't home, but Mother drove over to the Bar +S on business and I don't know where Father went!" + +"I ain't fit to stay," hesitated Racey, rasping the back of his hand +across his stubbly chin. + +"Nonsense. You sit right down while I grind the coffee. I'll have you +a potful in no time. I make pretty good coffee if I do say it myself." + +"I'll bet you do." + +"But my sister Jane makes better. You'll get some of hers at dinner." + +"Dinner?" He stared blankly. + +"Of course, dinner. When Mother and Father are away I always go down +there for my meals. It's only a quarter-mile down stream. Shorter if +you climb that ridge. But it's so stony I generally go along the creek +bank where I can gallop.... What? Why, of course you're going with +me. Jane would never forgive me if I didn't bring you. And what would +Chuck say if you came this far and then didn't go on down to his +house? Don't you suppose he enjoys seeing his old friends? It was only +last week I heard him wonder to Father if you were ever coming back to +this country. How did you like it up at the Bend?" + +"Right fine," he told her, settling himself comfortably in the chair +she had indicated. "But a feller gets tired of one place after a +while. I thought maybe I'd come back to the Lazy River and get a job +ridin' the range again." + +"Aren't there any ranches round the Bend?" she asked, poking up the +fire and setting on the coffee-pot. + +"Plenty, but I--I like the Lazy River country," he told her. "Fort +Creek country for yores truly, now and hereafter." + +In this fashion did the proposed journey to Arizona go glimmering. His +eye lingered on the banjo where it lay on the table. + +"Can you play it?" she asked, her eye following his. + +"Some," said he. "Want to hear a camp-meeting song?" + +She nodded. He rose and picked up the banjo. He placed a foot on the +chair seat, slid the banjo to rest on his thigh, swept the strings, +and broke into "Inchin' Along". Which ditty made her laugh. For it is +a funny song, and he sang it well. + +"That was fine," she told him when he had sung it through. "Your voice +sounds a lot like that of a man I heard singing in Farewell yesterday. +He was in the Happy Heart when I was going by, and he sang _Jog on, +jog on the footpath way_. If it hadn't been a saloon I'd have gone in. +I just _love_ the old songs." + +"You do?" said he, delightedly, with shining eyes. "Well, Miss Dale, +that feller in the saloon was me, and old songs is where I live. I +cut my teeth on 'The Barley Mow' and grew up with 'Barbara Allen'. My +mother she used to sing 'em all. She was a great hand to sing and she +taught me. Know 'The Keel Row?'" + +She didn't, so he sang it for her. And others he sang, too--"The Merry +Cuckoo" and "The Bailiff's Daughter". The last she liked so well that +he sang it three times over, and they quite forgot the coffee. + +Racey Dawson was starting the second verse of "Sourwood Mountain" when +someone without coughed apologetically. Racey stopped singing and +looked toward the doorway. Standing in the sunken half-round log that +served as a doorstep was the stranger he had seen with Lanpher. + +There was more than a hint of amusement in the black eyes with which +the stranger was regarding Racey. The latter felt that the stranger +was enjoying a hearty internal laugh at his expense. As probably he +was. Racey looked at him from beneath level brows. The lid of the +stranger's right eye dropped ever so little. It was the merest of +winks. Yet it was unmistakable. It recalled their morning's meeting. +More, it was the tolerant wink of a superior to an inferior. A wink +that merited a kick? Quite so. + +The keen black eyes veered from Racey to the girl. The man removed his +hat and bowed with, it must be said, not a little grace. Miss Dale +nodded coldly. The stranger smiled. It was marvellous how the magic of +that smile augmented the attractive good looks of the stranger's full +face. It was equally singular how that self-same smile rendered more +hawk-like than ever the hard and Roman profile of the fellow. It was +precisely as though he were two different men at one and the same +time. + +"Does Mr. Dale live here?" inquired the stranger. + +"He does." A breath from the Boreal Pole was in the two words uttered +by Miss Dale. + +The stranger's smile widened. The keen black eyes began to twinkle. He +made as if to enter, but went no farther than the placing of one foot +on the doorsill. + +"Is he home?" + +"He isn't." Clear and colder. + +"I'm shore sorry," grieved the stranger, the smile waning a trifle. "I +wanted to see him." + +"I supposed as much," sniffed Miss Dale, uncordially. + +"Yes, Miss," said the stranger, undisturbed. "When will he be back, if +I might ask?" + +"To-night--to-morrow. I'm not sure." + +"So I see," nodded the stranger. "Would it be worth while my waitin'?" + +"That depends on what you call worth while." + +"You're right. It does. Standards ain't always alike, are they." +He laughed silently, and pulled on his hat. "And it's a good thing +standards ain't all alike," he resumed, chattily. "Wouldn't it be a +funny old world if they were?" + +The smile of him recognized Racey briefly, but it rested upon and +caressed the girl. She shook her shoulders as if she were ridding +herself of the touch of hands. + +The stranger continued to smile--and to look as if he expected a +reply. But he did not get it. Miss Dale stared calmly at him, through +him. + +Slowly the stranger slid his foot from the doorsill to the doorstep; +slowly, very slowly, his keenly twinkling black gaze travelled over +the girl from her face to her feet and up again to finally fasten upon +and hold as with a tangible grip her angry blue eyes. + +"I'm sorry yore pa ain't here," he resumed in a drawl. "I had some +business. It can wait. I'll be back. So long." + +The stranger turned and left them. + +From the kitchen window they watched him mount his horse and ford the +creek and ride away westward. + +"I don't like that man," declared Miss Dale, and caught her lower lip +between her white teeth. "I wonder what he wanted?" + +"You'll find out when he comes back." Dryly. + +"I hope he never comes back. I never want to see him again. Do you +know him?" + +"Not me. First time I ever saw him was this morning in Farewell. He +was with Lanpher. When I was coming out here he and Lanpher caught up +with me and passed me." + +"He didn't bring Lanpher here with him anyhow." + +"He didn't for a fact," assented Racey Dawson, his eyes following the +dwindling figures of the rider and his horse. "I wonder why?" + +"I wonder, too." Thus Miss Dale with a gurgling chuckle. + +Both laughed. For Racey's sole visit to the Dale place had been made +in company with Lanpher. The cause of said visit had been the rustling +and butchering of an 88 cow, which Lanpher had ill-advisedly essayed +to fasten upon Mr. Dale. But, due to the interference of Chuck Morgan, +a Bar S rider, who later married Jane Dale, Lanpher's attempt had been +unavailing. It may be said in passing that Lanpher had suffered both +physically and mentally because of that visit. Of course he had +neither forgiven Chuck Morgan nor the Bar S for backing up its +puncher, which it had done to the limit. + +"I quit the 88 that day," Racey Dawson told the girl. + +"I know you did. Chuck told me. Look at the time, will you? Get your +hat. We mustn't keep Jane waiting." + +"No," he said, thoughtfully, his brows puckered, "we mustn't keep Jane +waitin'. Lookit, Miss Dale, as I remember yore pa he had a moustache. +Has he still got it?" + +Miss Dale puzzled, paused in the doorway. "Why, no," she told him. "He +wears a horrid chin whisker now." + +"He does, huh? A chin whisker. Let's be movin' right along. I think +I've got something interesting to tell you and yore sister and Chuck." + +But they did not move along. They halted in the doorway. Or, rather, +the girl halted in the doorway, and Racey looked over her shoulder. +What stopped them short in their tracks was a spectacle--the spectacle +of an elderly chin-whiskered man, very drunk and disorderly, riding in +on a paint pony. + +"Father!" breathed Miss Dale in a horror-stricken whisper. + +And as she spoke Father uttered a string of cheerful whoops and topped +off with a long pull at a bottle he had been brandishing in his right +hand. + +"Please go," said Miss Dale to Racey Dawson. + +He hesitated. He was in a quandary. He did not relish leaving her +with--At that instant Mr. Dale decided Racey's course for him. Mr. +Dale pulled a gun and, still whooping cheerily, shook five shots into +the atmosphere. Then Mr. Dale fumblingly threw out his cylinder and +began to reload. + +"I'd better get his gun away from him," Racey said, apologetically, +over his shoulder, as he ran forward. + +But the old man would have none of him. He cunningly discerned an +enemy in Racey and tried to shoot him. It was lucky for Racey that the +old fellow was as drunk as a fiddler, or certainly Racey would have +been buried the next day. As it was, the first bullet went wide by a +yard. The second went straight up into the blue, for by then Racey had +the old man's wrist. + +"There, there," soothed Racey, "you don't want that gun, Nawsir. Not +you. Le's have it, that's a good feller now." + +So speaking he twisted the sixshooter from the old man's grasp and +jammed it into the waistband of his own trousers. The old man burst +into frank tears. Incontinently he slid sidewise from the saddle and +clasped Racey round the neck. + + "_I'm wild an' woolly an' full o' fleas + I'm hard to curry below the knees_--" + +Thus he carolled loudly two lines of the justly popular song. + +"Luke," he bawled, switching from verse to prose, "why didja leave me, +Luke?" + +Strangely enough, he did not stutter. Without the slightest difficulty +he leaped that pitfall of the drunken, the letter L. + +"Luke," repeated Racey Dawson, struck by a sudden thought. "What's +this about Luke? You mean Luke Tweezy?" + +The old man rubbed his shaving-brush adown Racey's neck-muscles. "I +mean Luke Tweezy," he said. "Lots o' folks don't like Luke. They say +he's mean. But they ain't nothin' mean about Luke. He's frien' o' +mine, Luke is." + +"Mr. Dawson," said Molly Dale at Racey's elbow, "please go, I can get +him into the house. You can do no good here." + +"I can do lots o' good here," declared Racey, who felt sure that he +was on the verge of a discovery. "Somebody is a-trying to jump yore +ranch, and if you'll lemme talk to him I can find out who it is." + +"Who--how?" said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright +and embarrassment engendered by her father's condition the true +significance of Racey's remark was not immediately apparent. + +"Yore ranch," repeated Racey, sharply. "They're a-tryin' to steal it +from you. You lemme talk to him, ma'am. Look out! Grab his bridle!" + +Miss Dale seized the bridle of her father's horse in time to prevent +a runaway. She was not aware that the horse's attempt to run away had +been inspired by Racey surreptitiously and severely kicking it on +the fetlock. This he had done that Miss Dale's thoughts might be +temporarily diverted from her father. Anything to keep her from +shooing him away as she so plainly wished to do. + +Racey began to assist the now-crumpling Mr. Dale toward the house. +"What's this about Luke Tweezy?" prodded Racey. "Did you see him +to-day?" + +"Shore I seen him to-day," burbled the drunken one. "He left me at +McFluke's after buyin' me the bottle and asked me to stay there till +he got back. But I got tired waitin'. So I come along. I--hic--come +along." + +Limply the man's whole weight sagged down against Racey's supporting +arm, and he began to snore. + +"Shucks," muttered Racey, then stooping he picked up the limp body in +his arms and carried it to the house. + +"He's asleep," he called to Miss Dale. "Where'll I put him?" + +"I'll show you," she said, with a break in her voice. + +She hastily tied the now-quiet pony to a young cottonwood growing at +the corner of the house and preceded Racey into the kitchen. + +"Here," she said, her eyes meeting his a fleeting instant as she threw +open a door giving into an inner room. "On the bed." + +She turned back the counterpane and Racey laid her snoring parent on +the blanket. Expertly he pulled off the man's boots and stood them +side by side against the wall. + +"Had to take 'em off now, or his feet would swell so after you'd never +get 'em off," he said in justification of his conduct. + +She held the door open for him to leave the room. She did not look at +him. Nor did she speak. + +"I'm going now," he said, standing in the middle of the kitchen. "But +I wish you wouldn't shut that door just yet." + +"I--Oh, can't you see you're not wanted here?" Her voice was shaking. +The door was open but a crack. He could not see her. + +"I know," he said, gently. "But you don't understand how serious this +business is. I had good reason for believing that somebody is trying +to steal yore ranch. From several things yore dad said I'm shorer than +ever. If I could only talk to you a li'l while." + +At this she came forth. Her eyes were downcast. Her cheeks were red +with shamed blood. She leaned against the table. One closed fist +rested on the top of the table. The knuckles showed white. She was +trembling a little. + +"Where and what is McFluke's?" he asked. + +"Oh, that's where he got it!" she exclaimed, bitterly. + +"I guess. If you wouldn't mind telling me where McFluke's is, ma'am--" + +"It's a little saloon and store on the Marysville road at the Lazy +River ford." + +"It's new since my time then." + +"It's been in operation maybe a year and a half. What makes you think +someone is trying to steal our ranch?" + +"Lots o' things," he told her, briskly. "But they ain't gonna do it if +I can help it. Don't you fret. It will all come out right. Shore it +will. Can't help it." + +"But tell me how--what you know," she demanded. + +"I haven't time now, unless you're coming with me to see Chuck." + +"I can't--now." + +"Then you ask Chuck later. I'll tell him all about it. You ask him. So +long." + +Racey hurried out and caught up his own horse. He swung into the +saddle and spurred away down stream. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +McFLUKE'S + + +"They been after him to sell a long time," said Chuck Morgan, rolling a +cigarette as he and Racey Dawson jogged along toward McFluke's at the +ford of the Lazy. + +"Who?" asked Racey. + +"I dunno. Can't find out. Luke Tweezy is the agent and he won't give +the party's name." + +"Has Old Salt tried to buy him out?" + +"Not as I know of. Why should he? He knows he won't sell to anybody." + +"Have they been after you, too?" + +"Not yet. Dad Dale's the lad they want special. My ranch would be a +good thing, but it ain't noways necessary like Dale's is to anybody +startin' a big brand. Lookit the way Dale's lays right across the +valley between them two ridges like a cork in a bottle. A mile wide +here, twenty mile away between Funeral Slue and Cabin Hill she's a +good thirty mile wide--one cracking big triangle of the best grass +in the territory. All free range, but without Dale's section and his +water rights to begin with what good is it?" + +"Not much," conceded Racey. + +"And nobody would dast to start a brand between Funeral Slue and Cabin +Hill," pursued Chuck. "Free range or not, it as good as belongs to the +Bar S." + +"Old Salt used to run quite a bunch round Cabin Hill and another north +near the Slue." + +"He does yet--one or two thousand head in all, maybe. Oh, these +fellers ain't foolish enough to crowd Old Salt that close. They know +Dale's is their best chance." + +Racey's eyes travelled, from one ridge to the other. "How come they +allowed Dale to take up a six-forty?" he inquired. + +"They didn't," was the answer. "The section is made up of four claims, +his'n, Jane's, Molly's, an' Mis' Dale's. But they're proved up now, +and made over to him all regular. That's how come." + +"Haven't Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar got a claim some'ers over +yonder on Dale's land?" inquired Racey, looking toward the northerly +ridge. + +"They had, but they got discouraged and sold out to Dale the same time +Slippery Wilson and his wife traded in their claims on the other side +of the ridge to Old Salt and Tom Loudon. None of 'em's worth anything, +though." + +Racey nodded. "Dale ever drink much?" was his next question. + +"He used to before he come here. But he took the cure and quit. +To-day's the first bust-up he's had since he hit this country." + +"That's it, then. Luke gave him the redeye so's he'd be easy meat for +the butcher. Does he ever gamble any?" + +"Shore--before he came West. Jane done told me how back East in +McPherson, Kansas, he used to go the limit forty ways--liquor, cards, +the whole layout o' hellraising. But his habits rode him to a frazzle +final and he knuckled under to tooberclosis, and they only saved his +life by fetchin' him West. All of us thought he was cured for good." + +"Now Luke Tweezy has started him off so's Nebraska--Peaches Austin, I +mean, can get in his fine work. It's plain enough." + +"Shore," assented Chuck Morgan. "Yonder's McFluke's," he added, +nodding toward two gray-brown log and shake shacks and a stockaded +corral roosting on the high ground beyond the belt of cottonwoods +and willows marking the course of the Lazy. "Them's his stables and +corral," went on Chuck. "The house she's down near the river. Can't +see her on account of the cottonwoods." + +"And they can't see us count of the cottonwoods. So--" + +"Unless he's at the corral." + +"I'll take the chance, Chuck. You stay here--down that draw is a good +place. I'll go on alone. McFluke don't know me. Maybe I can find out +something, see. Bimeby you come along--half-hour, maybe. You don't +know me, either. I'll get into conversation with you. You follow my +lead. We'll pull McFluke in if we can. Between the two of us--Well, +anyhow, we'll see what he says." + +Chuck Morgan nodded, and turned his horse aside toward the draw. + +Ten minutes later the water of the Lazy River was sluicing the dust +from the legs and belly of Racey Dawson's horse. Racey spurred up the +bank and rode toward the long, low building that was McFluke's store +and saloon. + +There were no ponies standing at the hitching-rail in front of the +place. For this Racey was devoutly thankful. If he could only catch +McFluke by himself. + +As Racey dismounted at the rail a man came to the open doorway of the +house and looked at him. He was a heavy-set man, dewlapped like a +bloodhound, and his hard blue eyes were close-coupled. The reptilian +forehead did not signify a superior mentality, even as the slack, +retreating chin denoted a minimum of courage. It was a most +contradictory face. The features did not balance. Racey Dawson was not +a student of physiognomy, but he recognized a weak chin when he saw +it. If this man were indeed McFluke, then he, Racey Dawson, was in +luck. + +Without a word the man turned from the doorway. Racey heard him +walking across the floor. And for so heavy a man his step was +amazingly light. Racey went into the house. The room he entered was +a large one. In front of a side wall tiered to the low ceiling with +shelves bearing a sorry assortment of ranch supplies was the store +counter. Across the back of the room ran the long bar. Behind the bar, +flanking the door giving into another room, were two shelves heavily +stocked with rows of bottles. + +The man that had come to the door was behind the bar. His hands were +resting on top of it, and he was staring fixedly and fishily at +Racey Dawson. There was no welcome in his face. Nor was there any +unfriendliness. It was simply exceedingly expressionless. + +Racey draped himself against the bar. "Liquor," said he. + +Having absorbed a short one, he poured himself a second. "Have one +with me," he nodded to the man. + +"All right." The man's tone was as expressionless as his face. "Here's +hell." He filled and drank. + +Racey looked about the room. + +"Where's Old Man Dale?" he asked, casually. + +"He got away on me," replied the man. "He--Say!"--with sudden +suspicion--"who are you?" + +"Are you McFluke?" shot back Racey. + +The man nodded slowly, suspicion continuing to brighten his hard blue +eyes. + +"Then what didja let him get away for?" persisted Racey. "Luke Tweezy +said he left him here, and he said he'd stay here. That was yore +job--to see he _stayed_ here." + +"Who are--" began the suspicious McFluke. + +"Nemmine who I am," rapped out Racey, who believed he had formed a +correct estimate of McFluke. "I'm somebody who knows more about this +deal than you do, and that's enough for you to know. Why didn't you +hold Old Man Dale?" + +"I--He got away on me," knuckled down McFluke. "I was in the kitchen +gettin' me some coffee, and when I come back he had dragged it." + +"Luke Tweezy will be tickled to death with you," said Racey Dawson. +"What do you s'pose he went to all that trouble for?" + +"I couldn't help it, could I? I ain't got eyes in the back of my head +so's I can see round corners an' through doors. How'd I know Old Man +Dale was gonna slide off? When I left him he was all so happy with +his bottle you'd 'a' thought he'd took root for life. Anyway, Peaches +Austin oughta come before the old man left. He was supposed to come, +and he didn't. If anything slips up account o' this it's gotta be +blamed on Peaches." + +"Yeah, I guess so. And Peaches ain't been here yet?" + +"Not yet, and I wish to Gawd he was never comin'." + +The man's tone was so earnest that Racey looked at him, startled. + +"Why not?" he asked, coldly. + +"Because I don't wanna get my head blowed off, that's why." + +"Aw, maybe it won't come to that. Maybe Luke will win out." + +"It ain't only Luke Tweezy who's gotta win out, and you know it. And +they's an 'if' the size of Pike's Peak between us and winning out. I +tell you, I don't like it. It's too damn dangerous." + +"Shore, it's dangerous," assented Racey, slowly revolving his glass +between his thumb and fingers, and wondering how far he dared go with +this McFluke person. "But a gent has to live." + +"He don't have to get himself killed doin' it," snarled McFluke, +swabbing down the bar. "Who's that a-comin'?" + +He went to the doorway to see for himself who it was that rode so +briskly on the Marysville trail. "Peaches Austin!" he sneered. "He's +only about three hours late." + +It was now or never. Racey risked all on a single cast. + +"What did the boss say when him and Lanpher got here and found old +Dale gone?" he asked, carelessly. + +"He raised hell," replied McFluke. "But Lanpher wasn't with him. Yuh +know old Dale hates Lanpher like poison. Well, I told Jack, like I +tell you, that if anything slips up account o' this, Peaches Austin +can take the blame." + +Racey nodded indifferently and slouched sidewise so that he could +watch the doorway without dislocating his neck. McFluke, his back +turned, still stood in the doorway. Racey lowered a cautious hand and +loosened his sixshooter in its holster. He wished that he had taken +the precaution to tie it down. It was impossible to foresee what the +next few minutes might bring forth. Certainly the coming of Peaches +Austin was most inopportune. + +Peaches Austin galloped up. He dismounted. He tied his horse. He +greeted cheerily the glowering McFluke. The latter did not reply in +kind. + +"This is a fine time for you to get here," he growled. "A fi-ine +time." + +"Shut up, you fool!" cautioned Peaches in a low voice. "Ain't you got +no better sense, with the old man--" + +"Don't let the old man worry you," yapped McFluke. "The old man has +done flitted. And Jack's been here and _he's_ done flitted." + +"Whose hoss is that?" demanded Peaches, evidently referring to Racey's +mount. + +"One of the boys," replied McFluke. "One o' Jack's friends. C'mon in." + +Entered then Peaches Austin, a lithe, muscular person with pale +eyes and a face the colour of a dead fish's belly. He stared +non-committally at Racey Dawson. It was evident that Peaches Austin +was taking no one on trust. He nodded briefly to Racey, and strode to +the bar. McFluke went behind the bar. + +"Ain't I seen you in Farewell, stranger?" Peaches Austin asked, +shortly. + +"You might have," returned Racey. "I'm mighty careless where I +travel." + +"Known Jack long?" Peaches was becoming nothing if not personal. + +"Long enough," smiled Racey. + +"Lookit here, who are you?" + +"That's what's worryin' McFluke," dodged Racey, wishing that he could +see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands. + +But McFluke was employing his hands in nothing more dangerous than the +fetching of a bottle from some recess under and behind the bar. Now he +laughed. + +"He ain't tellin' all he knows," he said to Peaches Austin. "Don't be +so damn suspiciony, Peaches. He's a friend of Jack's, I tell you. He +knows all about the deal." + +"That don't make him no friend of Jack's," declared Peaches, +stubbornly. "I--" + +At which juncture Peaches' flow of language was interrupted by the +sudden entrance of Chuck Morgan. Chuck, after a sweeping glance round +the room, headed straight for the bar. + +"McFluke," said Chuck, halting a yard from the bar, "did you sell any +redeye to Old Man Dale to-day?" + +"What's that to you?" demanded McFluke, truculently. + +"Why, this," replied Chuck, producing a sixshooter so swiftly that +McFluke blinked. "You listen to me," he resumed, harshly. "It don't +matter whether you sold it to him or not. He _got_ it here, and that's +the main thing. I'm telling you if he gets any more I'm gonna make you +hard to find." + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" inquired McFluke. + +"Don't do that," Racey said, suddenly, as his hand shot out and pinned +fast the right wrist of Peaches Austin. "C'mon outside now, where we +can talk. Right through the door. To yore left. Aw right, now they +can't hear us. Lookit, they ain't any call for a gunplay, none +whatever. This gent is only laying down the law to Mac. And here you +have to get serious right away. See how easy Mac takes it. He ain't +doing a thing, not a thing. Good as gold, Mac is. Can't you see how +a killing thisaway, and a fellah like Morgan, too, would maybe put +a crimp in this place for good? Have some sense, man. We need +McFluke's." + +"He hadn't oughta drawed on Mac," said Peaches, his pale eyes, shifty +as a cat's, darting incessantly between Racey and the doorway. + +"He didn't shoot him. And he ain't. You lemme attend to this, will +you? I'll get him away quiet and peaceable--if I can. But you keep out +of it. Y'understand?" + +Peaches Austin gnawed his lower lip. "I never did like Chuck Morgan," +he grumbled. "It was a good chance." + +"A good chance to get yoreself lynched. Shore. It was all that." + +"Say, I'd like to know where you come in, stranger. Jack never said +anything to me about any feller yore size." + +"Jack is like me. He ain't tellin' all he knows. And while we're +talking about Jack, I'll tell you something. And that's to keep away +from Farewell for three-four days." + +"Why for?" + +"So's to give Jack a chance to cool off. He's hotter than a wet wolf +'cause you didn't turn up here on time." + +"I ain't afraid of Jack." + +"'Course you ain't. But you know how Jack is. Even if it don't come to +a showdown, there'll be words passed. And I don't wanna run any risk +of you quitting the outfit. Every man is needed. You be sensible and +stick here with McFluke three-four days like I say, and after that +c'mon in to Farewell. In the meantime, I'll see Jack and tell him +how it happened you didn't get here on time. And how did it happen, +anyway?" + +Peaches Austin looked this way and that before replying. + +"I shore don't like to tell how it happened," he said. "Sounds so +babyish like. But my hat blowed off over this side of Injun Ridge a +ways and when I leaned down to pick her up, my hoss started, my hand +slipped, and I went off on my head kerblam. And do you know, I'll bet +I was three hours a-running from hell to breakfast before I caught +that hoss where he was feedin' in a narrow draw. I'm all tired out +yet. They ain't no strength in my legs." + +"I'll fix it up with Jack," Racey lied with a wonderfully straight +face. "Don't you worry." + +"I ain't worryin'," Peaches denied, irritably. "I ain't afraid of +Jack, I tell you." + +"Shore," soothed Racey, who, having formed an estimate of Peaches, +ranked him scarcely higher than McFluke and treated him accordingly. +"Shore, I know you ain't. But alla same you need considerable of a +coolin' off yoreself. Just you stay out here now and watch me get +Morgan away." + +Racey nodded blithely to Peaches Austin, and turned to go into the +house. He saw that Chuck Morgan had come outside, that he had brought +McFluke with him, and was observing events with a cold and calculating +eye. + +"I tell you I couldn't help his getting the whiskey," McFluke was +whining. "It ain't my fault if somebody gives it to him, is it?" + +"Of course not," chimed in Racey, briskly. "Mac means all right. +He didn't know there was any law against providing old Dale with +whiskey." + +"They is a law," insisted Chuck Morgan, belligerently, his gun trained +unswervingly on McFluke's broad stomach. "They is a law. I made it. +And it goes. Peaches," he added, raising his voice, "don't you slide +round the house now. If you move so much as a yard from where yo're +standing I ventilate McFluke immediate." + +"I wouldn't do that," said Racey, mildly. + +"I got my eye on you, too," declared Chuck. "What I said to Peaches +goes for you, and don't you forget it." + +"I ain't likely to, not me. All I want you to do is go some'ers else +peaceful. You ain't figuring on living here, are you?" + +Chuck uttered a short, hard laugh. McFluke's back was toward Racey. +Peaches Austin was behind him, thirty feet away. Racey's left eyelid +drooped. His head moved almost imperceptibly toward his horse. + +"I'm going now," said Chuck. + +"I'll go with you just to see you on yore way sort of," said Racey. + +"You was going with me anyway sort of," Chuck told him. "Yo're the +only _man_ round here so far's I can see, and I ain't taking any +chances on you, not a chance. Yo're going down the trail a spell with +me. Later you can come back. Keep yore hands where they are." + +Quickly Chuck shoved McFluke to one side, rushed forward, and +possessed himself of Racey's gun. "Crawl yore hoss," he commanded. + +Racey obeyed without a word. Chuck climbed into his own saddle without +losing the magic of the drop and without losing sight for an instant +of McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Take the trail south," said Chuck Morgan, and backed his horse in a +wide half-circle. + +Racey did as he was ordered. Three minutes later he was joined by his +friend. Until the trail took them down into a draw grown up in spruce +Chuck's gun remained very much in evidence. Any unbiased spectator +without a knowledge of the facts would have said that he was keeping a +close watch on Racey Dawson. + +Once out of sight of the house of McFluke, Chuck sheathed his +sixshooter with a jerk and returned Racey's gun. + +"You did fine at the last," Racey said, admiringly, as he bolstered +his weapon. "But what did you jump McFluke for thataway at first? That +come almighty near kicking the kettle over, that play did." + +"I know," said Chuck, shamefacedly, "and when I rode up to the shack +I hadn't intended anything like that. But when I saw that slickery +juniper McFluke standing there behind the bar so fat and sassy, it +come over me all of a sudden what he'd done to the Dale family by +letting old Dale have whiskey, that I couldn't help myself. Gawd, I +wanted to knock him down and tromp his face flat as a floor. It ain't +as if McFluke ain't been told about old Dale's failing. I warned him +when he first came here last year not to let old Dale have redeye on +any account." + +"I know," nodded Racey, soberly, "but you want to remember his giving +old Dale whiskey ain't the particular cow we're after. There's more to +it than that, a whole lot more. We've got to be a li'l careful, +Chuck, and go a li'l slow. If we go having a fraycas now they'll get +suspicious and go fussbudgettin' round like a hound-dog after quail." + +"Just as if they won't suspicion something's up soon as Peaches Austin +gets back to Farewell." + +"Peaches Austin ain't going back to Farewell right away. I've fixed +Peaches for a few days. And a few days is all I need to find out what +I want to. And even after Peaches does float in will he know me after +I've changed my shirt, dirtied my hat, and got me a clean shave twice +over? He ain't got no idea what I look like under the whiskers. He +wasn't living in Farewell before I went north, so all he knows about +me is my voice and my hoss. It will shore be the worst kind of luck if +I can't keep Peaches from hearing the one and seeing the other until +after I'm ready. You leave it to yore uncle, Chuck. He knows." + +"He's a great man, my uncle," assented Chuck, and struck a derisive +tongue in his cheek. "What did you find out from McFluke--anything?" + +"Anything? Gimme a match and I'll tell you." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +CHANGE OF PLAN + + +"It's a long way to Arizona," offered Racey Dawson, casually--too +casually. + +Swing Tunstall's bristle-haired head jerked round. Swing bent two +suspicious eyes upon his friend. "You just find it out?" he queried. + +"No, oh, no," denied Racey. "I've been thinking about it some time." + +"Thinking!" sneered Swing. "That's a new one--for you." + +"Nemmine," countered Racey. "It ain't catchin'--to _you_." + +"_Is_ that so?" yammered Swing, now over his head as far as repartee +was concerned. "Is _that_ so? What you gassing about Arizona for +thisaway? You gonna renig on the trip?" + +"I'll bet there's plenty of good jobs we can find right here in +Farewell," dodged Racey. "_And_ vicinity," he amended. "Yep, Swing, +old-timer, I'll bet the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box would hire us just +too quick. Shore they would. It ain't every day they get a chance at a +jo-darter of a buster like--" + +"Like the damndest liar in four states meaning you," cut in Swing. + +"You're right," admitted Racey, promptly. "When I was speaking of a +jo-darter I meant you, so I was a liar. I admit it. I might 'a' known +you wouldn't appreciate my kind words. Besides being several other +things, you're an ungrateful cuss. Gimme the makin's." + +"Smoke yore own, you hunk of misery. You had four extra sacks in yore +warbags this morning." + +"_Had_? So you been skirmishin' round my warbags, have you? How many +of those sacks did you rustle?" + +"I left two." + +"Two! Two! Say, I bought that tobacco myself for my own personal use, +and not for a lazy, loafing, cow-faced lump of slumgullion to glom and +smoke. Why don't you spend something besides the evening now and then? +Gawda-mighty, you sit on yore coin closer than a hen with one egg! +I'll gamble that Robinson Crusoe spent more money in a week than you +spend in four years. Two sacks of my smoking. You got a gall like a +hoss. There was my extra undershirt under those sacks. It's a wonder +you didn't smouch that, too." + +"It didn't fit," replied Swing Tunstall, placidly constructing a +cigarette. "Too big. Besides, all the buttons was off, and if they's +anything I despise it's a undershirt without any buttons. Sort of +wandering off the main trail though, ain't we, Racey? We was talking +about Arizona, wasn't we?" + +"We was not," Racey contradicted, quickly. "We was talking about a job +here in Fort Creek County. T'ell with Arizona." + +"T'ell with Arizona, huh? You're serious? You mean it?" + +"I'm serious as lead in yore inwards. 'Course I mean it. Ain't I been +saying so plain as can be the last half-hour?" + +"You're saying so is plain enough. And so is the whyfor." + +"The whyfor?" + +"Shore, the whyfor. Say, do you take me for a damfool? Here you use up +the best part of two days on a trip I could make in ten hours going +slow and eating regular. Who is she, cowboy, who is she?" + +"What you talking about?" + +"What am I talking about, huh? I'd ask that, I would. Yeah, I would +so. Is she pretty?" + +"Poor feller's got a hangover," Racey murmured in pity. "I kind o' +thought it must be something like that when he began to talk so funny. +Now I'm shore of it. You tie a wet towel round yore head, Swing, and +take a good pull of cold water. You'll feel better in the morning." + +"So'll I feel better in the morning if you jiggers will close yore +traps and lemme sleep," growled a peevish voice in the next room--on +the Main Street side. + +"As I live," said Racey in a tone of vast surprise, "there's somebody +in the next room." + +"Sounds like the owner of the Starlight," hazarded Swing Tunstall. + +"It is the owner of the Starlight," corroborated the voice, "and I +wanna sleep, and I wanna sleep _now_." + +"We ain't got any objections," Racey told him. "She's a fine, free +country. And every gent is entitled to life, liberty, and the pursuit +of happiness, three things no home should be without." + +"Shut up, will you?" squalled the goaded proprietor of the Starlight +Saloon. "If you wanna make a speech go out to the corral and don't +bother regular folks." + +"Hear that, Swing?" grinned Racey, and twiddled his bare toes +delightedly. "Gentleman says you gotta shut up. Says he's regular +folks, too. You be good boy now and go by-by." + +"_Shut up_!" + +"Here, here, Swing!" cried Racey, struck by a brilliant idea. "What +you doing with that gun?" + +"I--" began the bewildered Swing who had not even thought of his gun +but was peacefully sitting on his cot pulling off his boots. + +"Leave it alone!" Racey interrupted in a hearty bawl. "Don't you go +holding it at the wall even in fun. It might go off. You can't tell. +You're so all-fired careless with a sixshooter, Swing. Like enough +you're aiming right where the feller's bed is, too," he added, +craftily. + +Ensued then sounds of rapid departure from the bed next door. A door +flew open and slammed. The parting guest padded down the stairs in his +socks, invoking his Maker as he went. + +"And that's the last of him," chuckled Racey. + +"Oh, you needn't think I'm forgetting," grumbled Swing Tunstall, +sliding out of his trousers and folding them tidily beside his boots. +"You soft-headed yap, have you gotta let a woman spoil everything?" + +"Spoil everything?" + +"You don't think I'm going alla way to Arizona by myself, nobody to +talk to nor nothing, do you? Well, I ain't. You can stick a pin in +that." + +Racey immediately sprang up, seized his friend's limp hand, and pumped +it vigorously. "Bless you for them kind words," he said. "I knew you'd +stick by me. I knew I could depend on old Swing to do the right thing. +To-morrow you and I will traipse out and locate us a couple of jobs." + +Swing doubled a leg, flattened one bare foot against Racey's chest, +straightened the leg, and deposited Racey upon his own proper cot with +force and precision. + +"Don't you come honey-fuglin' round me," warned Swing. "And I didn't +say anything about sticking by you, neither. And when it comes to the +right thing you and me don't think alike a-tall. I--" + +"I wish you'd pull yore kicks a few," interrupted Racey, rubbing his +chest. "You like to busted a rib." + +"Not the way you landed," countered the unfeeling Swing. "You're +tryin' to get off the trail again. Here you and me plan her all out to +go to--" + +"You bet," burst in Racey, enthusiastically. "We planned to go to +either the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box and get that job. Shore we did. +You got a memory like all outdoors. Swing. It plumb amazes me how +clear and straight you keep everything in that head of yores. Yep, it +shore does." + +Hereupon, in the most unconcerned manner, Racey Dawson began to blow +smoke rings toward the ceiling. + +Swing Tunstall sank sulkily down upon an elbow. "Whatsa use?" said +Swing Tunstall. "Whatsa use?" + +It was then that someone knocked upon their chamber door. + +"Come in," said Racey Dawson. + +The door opened and Lanpher's comrade of the attractive smile and the +ruthless profile walked into the room. He closed the door without +noise, spread his legs, and looked upon the two friends silently. + +"I heard you talking through the wall," he said in a studiedly low +tone, a tone that, heard through a partition, would have been but an +indistinguishable murmur. + +"Hearing us talk through walls seems to be a habit in this hotel," +commented Racey, tactfully following the other's lead in lowness of +tone. + +"I couldn't help hearing," apologized the stranger--he was vestless +and bootless. Evidently he had been on the point of retiring when the +spirit moved him to visit his fellow-guests. "I'd like to talk to +you." + +"You're welcome," said Racey, hospitably yanking his trousers from the +only chair the room possessed. "Sit down." + +The stranger sat. Racey Dawson, sitting on the bed, his knees on a +level with his chin, clasped his hands round his bare ankles and +accorded the stranger his closest attention. To the casual observer, +however, Racey looked uncommonly dull and sleepy, even stupid. But not +too stupid. Racey possessed too much native finesse to overdo it. + +It was apparent that the stranger did not recognize him. Which was not +surprising. For, at the Dale ranch, Racey had been wearing all his +clothes and a beard of weeks. Now he was clean-shaven and attired in +nothing but a flannel shirt. True, the stranger must have heard him +singing to Miss Dale. But a singing voice is far different from a +speaking voice, and Racey had not uttered a single conversational word +in the stranger's presence. Now he had occasion to bless this happy +chance. + +Swing Tunstall, slow to take a cue, and still suffering with the +sulks, continued to lie quietly, his head supported on a bent arm, and +smoke. But he watched the stranger narrowly. + +The stranger tilted back his chair, and levering with his toes, +teetered to and fro in silence. + +"I heard you say you were looking for a job in the morning," the +stranger said suddenly to Racey. + +"You heard right," nodded Racey. + +"Are you dead set on working for the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box?" + +"I ain't dead set on working for anybody. Work ain't a habit with +either of us, but so long as we got to work the ranches with good +cooks have the call, and the Bar S and Richie's outfit have special +good cooks." + +The stranger nodded and began to smooth down, hand over hand, +his tousled hair. It was very thick hair, oily and coarse. When +sufficiently smoothed it presented that shiny, slick appearance so +much admired in the copper-toed, black walnut era. + +Not till each and every lock lay in perfect adjustment with its +neighbour did the stranger speak. + +"Cooks mean a whole lot," was his opening remark. "A good one can come +mighty nigh holding a outfit together. Money ain't to be sneezed at, +neither. Good wages paid on the nail run the cook a close second. How +would you boys like to work for me?" + +The stranger, as he asked the question, fixed Racey with his black +eyes. The puncher felt as if a steel drill were boring into his brain. +But he returned the stare without appreciable effort. Racey Dawson was +not of those that lower their eyes to any man. + +"I take it," drawled Racey, "that you're fixing to install all the +comforts of home you were just now talking about--a good cook and +better wages for the honest working-man?" + +"Naturally I am." The stranger's eyes shifted to Swing Tunstall's +face. + +"Yeah--naturally." Thus Racey Dawson. The stranger's eyes returned +quickly to Racey. There had been a barely perceptible pause between +the two words uttered by Racey Dawson. Pauses signify a great deal at +times. This might be one of those times and it might not. The stranger +couldn't be sure. From that moment the stranger watched Racey Dawson +even as the proverbial cat watches the mouse hole. + +Racey knew that the stranger was watching him. And he knew why. So he +smiled with bland stupidity and nodded a foolish head. + +"What wages?" he inquired. + +"Fifty per," was the reply. + +"Where?" + +"Southeast of Dogville--the Rafter H ranch." + +"The Rafter H, huh? I thought that was Haley's outfit." + +"I expect to buy out Haley," explained the stranger, smoothly. "My +name's Harpe, Jack Harpe. What may I call you gents?... Dawson _and_ +Tunstall, eh? I--" + +"Haley ain't much better than a nester," interrupted Racey. "He don't +own more'n forty cows. What you want with two punchers for a small +bunch like that--and at fifty per?" + +"I know she ain't much of a ranch now," admitted Jack Harpe. "But +everything has to have a beginning. I'm figuring on a right smart +growth for the Rafter H within the next year or two." + +"Figuring on opposition maybe?" probed Racey Dawson. + +"You never can tell." + +"You can if you go to cutting any of Baldy Barbee's corners. Haley's +little bunch never bothers Baldy none, but a man-size outfit so close +to the south thataway would shore give him something to think about. +Then there's the Anvil ranch east of the B bar B. They'll begin to +scratch their heads, you bet. Hall, too, maybe, although he is a good +ways to the east." + +"She's all free range," said Jack Harpe. "I guess I got as good a +right here as the next gent." + +"Providing you can make the next gent see yore side of the case," +suggested Racey. + +"Most folks are willing to listen to reason," stated Jack Harpe. + +"I ain't so shore," doubted Racey. "You ain't looked at the whole of +the layout yet. How about the 88 ranch?" + +"'The 88?'" repeated Jack Harpe in a tone of surprise. "What'll I have +to do with the 88, I'd like to know?" + +"I dunno," said Racey, his eyes more stupid than ever. "I was just +a-wonderin'." + +Jack Harpe laughed without a sound. It seemed to be a habit of his to +laugh silently. + +"You saw me with Lanpher, didn't you? Well, Lanpher and I are just +friends, thassall. My cattle won't graze far enough south to overlap +on the 88 anywheres." + +"Nor the Bar S?" suggested Racey. + +"Nor the Bar S." + +"That's sensible." Thus Racey, watching closely Jack Harpe from under +lowered lids. + +Did his last remark strike a glint from the other man's eyes? He +thought it did. Certainly Jack Harpe's eyes had narrowed suddenly and +slightly. + +"Yeah," Jack Harpe said, "I ain't counting on having any fussing with +either the 88 or the Bar S. Of course Baldy Barbee and the Anvil are +different. Dunno how they'll take it. Dunno that I care--much." + +"Which is why you're payin' fifty per." + +Jack Harpe nodded. "Yep. Gotta be prepared for them fellers--Baldy +Barbee and the Anvil outfit." + +"You're right," assented Racey Dawson. "Mustn't let 'em catch you +napping. You would look foolish then, wouldn't you?" He broke off with +a sounding laugh and slapped a silly leg. + +"How about it, gents?" inquired Jack Harpe. "Are you riding for me or +not?" + +"You wanting to know right now this minute?" + +"I don't have to know right now, because I won't be ready for you to +begin for two or three weeks, but knowing would help my plans a few. I +gotta figure things out ahead." + +"Shore, shore. Let you know day after to-morrow, or sooner, maybe. +How's that?" + +"Good enough. Remember yore wages start the day you say when, even if +you don't begin work for a month yet. All I'd ask is for you to stay +round town where I can get hold of you easy. G'night." + +With this the stranger slid from the chair, opened the door part +way, and oozed into the hall. He closed the door without a sound. +He regained his own room in equal silence. Racey did not hear the +shutting of the other's door, but he heard the springs of the cot +squeak under Jack Harpe's weight as he lay down. + +Swing Tunstall framed a remark with his lips only. Racey Dawson shook +his head. The partition was too thin and Jack Harpe's ears were too +long and sharp for him to risk even the tiniest of whispers. With his +hand he made the Indian sign for "to-morrow," stretched out his long +legs, yawned--and fell almost instantly asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE RIDDLE + + +"We'd oughta closed with Jack Harpe last night," said Swing Tunstall, +easing his muscular body down on a broken packing-case that sat +drunkenly beside the posts of the hotel corral. "What's the sense of +putting things off thataway, Racey? Now we'll lose two days' wages for +nothing." + +"I had a reason," declared Racey Dawson, threading a new rawhide +string through one of the silver conchas on his split-ear bridle. "I +wanted to talk it over good with you first." + +"Why for? What's there to talk over, I'd like to know? Why--" + +"Because," interrupted Racey, "there's something up, if you ask me." + +"What for a reason is that?" demanded the irritated Swing. "That ain't +a reason, no good reason, anyway. I'm telling you flat, y' understand, +that so long as we gotta take root here instead of going to Arizona +like we'd planned it out--so long's yo're gonna renig on the play +like I say, the best thing we can do is string our chips with Jack +Harpe's." + +"That yore idea of a bright thing to do, huh?" questioned Racey, his +nimble fingers busy with the rawhide. + +"I done told you," said Swing with dignity. + +"Poor, poor Swing," murmured Racey as though to the bridle's address. +"The Gawd-forsaken young feller. It must be the devil and all to go +through life in such shape as he's in. All right in lots of ways, too. +He eats like a hawg, drinks like a fish, and snores like a ripsaw, so +you can see there's something almost human about him. But he hasn't +any brains, not a brain. He never has anything on his mind but his +hair and a hat. Yep, she's a sad, sad case. Lordy, Swing, old-timer, I +feel sorry for you. You got my sympathy. I'll always stick up for you +though. I won't let--" + +"This here," cut in Swing, "has gone far enough. If you got anything +to say, say it." + +"I been saying it. Ain't it sunk in yet? Hand me that axe, and I'll +make another try." + +"Stop yore fool lallygaggin'," Swing exclaimed, impatiently. "Let's +have the whole sermon. Gawd, yo're worse'n a woman. Gab, gab, gab! +Nothing but. C'mon, tie the string to the latch, and slam the door. +This tooth has been aching a long, long while." + +"It's thisaway, Swing," Racey said, soberly. "There ain't any manner +of use going into something we ain't got the whole straight of." + +"What you talking about--the straight of?" + +"Yep, the straight of. Don't you see anything funny about this +jigger's offer?" + +"Looks like a fair proposition to me. Fifty per shore listens well." + +"As if that's all of it." + +"Well, what's a li'l fussin' round with Baldy Barbee and the Anvil +folks?" + +"Nothin a-tall, _that_ ain't. But the li'l green pea ain't under +_that_ shell. Listen here, Swing, old-timer, I got a long and gashly +tale of wickedness to pour into those lily-white mule ears of yores. +Yep, if it wasn't me a-telling it I'll bet you'd think it was a fairy +tale." + +"I might even so," said the sceptical Swing. "But I don't mind. I'm +good-natured to-day. I feel just like being lied to. Turn yore wolf +loose." + + * * * * * + +"What do you feed it on?" inquired solemn-faced Swing when he had +heard Racey to the bitter end. + +"Feed which on what?" demanded the unsuspicious Racey. + +"Yore imagination." + +"Say, lookit here--" + +"Yeah, I know. Oh, aw right, aw right, I didn't go for to make you +mad. I believe it. Every word. You're getting so dam touchy nowadays, +Racey, they's no living with you. I swear they ain't. Why, if a feller +so much as doubts one of yore reg'lar fish stories you gotta crawl his +hump. Aw right, I believe you. How big was he again? Ugh-h-h! Uncle! +Uncle! Get off my stummick! I said 'Uncle,' didn't I? Damitall, that +left ear of mine will never be the same again. You rammed it into a +rock with more points than a barb-wire fence. Nemmine no more foolin' +now. Are you shore you got Peaches fixed for three-four days? 'Cause +if you ain't--pop goes the weasel." + +"This weasel ain't gonna pop. Not this trip. Peaches will stay put. +Don't you fret. By the time he does drift in we'll know all we need to +know, I guess." + +"We," sniffed Swing. "Did I hear you say 'we'? Ain't you taking a +awful lot for granted?" + +"Shut up. I couldn't keep you out of this with a ten-foot pole. Yo're +like Tom Kane thataway--always wantin' in where it's warm. Aw right, +that's settled. Lookit, we know there's some crooked work on the +towpath going on, and that Lanpher and Harpe are in it up to their +hocks. We know that Nebraska is one of Harpe's friends, and we know +that _after_ my fuss with Nebraska, Harpe comes to you and me and +offers us jobs--jobs at fifty per, wages to start when we say when, +and no work for a while, yet we're to stay round town till he wants us +to start in. And he talks of maybe a li'l trouble in the future with +Baldy Barbee and the Anvil boys, and he mentions Baldy and the Anvil +several times, and the last time wasn't necessary. And, furthermore, +he don't say anything a-tall about this Chin Whisker gent, who's old +Dale or I'm Dutch. So there y'are, and plain enough," added Racey, +holding up the bridle and turning it about. "From what Harpe said to +Lanpher, we know he's bound to get old Dale's ranch come hell or high +water. But he don't say anything about that to us. No, not him. It's +all Barbee and the Anvil, and he's as friendly as a dog with fleas. +His actions don't fit with the facts, and when a man's actions don't +do that they'll stand watchin', him and them both." + +"Fifty per ain't to be sneezed at." Swing, whose heart had been set on +Arizona, was not prepared to give in without an argument. Besides, he +invariably objected on principle to anything Racey might see fit to +propose. Which was humanly natural, but more than maddening--to Racey. + +"Shore not--unless it sets us against our friends." + +"What you talkin' about?" persisted the wilfully blinded Swing. +"Neither Baldy Barbee nor the Anvil outfit are any friends of mine. I +don't even know 'em to speak to." + +"But I tell you it ain't Baldy Barbee and the Anvil, you wooden-headed +floop. If it was them, why would Lanpher be in it? And Nebraska? And +Thompson? And Peaches Austin? I dunno exactly what it all means. But +whatever it is, it's gotta do with the country round Farewell--with +the ranches on the Lazy. Aw right. Besides Dale's and Morgan's there's +three ranches, ain't they, on the Lazy near Farewell?" + +Racey Dawson held up three fingers, doubling a thumb and forefinger +behind them. + +"Three ranches," he continued, "and the manager of one is in cahoots +with this Harpe of many strings." Here he doubled down his pinky +and waved the remaining two fingers in the face of his friend. "Two +ranches are left, the Cross-in-a-box and the Bar S. Jack Richie is +manager of the Cross-in-a-box. I used to ride for Jack, and he's my +friend. You dunno him, but you can take my word he's the pure quill +forty ways. Then there's the Bar S. Who's foreman of that? Tom Loudon. +You worked with him up at Scotty MacKenzie's Flyin' M ranch on the +Dogsoldier, and I've knowed him ever since I come to this country. +I ain't doing anything to make me bad friends with Tom Loudon. Then +there's Dale, this Chin Whisker party. He's a good feller, and had +a heap of hard luck, too. I ain't working against him, you betcha. +Nawsir. And if I don't miss my guess you don't, either." + +"Aw, hell! They ain't no rat in that hole. Yo're seem' a heap o' smoke +where they ain't even a lighted match. I don't wanna do anything +against either Richie's outfit nor the Bar S, nor old Dale, but I +ain't satisfied--" + +"You ain't! Good Gawdamighty! Ain't I been tellin' you? Ain't I been +explaining of it all in words of one syllable? Can't you see Harpe's +trying to pull us in with him is just a trick to get us shot by our +friends? Because his jumping old Dale's ranch will shore start a war +and you can gamble it's just as dangerous to be shot by yore friends +as it is by the enemy. Here I'm telling you over and over and you +ain't satisfied yet! I've heard of fellers like you, but I never +believed it was possible. Like the whiffle-tit, they were just a damn +lie. But it's all true. Swing, old settler, if you had a quarter-ounce +more sense you'd be half-witted." + +"If I had a quarter-ounce more sense I'd quit you cold like that." So +saying Swing Tunstall rose to his feet and shuffled a guileful step or +two closer to Racey. The movement of his right arm passed unnoticed by +Racey. But the lighted cigarette that, following his movement, slipped +down Racey's back between his shirt collar and his neck did not pass +unnoticed. + +Racey hopped up with a sharp exclamation and shucked himself out of +his shirt with the utmost despatch. He did not stop at the shirt, but +tore off his undershirt likewise. + +"Better luck than I hoped for," Swing remarked from a safe distance. +"I didn't think it would slide down inside yore undershirt, too. Burn +you much, Racey, dear? You look awful cute standin' there with nothing +on but yore pants. All you need now is a pair of wings and a bow +n'arrer and you'd be a dead ringer for Cupid growed up. And there's +Mis' Lainey and Mis' Galloway looking at you from their kitchen +windows. They can hear what yo're saying, too. Fie, for shame." + +But Racey Dawson had gathered up his clothing and fled to the back +of the corral. Muttering to himself he was pulling on his shirt when +Swing joined him--at a safe distance. + +"Helluva trick to play on a feller," grumbled Racey. + +"Served you right," was the return. "You hadn't oughta called me +half-witted. Do you know you look just like a turtle in his shell with +yore shirt half on half off thataway?" + +"Aw, go sit on yoreself!" + +At this juncture fat Bill Lainey wheezed round the corner of the +corral. + +"What you been doin', Racey?" inquired the hotel-keeper. "Taking a +bath?" + +"Naw, I ain't been taking a bath!" Racey denied ungraciously. "I do +this for fun and my health twice a day--once on Sundays." + +"Well, it must 'a' been a heap funny whatever it was, or Swing +wouldn't be laughin' so hard. Yeah. Lookit, Racey--I meant to catch +you at breakfast, but you was through before I got back from Mike +Flynn's--lookit, I wish you'd go a li'l slow when yo're roughhousin' +round in my place. Rack Slimson, my most payin' customer, hadda sleep +on the dinin' room table all night because you druv him out of his +room." + +"Bill, that was a joke," Racey intoned, solemnly. "I didn't like the +way the feller snored. Likewise he had too much to say. So naturally I +had to make him take it on the run. What else could I do? I ask you, +what else could I do?" + +"Don't you believe him, Bill," cut in Swing, fearful that Racey would +get credit for an effort at humour where, in his own estimation, none +was due. "Racey hasn't got the guts to pick a fuss with a pack rat. It +was me that chased Rack Slimson downstairs." + +"That's right," Racey assented, smoothly, suddenly mindful both of a +peculiar gleam in Bill Lainey's eye and a chance sentence uttered by +the hasher in his hearing at breakfast. "That's right. It was Swing +Tunstall what made so free and outrageous with Rack Slimson. You +go and crawl Swing's hump, Bill. Lord knows he needs it. He's been +getting awful brash and uppity lately. No living with him. Give him +hell, Bill." + +"I don't wanna give nobody hell. Live at peace is my motto. All I +wanna know is who's gonna settle for six cups, eleven sassers, ten +plates, and a middle-size pitcher Rack Slimson busted when he rolled +off the table with 'em durin' the night. I don't think Rack oughta +hafta pay, because he wouldn't 'a' had to sleep there on the table +only bein' druv out thataway he couldn't help it like." + +"Huh--how much, Bill?" inquired Swing in a still small voice, and +thrust his hand within his pocket. + +"Well, seein' as it's you, Swing," was the prompt reply, "I'll only +say ten dollars and six bits. And that's dirt cheap. Honest, I'll bet +it'll cost me fifteen dollars and a half to replace 'em, what with the +scandalous prices we got now." + +"And I hope that'll make you a better boy, Swing," said Racey, +observing with relish the transfer of real money from Swing's hand to +the landlord's palm. "There's such a thing, Swing, old settler, as +being too quick, as whirling too wide a loop as the man said when he +roped the locomotive. And it all costs money. Yep, sometimes as much +as ten dollars and six bits." + +"... and one and one and two makes ten and six bits makes +ten-seventy-five," totalled Swing Tunstall, "and that makes all +square." + +"Correct," said Bill Lainey, stuffing the money into a wide trousers +pocket. "'Bliged to you, Swing. I wish all the gents paid up as prompt +as you do." + +"Oh, you needn't be surprised," chipped in the ready Racey. "Swing's a +fair-minded boy. He'll do what's right every time, once you show him +where he's wrong. Yeah. Say, Bill, has Nebraska Jones many friends in +this town?" + +"More than enough," was the enigmatic reply. + +"'Enough,' huh? Enough for what?" + +"For whatever's necessary, Racey. But I ain't talking about Nebraska +and his friends. Not me. I got a wife and family to support, and +they's enough trouble running a hotel without picking up any more by +letting yore tongue waggle too much." + +"Yo're right, Bill. Yore views do you credit. Is it against the law to +tell a feller where Nebraska's friends hang out when they're in town?" + +"The dance hall and the Starlight," replied Bill Lainey, promptly. + +"Might you happen to know any of their names, Bill?" + +"What you wanna do, Racey, is look out for a jigger named Coffin," +declared Lainey, coming flatly to the point. "Doc Coffin. Yop. Then +they's Punch-the-Breeze Thompson, Honey Hoke, and Peaches Austin. +They's a few more, but they ain't the kind to take the lead in +anything. They always follow. But Coffin, Thompson, Hoke, and Austin +are the gents to keep yore eye peeled for. I ain't talking about 'em, +y' understand. I ain't got a word to say against 'em, not a word. If I +was you, though, and I wanted to live longer and healthier Doc Coffin +is the one you wanna watch special--a heap special." + +"Thanks, Bill, I--" + +"No thanks needed," fended off the hotel-keeper, hastily. "I ain't +said nothin', and don't you forget it." + +"I won't. Is the Starlight's owner, Rack Slimson, any friend of +Nebraska's, too?" + +"We-ell, I dunno as he's a boom companion exactly, but Nebraska and +his bunch spend a pile of money in the Starlight, a pile of money. A +feller would be safe in saying that Rack Slimson's sympathy is with +Nebraska." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE STARLIGHT + + +"Where you going?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"Over the hills and far away to pick the wild violets," chanted Racey. +"You wanna come along? Better not. Them violets are just too awful +wild. Dangerous. Yeah. Catch yore death." + +"You idjit! You plumb fool! Can't you let well enough alone? Ain't you +satisfied till yo're ticklin' the mule's hind leg? If yo're crowded, +hop to it. Make 'em hard to find. But why go a-huntin' trouble? Whatsa +sense? What--" + +"Always get the jump on trouble, Swing. Always. Then you'll find +trouble don't wear so many guns after all and is a heap slower about +pulling 'em than you thought likely." + +"But if they're all four of 'em together now, and you--" + +"I ain't said I was going to do anything, have I? Gawda-mighty, Swing, +I only want to go and ask how Nebraska's gettin' along. Only tryin' to +be neighbourly. Yeah. Neighbourly." + +Racey Dawson nodded his head as one does when a subject is closed, +hitched up his chaps, and started blithely round the hotel. Swing +Tunstall followed in haste, caught up with his friend and fell into +step at his side. + +"This ain't any of yore muss, Swing," Racey said, mildly. + +"It's gonna be," was the determined reply. "You shut up." + +Racey grinned at nothing and stuck his tongue in his cheek. A warmly +pleasant glow permeated his being. It was good to have a friend like +Swing Tunstall--one who would not interfere but who would be in alert +readiness for any contingency. And Racey was well aware that in his +impending visit to the Starlight the contingencies were apt to be many +and varied. + +"It's so early in the day I don't guess none of 'em will be in the +dance hall yet," murmured Swing Tunstall. + +"I'm gonna drop in on the Starlight first, anyway," said Racey. "It's +nearer." + +Through a side window they inspected the Starlight and the customers +thereof. Only two customers were visible. These, a long man and a +short man, stood at the bar, their backs to the window and their hands +cupped lovingly round glasses of refreshment. The tall man was talking +to the bartender. + +"This getting up so early in the mornin' is a fright," they heard +him complain. "But bunking with a invalid shore does keep you on the +jump." + +He and his companion drank. Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall glided +rapidly along the wall to a side entrance. When the tall man and the +short man set down their glasses Racey Dawson was leaning against the +bar at a range of approximately six feet. Swing Tunstall stood at his +back and slightly to the right. Thus that, should necessity warrant a +resort to lethal weapons, Racey might not mask the latter's fire. + +"Liquor," said Racey to the bartender. + +The latter, an expert at his trade, with a jerk of both wrists slid +two glasses and a bottle down the bar so that a glass stopped in front +of each man and the bottle came to a standstill between them. Racey +spun a dollar on the bar. The bartender nonchalantly swept the dollar +into the cash drawer and resumed his chit-chat with the tall man. At +which Racey's eyes narrowed slightly. But he made no comment. + +Pouring out a short drink, he passed the bottle to his comrade. When +Swing had filled Racey took the bottle, drove home the cork with the +heel of his hand, and carefully tucked away the bottle in the inner +pocket of his vest. + +"It won't ride any too well," he observed to Swing, "but it ain't +gonna be there a great while, I guess." + +"You bet it ain't gonna be there a great while!" horned in the +outraged bartender. "You put that bottle back on the bar!" + +"Why, I gave you a dollar," said Racey, nervously, hesitantly, "and +you kept the change. I supposed, of course, you was selling me the +bottle." + +"You supposed wrong!" As he spoke the bartender's right hand moved +toward the shelf that Racey knew must be under the top of the bar. +"That dollar was for yore two drinks." + +"You mean to say yo're charging four bits apiece for those drinks!" + +"Shore I am." As yet the bartender's hand had remained beneath the bar +top. + +"But two bits is the regular price," objected Racey, weakly. + +"Four bits is the price to you," was the truculent statement, sticking +out his chin. "_Put that bottle back on the bar_!" + +As he gave the order his right shoulder hunched upward, and his +face set like iron. He had what is known as a "fighting" face, this +Starlight bartender. It was evident that he banked largely on that +face. It had served him well in the past. + +"One dollar is my regular price for a bottle," Racey said gently +as the bartender's hand suddenly nipped into sight clutching a +sixshooter, "but if you want it back, take it." + +Racey's fingers gripped the bottle-neck and fetched it forth. But +instead of placing it on the top of the bar as requested, he continued +the motion, as it were, and smote the bartender across the head +with it. Being a quart bottle and reasonably full of liquid, the +bartender's chin came down with a chug on the bar. Then he slumped +quietly to the floor behind the bar. The sixshooter relinquished by +his nerveless fingers remained on top of the bar between the whiskey +glasses. + +Racey stared speculatively at the long man and the short man. They in +turn regarded him with something like respect. The long man wore a +drooping, streaky-yellow horseshoe of a moustache dominated by a long +and melancholy nose. Flanking the base of this sorrowful nose was a +pair of eyes hard and bright and the palest of blue. + +The short man was a blobby-nosed creature, who sported a three days' +growth of red beard and a quid of chewing in the angle of a heavy jaw. +Now he revolved the tobacco with a furtive tongue and spat thickly +upon the floor. + +Without removing his eyes from the two aforementioned gentlemen Racey +reached for the bartender's gun. "Hadn't oughta be trusted with +firearms," he observed, pleasantly, referring to what lay behind the +bar. "Too venturesome. Yeah." + +He thoughtfully lowered the hammer of the sixshooter and rammed it +down to the trigger-guard behind the waistband of his trousers. + +"Do you gents know anybody named Doc Coffin?" inquired Racey. + +"I'm him," nodded the tall man, the pale eyes beginning to glitter. + +"Then maybe you can tell me how Nebraska Jones is gettin' along?" + +"You worrying about his health?" put in the short man. + +"I dunno as I'd say 'worrying' exactly," disclaimed Racey, easily. +"You can take it I'm just askin', that's all." + +"Nebraska had oughta be as well as ever he was in about a month," +supplied Doc Coffin. "And," he added, significantly, "I dunno but what +he'd oughta be able to shoot as well as ever." + +"I don't doubt it a mite," said Racey with a smile. "Question is, will +he?" + +The short man gave a short, harsh laugh. "He will, you can gamble on +that," he averred, and spat again. + +"That's good hearing," Racey said, looking quite pleased. "Of course I +was only judging by past performances." + +"His gun caught," Doc Coffin explained, kindly. + +"Why don't he try filing off his foresight?" inquired Racey, chattily. +"Or else he could shoot through his holster. Lots of folks do business +that way. I suppose now you'll be seeing Nebraska in a day or two +maybe." + +"I might," admitted Doc Coffin. + +"Friend of his?" purred Racey. + +"I might be." Doc Coffin's spare frame grew somewhat rigid. + +"Well," Racey drawled softly, "I heard Nebraska's friends are looking +for me. I'm here to save 'em the trouble of strainin' their eyes." + +"So that's it, huh?" Doc Coffin grinned, as he spoke, like a grieving +wolf. "They ain't no hurry, is they?" + +"I expect I'll be round Farewell a spell," said Racey. + +"Then they ain't no hurry," Doc Coffin told him smoothly. + +"None a-tall," contributed the short man. + +"That's the way to look at it," laughed Racey. "I shore don't care +anything about bein' pushed. Have a drink on me." + +He slid in their direction the bottle with which he had knocked down +the bartender, and, accompanied and imitated by Swing Tunstall, +departed from that place crabwise. + +When they were gone Doc Coffin looked at his companion. + +"Asking for it, Honey," said Doc Coffin. "Just asking for it." + +Then he went behind the bar, seized the senseless bartender by the +ankles and skidded him out on the barroom floor. The man whom Doc +Coffin had addressed as Honey (his other name was Hoke) spread his +legs and whistled when he glimpsed the three-inch cut running fore and +aft along the top of the bartender's skull. Blood from that cut had +dribbled and oozed over the major portion of the bartender's face and +shirt. For it had been the bartender's luck to hook his chin on the +edge of the lowest shelf when he dropped and he had perforce remained +crown upward. + +Doc Coffin stood back and stared at the stertorously breathing lump on +the floor with a cold eye. + +"Ain't he a mess?" he observed. "Ain't he a mess? I expect he'll be +right down peevish about it when he comes to." + +"Think so?" Honey Hoke was not quite sure of the point of Doc's +remark. + +"Yeah, I think so. I'm shore he will when I tell him how he was +kicked." + +"Kicked?" + +"Shore kicked. Kicked after he was down." + +"How?" + +"Didn't you see that feller Dawson kick Bull when he was down? Where +was yore eyes?" + +"That's the way of it, huh? Well, it _might_ save trouble if Bull was +to go on the prod real vicious." + +"Yo're whistlin'. They ain't no manner of reason for doin' a job +yoreself if you can get somebody else to do it for you." + +When Bull came to he was lying on his cot in his little cubby hole +adjoining the back room of the Starlight. Over across from the bed Doc +Coffin was looking out of the grimy window. Behind the closed door +giving egress to the back room certain folk were busy at faro. "King +win, ten lose," the dealer was saying. + +Doc Coffin turned at the rustle of Bull's slight movement. Doc nodded +grimly. + +"How's the head?" he inquired. + +Bull put up a hand to the bandage encircling his bullet head and swore +feelingly. + +"Guess it does hurt some," was Doc's comment. "Doc Alton took +three stitches. Lucky you was still senseless. He had to use a +harness-needle." + +Bull heartily damned Doc Alton, his methods, the faro players in the +next room, himself, and wound up with a blistering curse directed +against mankind in general and Racey Dawson in particular. + +"Tha's right, Bull," Doc Coffin applauded dryly. "Cuss him out. Give +him hell. Must do you a lot of good." + +Bull was understood to consign Doc Coffin to the region of lost souls. + +"I'd go a leetle slow," advised Doc Coffin, gently. "Just a leetle +slow if I was you. Yo're on yore back now, but you'll be getting all +right in a li'l while, and it's just possible, Bull, I might take it +into my head to ask you what you meant by all them cuss words yo're +throwin' at me." + +There was an icy glint in the pale blue eyes of Doc Coffin. Bull shut +up and subsided. + +"What," queried Doc Coffin after a momentary silence, "was the matter +with you?" + +"With me?" + +"Shore, with you. Who'm I talking to? What was the matter with you, +anyway? Don't you know any better'n to go up against a jigger like +that Dawson man? Yo're too cripplin' slow with a gun, feller." + +"Well, I--" + +"Y'oughta had him twice while he was swinging that bottle.... Yeah, +twice, I'm tellin' you. You had time enough. But not you. You just +stood there like a bump on a log and let him hit you. Yo're a +fine-lookin' example of a two-legged man, you are. If you ain't +careful, Bull, some two-year-old infant is gonna come along and spit +in yore eye." + +"He was so damn quick," alibied Bull. "I wasn't expectin' it." + +"A whole lot of folks are underground because they didn't expect to +get what they got. Yo're lucky to be lyin' there with only a headache. +Still, alla same, he needn't 'a' kicked you." + +"Huh? Kicked me? You mean to say he kicked me? Dawson kicked me?" + +"Shore I mean to say Dawson kicked you. Kicked you when you was lyin' +there down and out and senseless." + +A moment Bull lay quietly. Then when the full import of Doc Coffin's +words had percolated through and through his brain he pulled himself +to a sitting posture and swung a leg to the floor. Doc Coffin was +beside him instantly. + +"Lie down, you idjit!" commanded Doc Coffin, and with no gentle hand +shoved Bull down upon his pillow. "Whadda you think yo're gonna do?" + +"I'm goin' out and fill that ---- full of lead." + +"Oh, you are, huh? Yo're gonna do all that? Tha's fine. Do you want a +quiet burial or a regular funeral?" + +"Say--" + +"Say yoreself, and say something sensible while yo're about it." + +"Nobody can kick me and get away with it!" Bull declared, +passionately. "I'll--" + +"Maybe you will, but not in a hurry. You start out after him now, and +you wouldn't last as long as a short drink in a roomful of drunkards. +Didn't you hear about Dawson's li'l run-in with Nebraska?" + +"Hell, I _seen_ it!" + +"You seen it, huh? And you _know_ what he done to you to-day, and +still you wanna paint for war now and immediate? No, Bully, not +a-tall. You listen to me. I got a better plan. A whole lot better +plan. Lookit...." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THROWING SAND + + +After leaving the Starlight, on their way back to the hotel, Racey +said to Swing Tunstall: "Might as well tell Jack Harpe now we ain't +gonna ride for him, huh?" + +"Oh, shore," Swing sighed resignedly. "Have it yore own way! Have it +yore own way! I never seen such a feller as you for gettin' his own +way in all my life." + +"Yo're young yet--maybe you will," said Racey, consolingly. "So don't +get discouraged." + +They did not find Jack Harpe at the hotel, nor was he at the Happy +Heart. But in the saloon Luke Tweezy was drinking by himself at one +end of the bar. Perhaps the money-lender would know the whereabouts of +Jack Harpe. + +"'Lo, Luke," was Racey's greeting. "Seen Jack Harpe around anywheres?" + +Luke Tweezy's thin and sandy eyebrows lifted up in what would pass +with almost any one for surprise. "Who?" + +"Jack Harpe." + +"Dunno him." Indifferently--too indifferently. + +"You dunno him--long, slim feller, black hair and eyes, and a hawky +kind of nose? Jack Harpe. Shore you know him. Why, I seen--" Racey +broke off abruptly. + +"Yeah," prompted Luke Tweezy after an interval. "You seen--what?" + +"I don't see why you dunno him," parried Racey (it was a weak parry, +but the best he could encompass at the moment). "I thought you knowed +him. Somebody told me you did. My mistake. No harm done. Have a drink, +Luke." + +"Who told you I knowed this here now Jack Harpe?" probed Luke Tweezy, +when he had smacked his lips over a second drink. + +"I don't remember now," evaded Racey Dawson. "What does it matter?" + +"It don't matter," was the answer--the miffed answer it seemed to +Racey. "It don't matter a-tall. Have one on me, boys. Don't be afraid +to fill 'em up. They's plenty more on the back shelf when this one's +empty." + +They filled and drank, filled and drank. Swing thought that he had +never seen Racey overtaken by liquor so quickly. In no time he was +telling Luke Tweezy the most intimate details of his private life. +Swing knew that these details were a string of lies. But Luke Tweezy +could not know that. He put an affectionate hand on Racey's shoulder +and begged for more. He got it. + +When Racey ran down and reverted to the bottle, Luke Tweezy generously +purchased a second and invited him and his friend to a vacant table +in the corner of the room. It was an amazing sight. Luke Tweezy the +money-lender, the man who was supposed to still possess the first +dollar he ever earned, had actually bought three eighths of one bottle +of whiskey and the whole of another. + +Racey Dawson greatly desired to laugh. But he didn't dare. He was too +busy being drunk and getting drunker. Swing Tunstall, slow in the +uptake as usual, perceived nothing beyond the fact that Luke Tweezy +had suddenly become a careless spendthrift till halfway down the +second bottle when Luke said: + +"Shore is funny how you thought I knowed this Jack Harpe." + +"Yuh-yeah," assented Racey, and overset a glass in such a way that +four fingers of raw liquor splashed into Luke Tweezy's lap. "S'funny +all right--an' that's fuf-funnier," he added as Luke and his chair +scraped backward to avoid the drip. "D'I wet yuh all up, Lul-luke? +Mum-my min-mis-take. I'm makin' lul-lots of mistakes to-day." + +Luke Tweezy twisted his leathery features into his best smile. "It +don't matter," he told Racey. "Not a-tall. I--uh--who was it told you +I knowed this Jack Harpe?" + +"Dud-don't remember," denied Racey. + +"Think," urged Luke Tweezy. + +"Am thu-thinkin'," Racey said, crossly. "What you wanna know for?" + +"I don't like to have folks talkin' so loose and free about me," was +the Tweezy explanation. + +"Duh-hic-quite right," hiccuped Racey Dawson. "An' you are, too, y'old +catawampus. You a friend o' mim-mine, Lul-luke?" + +"Shore," said Luke, with an eye out for another upset glass. + +"Then lend me huh-hundred dollars, Lul-Luke." + +"Lend you a hundred dollars! On what security?" + +"My wuh-word," Racey strove to say with dignity. "Ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--but I ain't got a hundred dollars with me to-day." + +"Bub-but you can gug-get it," Racey insisted, weaving his head from +side to side in a snake-like manner. + +"We-ell, I dunno. You see, Racey--" + +"I nun-need the money," interrupted Racey. "I'm broke--bub-broke +bad. Swing's broke, too. That's too bad--I mean that's two bub-boke +brad--whistle twice for the crossing--I mean--Aw, hell, I know +whu-what I mean if-fif you don't. You lul-lend me that mum-money, +Lul-Luke, like a good feller." + +Luke Tweezy shook a regretful head. "I'm shore sorry you and Swing are +busted, Racey, I'd do anything for you I could in reason. You know +damwell I would, but money's tight with me just now. I ain't really +got a cent I can lend. Got a mortgage comin' due next month, but that +ain't now, of course." + +"Of course not. Huh-how could you think it was now? Huh-how could you, +Lul-Luke? Dud-do you know the child ain't a year old yet?" + +"Child? What child?" Luke Tweezy began to look alarmed. + +"What child?" frowned Racey Dawson, sitting up very straight and +throwing a chest. "That child over there by the doorway--there in the +streak o' sush-shine. Aw, the cute li'l feller! See him playin' with +Windy Taylor's spurs. Ain't he cunnin'?" + +"With most of 'em it's elephants and snakes an' such," proffered Luke +Tweezy. + +"Yeah," assented Swing Tunstall. "A kid is something new." + +"Thu-then you can't lend me that money?" Racey inquired, querulously. + +"No, Racey, I can't. Honest, I'd like to. Nothin' I'd like better. +Only the way I'm fixed just now it's plain flat impossible." + +"Then I s'puh-s'puh-s'pose I'll have to touch the Bar S folks or the +Cross-in-a-box. I gotta have money. Gug-gotta. They're my friends. +They'll give it to mum-me. Shore they will gimme all I want. They're +all my _friends_, I tell you!" + +As Racey uttered the word "friends" his toe pressed Swing Tunstall's +instep. + +"They're Swing's friends, too," continued Racey. "Ain't they, +Sus-Swing?" Again the Dawson toe bore down upon the Tunstall foot. + +"Shore they are," chimed in Swing, watching his friend closely--so +closely that he was able to catch the extremely slight nod of +approbation given by Racey. + +"Thu-there's Tom Loudon an' Tim Pup-pup-page of the Bub-bar S," +stuttered Racey, gazing blearily at Luke Tweezy. "Bub-best fuf-friends +I ever had, them tut-two fellers. An' Old Man Sus-Saltoun. There's a +pup-prince for you. Gug-give you the shirt off his bub-back." + +Which last was stretching it rather. For Old Man Saltoun, while not +precisely stingy, was certainly not the most generous person in the +territory. Nor did it escape Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy eyed him +sharply as he made the remark. At once Racey began to roll his head +from side to side and rock his body to and fro, and laugh crazily. + +"The Bub-bub-bar S is the bub-best ranch in the worl'." Again Racey +took up the thread of his discourse. "I tell you that outfit is great +friends o' mine. Juh-juh-just tut-to shuh-show yuh, Lul-luke. Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun let three punchers go lul-last week an' then turned +round an' gives us both jobs. That's huh-how we stand with Ol' Man +Sush-Saltoun." + +"That's fine," complimented Luke Tweezy. + +"An' that ain't all," Racey galloped on, one toe pressing Swing's +instep. "I'm gonna tell him, Swing. He ain't no friend o' Jack +Harpe's. If I tell you you won't tell nobody, Lul-Luke, wuh-will yuh?" + +Luke was understood to state that no clam could be tighter-mouthed. + +"I knowed you wouldn't tell, Lul-luke," Racey declared, solemnly, +reaching across the table and affectionately pawing the Tweezy sleeve. +"I mum-maybe dud-drunk, but I know a friend when I see him. Yuh +bub-bet I do. Lul-lookit, Luke, lean over--" Here Racey pressed +heavily on Swing's instep. Then, when Luke leaned forward, Racey did +the same and possessed himself of the money-lender's ear by the simple +method of gripping it tightly between fingers and thumb. "Lul-luke," +resumed Racey, "Jack Harpe's offered us a job, too, an' we're gonna +take him up instead of the Bar S. Huh-how's that?" + +Racey released the Tweezy ear, leaned back in his chair, and breathed +triumphantly through his nose. + +Luke Tweezy likewise leaned back as far as his chair would permit, +and fingered tenderly a tingling ear. "Whatcha gonna take Harpe's job +for?" he asked, puzzled. "I thought you liked the Bar S such a lot." + +"We do," chirped Racey, laying a long finger beside his nose and +pressing again the Tunstall instep. "That's why we're gonna ride for +Jack Harpe." Grinning at the mystification of Luke Tweezy, he leaned +forward and whispered, "We got a idea we can help the Bar S most by +bein' where we can watch Jack--and his outfit." + +Luke Tweezy sat up very suddenly. Swing clapped a hand over Racey's +mouth and shoved him backward. + +"Shut up!" commanded Swing. "He dunno what he's talkin' about, the +poor drunk." + +Thus did Swing Tunstall come up to the scratch right nobly. Racey +could have hugged him. Instead he bit him. This in order that Swing +should pull his hand away in a natural manner. Having achieved his +purpose, Racey smiled sottishly at Luke Tweezy. + +"But what's Jack Harpe done?" Luke Tweezy inquired swiftly. + +"It ain't what he's done," Racey replied. "It's what he's gug-gonna +do. He's out to cuc-colddeck the Bub-bar S, an' they nun-know it." + +Whereupon Swing began to shake him severely. "Stop yore ravin!" he +commanded, and contrived to bang Racey's head against the wall with a +bump that went a long way toward curing the pain of Racey's bite. + +Racey, with real tears in his eyes, looked up at Swing and guggled, +"I'm sho shleepy!" Then he laid his head upon his arms and slept. Luke +Tweezy did not attempt to awaken him. Swing Tunstall advised against +it. Luke Tweezy and he had a parting drink together. Then the +money-lender took what was left of the second bottle of whiskey--the +first was but a memory--to the bar and endeavoured to chivvy a rebate +out of the bartender. But such a procedure was decidedly not the Happy +Heart's method of doing business. Luke Tweezy, much to his disgust, +for he never drank except in the way of trade, was forced to carry his +bottle with him when he went. + +Swing, sapient young person, walked casually to the window and watched +Luke Tweezy cross the street to Calloway's store. Then he returned to +Racey's table. Racey turned his tousled head sidewise and whispered +from a corner of his mouth, "Help me out to Tom Kane's stable. He's +out o' town, and there won't anybody bother us." + +"C'mon, Racey, come alive," urged Swing Tunstall, making a great +business of shaking awake his drunken friend. "You don't wanna stay +here no longer. I know a fine place where you can sleep it off." + +Ten minutes later Racey and Swing were sitting comfortably on a pile +of hay in Tom Kane's new stable. Racey pulled off his boots, flopped +down on the hay, and clasped his hands behind his head. He wiggled his +toes luxuriously and laughed. + +"Gawd," said he. "Think o' that old skinflint buying nearly two +bottles of whiskey! Bet that'll lay heavy on his mind for as much as a +month. What you lookin' at me like that for?" + +"Yeah, I'd ask if I was you. I shore would. What was yore bright idea +of tellin' Luke Tweezy we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe so's to watch +him?" + +"So he'd know it." + +"So he'd know it! So he'd know it! The man sits there and says '_so +he'd know it_'! And you call me a thickskull! Which yore head has got +mine snowed under thataway. Can't you see, you droolin' fool, that now +they'll know as much as we do?" + +"No, oh, no," Racey denied with a superior smile. "Not never a-tall. I +ain't saying they mightn't know as much as you do by yoreself. But not +while you got the benefit of my brains they won't know as much as we +do. 'Tain't possibil." + +"And what did you bite me for?" pursued Swing, disregarding the slur. +"Hell's bells, if you'd bit Luke I wouldn't have a word to say, but +why pick on me?" + +"Well, you bumped my head so hard I saw sparks, so we're even. Say, +stop squallin' about yore hand! I didn't bite you half as hard as I +might have. Not half. You can still use the hand all right, can't you? +Yeah. Well, then, you ain't got anything to cry about, not a thing." + +"Talk sense, will you? You got us into a fine mess, you have. A fi-ine +mess." + +"Guess I fooled him, all right," Racey said with irritating +complacency. + +"What was you trying to do, anyway?" Swing snarled, glaring at his +friend. "What was the notion of tearin' off all them confidences about +bein' busted and yore dear friends at the Bar S and how you and me +was gonna play detective? And to think Providence lets a +what-you-may-call-it like you go on living! It ain't reasonable." + +"That business of telling Luke we was busted," grinned Racey, "and +asking him for a loan was just so I could work up roundabout and +natural like to how the Bar S bunch was my personal friends and how +we were gonna ride for Jack Harpe and watch him on their account. I +wanted him to know those things, and I couldn't slam out and tell him +dry so, could I? It wouldn't sound natural. It would make him think +the wrong way, you bet. Luke Tweezy ain't a plumb fool, for all he +made the mistake of denying he knowed Jack Harpe. That was a bad one." + +"Yeah, but--" + +"Lookit, Swing, we know that when Lanpher spoke of a front yard there +in the hotel corral he meant the Bar S range. Aw right. While we're +shore Jack Harpe wants to hire us to do his dirty work--which means +being rubbed out by our own friends likely--would he let us ride for +him if he thought the Bar S was paying us to watch him?" + +"Not if he knowed what he was doing," admitted Swing. + +"That's why I got so greasy and confidential with Mister Luke Tweezy. +So Jack Harpe will know." + +"And Luke will tell him?" + +"Will Luke tell him? Luke will run to him a-pantin'. I'll gamble Jack +Harpe knows the awful worst already. So we'll be safe enough to go to +Jack to-morrow morning bright and early and tell him we've decided to +give him the benefit of our services." + +"But I thought we figured not to ride for him," said the now +thoroughly bewildered Swing. + +"Of course we ain't. In words of one syllable, Swing, I want to find +out if it is the Bar S Jack Harpe's going against. Well, then, we +knowing what we know, and Jack Harpe knowing what we know he knows, if +he turns us down to-morrow after offering us the job yesterday, it'll +not only give us the absolute proof we want, but it'll make him turn +his wolf loose P D Q. And that last will be good medicine, because +if I'm any judge he ain't ready to start anything yet awhile, and I +notice when a gent ain't ready and has to jump anyhow he's a heap +likely to fall down and smear himself all over the landscape." + +"The man's right," said Swing. "But it's the oddest number alla same I +ever did see. All kinds of clues to a crime, and no crime yet." + +"It'll come," said Racey Dawson, grimly. "Jack Harpe is one bad +actor." + +"What you got against him--I mean, anything particular besides yore +natural dislike?" Swing Tunstall at times was blessed with flashes of +penetrating shrewdness. + +"I ain't got any use for him, thassall." Much emphasis on the part of +Racey Dawson. + +Swing nodded. "See him at Moccasin Spring?" was his drawled question. + +"I didn't say so." Stiffly. + +"You didn't have to. And you don't--not now. I see it all. And you +yawpin' out real loud how interested you are in seeing how the Bar S +gets a square deal, and letting out only a small peep about old Dale, +and thinking yo're foolin' Swing to a fare-you-well. Oh, yeah. It's +the Dale's li'l ranch that's been worrying you alla time. I know. +Racey's actually got a girl at last. I kind of suspicioned it, but +I didn't think it was so heap big serious. Don't you fret, Racey, +old-timer, I'll keep yore secret. Till death does--Ouch! Leggo me, you +poor hickory! Yo're supposed to be sleeping off a drunk, remember! +G'wan now! Lie down, Fido! Charge, you bad dog!" + +"But lookit," resumed Swing Tunstall, when the dust of conflict was +beginning to settle and he was poking about in the hay in search of +three shirt-buttons and his pocket knife, "lookit, Racey, you didn't +say anything to Luke about yore being friendly with this Dale party. +Guess you forgot that, huh?" + +"Guess I didn't forget it," returned Racey Dawson, placidly. "It ain't +good euchre to lead all yore trumps before you have to. I'm saving +that about Dale to tell to Jack Harpe after he turns us down. I'm a +heap anxious to see what he says then." + +"Maybe he won't say anything." + +"Maybe he won't turn us down. But will you bet he won't? Give you +odds. Any money up to a hundred." + +"I will not," said Swing Tunstall, shaking a decided head. "Yo're too +lucky. Oh, lookit, lookit!" + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BACK PORCH + + +Racey's gaze casually and uninterestedly followed Swing's pointing +finger. Immediately his eye brightened and he sat up with a jerk. + +"I'll shove the door a li'l farther open," said Swing, making as if to +rise. + +"Sit still," hissed Racey, pulling down his friend with one hand and +endeavouring to smooth his own hair with the other. "Yo're all right, +and the door's all right. I'm going over there in a minute and if +yo're good I'll take you with me." + +"Over there" was the back porch of the Blue Pigeon Store. Swing's +exclamations and laudable desire to see better were called forth by +the sudden appearance on the back porch of two girls. One was Miss +Blythe. The other was Miss Molly Dale. + +There were two barrel chairs on the porch. Miss Blythe picked up a +piece of embroidery on a frame from the seat of one of the chairs and +sat down. Molly Dale seated herself in the other chair, crossed her +knees, and swung a slim, booted leg. From the breast pocket of her +boy's gray flannel shirt she produced a long, narrow strip of white to +which appeared to be fastened a small dark object. She held the strip +of white in her left hand. Her right hand held the dark object and +with it began to make a succession of quick, wavy, hooky dabs at one +end of the strip of white. + +"First time I ever seen anybody trying to knit without needles," said +the perplexed Swing. + +"That ain't knitting," said the superior Racey. "That's tatting." + +"Tatting?" + +"Tatting." + +"What's it for?" + +"Lingery." Racey pronounced the word to rhyme with "clingery." + +"Lingery?" + +"Lingery." + +"What's lingery?" + +"Lingery is clo'es." + +"Clo'es, huh. Helluva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'es +then instead of this here now lingery?" + +"Because lingery is a certain _kind_ of clo'es, you ignorant Jack. +Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?" + +"I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear me +whistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell me +petticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inch +wide. I've seen too many washin's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah. +And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an apron +round my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me to +fly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yards +and yards like a balloon." + +"Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't _make_ petticoats +of this tatting stuff. They use it for trimming like." + +"Trimming on the petticoats?" + +"_And_ the lingery." + +"But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing." + +"Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand? +Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats. +See?" + +"I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what I +think. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say _lingery_ at me again I won't let +you introduce me to yore girl." + +"She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening. + +"But you'd like her to be, huh? Shore. What does she think about it? +Which one of 'em is she?" + +"I didn't say neither of 'em was. You always did take too much for +granted, Swing." + +"I ain't taking too much for granted with you blushing thataway. Which +one? Tell a feller. C'mon, stingy." + +"Shucks," said Racey, "I should think you could tell. The best-looking +one, of course." + +"But they's two of 'em, feller, and they both look mighty fine to me. +Take that one with the white shirt and the slick brown hair. She's as +pretty as a li'l red wagon. A reg'lar doll baby, you bet you." + +"Doll baby! Ain't you got any eyes? That brown-haired girl--and I want +to say right here I never did like brown hair--is Joy Blythe, Bill +Derr's girl. Of course, Bill's a good feller and all that, and if he +likes that style of beauty it ain't anything against him. But that +other girl now. Swing, you purblind bat, when it comes to looks, she +lays all over Joy Blythe like four aces over a bobtailed flush." + +"She does, huh? You got it bad. Here's hoping it ain't catchin'. I've +liked girls now and then my own self, but I never like one so hard +I couldn't see nothing good in another one. Now, humanly speaking, +either of them two on the porch would suit me." + +"And neither of 'em ain't gonna suit you, and you can gamble on that, +Swing Tunstall." + +"Oh, ain't they? We'll see about that. You act like I never seen a +girl before. Lemme tell you I know how to act all right in company. I +ain't any hilltop Reuben." + +"If you ain't, then pin up yore shirt where I tore the buttons off. +You look like the wrath o' Gawd." + +"You ain't something to write home about yore own self. I can button +up my vest and look respectable, but they's hayseeds and shuttlin's +all over you, and besides I got a necktie, and _yore_ handkerchief is +so sloshed up you can't tie it round yore neck. Yo're a fine-lookin' +specimen to go a-visitin'. A fi-ine-lookin' specimen. And anyway yo're +drunk. You can't go." + +"Hell I can't," snapped Racey, brushing industriously. "They never +seen me." + +"But Luke Tweezy did," chuckled Swing. + +"What's Luke got to do with it?" Racey inquired without looking up. + +"If you'd slant yore eyes out through the door you'd see what Luke +Tweezy's gotta do with it." + +Racey Dawson looked up and immediately sat down on the hay and spoke +in a low tone. + +Swing nodded with delight. "You'll cuss worse'n that when I go over +and make Luke introduce me," he said. "He's been out there on the +porch with 'em the last five minutes, and you was so busy argufyin' +with me you never looked up to see him. And you talk of going over and +doing the polite. Yah, you make me laugh. This is shore one on you, +Racey. Don't you wish now you hadn't made out to be so drunk? Lookit, +Luke. He's a-offerin' 'em something in a paper poke. They're a-eatin' +it. He musta bought some candy. I'll bet they's all of a dime's worth +in that bag. The spendthrift. How he must like them girls. It's yore +girl he's shining up to special, Racey. Ain't he the lady-killer? Look +out, Racey. You won't have a chance alongside of Luke Tweezy." + +"Swing," said Racey, in a voice ominously calm and level, "if you +don't shut yore trap I'll shore wrastle you down and tromp on yore +stummick." + +So saying he reached for Swing Tunstall. But the latter, watchful +person that he was, eluded the clutching hands and hurried through the +doorway. + +Racey, seething with rage, could only sit and hug his knees while +Swing went up on the porch and was introduced to the two girls. It was +some balm to his tortured soul to see how ill Luke Tweezy took Swing's +advent. Did Luke really like Molly Dale? The old goat! Why, the man +was old enough to be her father. + +And did she like him? Lordy man alive, how could she? But Luke Tweezy +had money. Girls liked money, Racey knew that. He had known a girl to +marry a more undesirable human being than Luke Tweezy simply because +the man was rich. Personally, he, Racey Dawson, were he a girl, would +prefer the well-known honest heart to all the wealth in the territory. +But girls were queer, and sometimes did queer things. Molly, was +she queer? He didn't know. She looked sensible, yet why was she so +infernally polite to Luke Tweezy? She didn't have to smile at him when +he spoke to her. It wasn't necessary. Racey's spirit groaned within +him. Finally, the spectacle of the chattering group on the back porch +of the Blue Pigeon proved more than Racey could stand. He retreated +into a dark corner of the barn and lay down on the hay. But he did not +go to sleep. Far from it. Later he removed his boots, stuffed them +full of hay, and hunkered down behind a dismounted wagon-seat over +which a wagon-cover had been flung. With a short length of rope and +several handfuls of hay he propped the boots in such a position that +they stuck out beyond the wagon-box ten or twelve inches and gave +every evidence of human occupation. + +Boosting up with a bushel basket the stiff canvas at the end opposite +the boots he made the wagon-cover stretch long enough and high enough +to conceal the important fact that there were no legs or body attached +to the boots. + +Which being done Racey took up a strategic position behind an upended +crate near the doorway. + +He proceeded to wait. He waited quite a while. The afternoon drained +away. The sun set. In the dusk of the evening Racey heard footsteps. +Swing Tunstall. He'd know his step anywhere. The individual making the +footsteps came to the doorway of the barn, halted an instant, then +walked in. Almost at once he stumbled over the boots. Then Racey +sprang upon his back with a joyous shout and slammed him headforemost +over the wagon-seat into the pile of hay. + +The man swore--and the voice was not that of Swing Tunstall. On the +heels of this unwelcome discovery Racey made another. The man had +dragged out a knife from under his armpit, and was squirmingly +endeavouring to make play with it. Racey's intended practical joke on +Swing Tunstall was in a fair way to become a tragedy on himself. + +There was no time to make explanations, even had Racey been so +inclined. The man was strong and the knife was long--and presumably +sharp. Racey, pinioning his opponent's knife arm with one hand and his +teeth, flashed out his gun and smartly clipped the man over the head +with the barrel. + +Instantly, so far as an active participation in the affair of the +moment, the man ceased to function. He lay limp as a sodden moccasin, +and breathed stertorously. Racey knelt at his side and laid his hand +on the top of the man's head. The palm came away warmly wet. Racey +replaced his gun in its holster and pulled the senseless one out on +the barn floor near the doorway where he could see him better. + +The man was Luke Tweezy. + +Racey sat down and began to pull on his boots. There was nothing to be +gained by remaining in the barn. Tweezy was not badly hurt. The blow +on the head had resulted, so far as Racey could discover (later he was +to learn that his diagnosis had been correct), in a mere scalp wound. + +Racey, when his boots were on, picked up his hat. At least he thought +it was his hat. When he put it on, however, it proved a poor fit. He +had taken Tweezy's hat by mistake. He dropped it on the floor and +turned to pick up his own where it lay behind the wagon-seat. + +But, as we wheeled, a flicker of white showed inside the crown of +Tweezy's hat where it lay on the floor. Racey swung back, stooped +down, and turned out the leather sweatband of Tweezy's hat, at the +edge of which had been revealed the bit of white. + +The latter proved to be one corner of a folded letter. Without the +least compunction Racey tucked this letter into the breast pocket of +his flannel shirt. Then he set about searching Tweezy's clothing with +thoroughness. But other than the odds and odds usually to be found in +a man's pockets there was nothing to interest the searcher. + +Racey carefully turned back the sweatband of the hat, placed the +headpiece on top of the wagon-seat, and departed. He went as far as +the Happy Heart corral. Behind the corral he sat down on his heels, +and took out the letter he had purloined from Luke Tweezy. He opened +the envelope and read the finger-marked enclosure by the light of +matches shielded behind his hat. The letter ran: + +DEAR FRIEND LUKE: + +I don't think much of your plan. Too dangerous. The Land Office is +getting stricter every day. This thing must be absolutely legal in +every way. You can't bull ahead and trust to luck there aren't any +holes. There mustn't be any holes, not a damn hole. Try my plan, the +one I discussed so thoroughly with you last week. It will take longer, +perhaps, but it is absolutely safe. You must learn to be more careful +with the law from now on, Luke. I know what I'm talking about. + +I tell you plainly if you don't accept my scheme and work to it +religiously I'm out of the deal absolutely. I'm not going to risk my +liberty because of other people's foolhardiness. + +Show this letter to Jack Harpe, and let me know your decision. + +Another thing, impress upon Jack the necessity of you two keeping +publicly apart until after the deal is sprung. When you talk to him go +off somewheres where no one will see you. I heard he spoke to you on +the street. Lampher told me. This must not happen again while we are +partners. Don't tell Doc Coffin's outfit more than they need to know. + +Yours truly, + +JACOB POOLEY. + +Racey blew out the fourth match and folded the letter with care and +replaced it in the envelope. He sat back on his heels and looked up +into the darkening sky. Jacob Pooley. Well, well, _well_. If Fat Jakey +Pooley, the register of the district, was mixed up in the business, +the opposition would have its work cut out in advance. Yes, indeedy. +For no man could walk more convincingly the tight rope of the law than +Fat Jakey. Racey Dawson did not know Fat Jakey, except by sight, but +he had heard most of the tales told of the gentleman. And they were +_tales_. Many of them were accepted by the countryside as gospel +truth. Perhaps half of them were true. A good-natured, cunning, +dishonest, and indefatigable featherer of a lucrative political +nest--that was Fat Jakey. + +Racey Dawson sat and thought hard through two cigarettes. Then he +thumbed out the butt, got to his feet, and started to return to the +hotel. For it had suddenly come upon him that he was hungry. + +But halfway round the corral an idea impinged upon his consciousness +with the force of a bullet. "Gawdamighty," he muttered, "I am a Jack!" + +He turned and retraced his steps to the corner of the corral. Here he +stopped and removed his spurs. He stuffed a spur into each hip pocket, +and moved cautiously and on tiptoe toward Tom Kane's barn. + +It was almost full night by now. But in the west still glowed the +faintly red streak of the dying embers of the day. Racey suddenly +bethought him that the red streak was at his back, therefore he +dropped on all fours and proceeded catwise. + +He was too late. Before he reached the back of the barn he heard the +feet of two people crunching the hard ground in front of it. The sound +of the footsteps died out on the grass between the barn and the houses +fronting on Main Street. + +Racey, hurrying after and still on all fours, suddenly saw the dark +shape of a tall man loom in front of him. He halted perforce. His +own special brand of bull luck was with him. The dark shape, walking +almost without a sound, shaved his body so closely as it passed that +he felt the stir of the air against his face. + +When the men had gone on a few yards Racey looked over his shoulder. +Silhouetted against the streak of dying red was the upper half of Jack +Harpe's torso. There was no mistaking the set of that head and those +shoulders. Both it and them were unmistakable. Jack Harpe. Racey swore +behind his teeth. If only he could have reached the barn in time to +hear what the two men had said to each other. + +After a decent interval Racey went on. The Happy Heart was the nearest +saloon. He felt reasonably certain that Luke Tweezy would go there to +have his cut head dressed. He had. Racey, his back against the bar, +looked on with interest at the bandaging of Luke Tweezy by the +proprietor. + +"Yep," said Luke, sitting sidewise in the chair, "stubbed my toe +against a cordwood stick in front of Tom Kane's barn and hit my head +on a rock. Knocked me silly." + +"Sh'd think it might," grunted the proprietor, attending to his job +with difficulty because Luke _would_ squirm. "Hold still, will you, +Luke?" + +"Yo're taking twice as many stitches as necessary," grumbled Luke. + +"I ain't," denied the proprietor. "And I got two more to take. HOLD +STILL!" + +"Don't need to deafen me!" squalled Luke, indignantly. + +"Shut up!" ordered the proprietor, who, for that he did not owe any +money to Luke, was not prepared to pay much attention to his fussing. +"If you think I'm enjoying this, you got another guess coming. And if +you don't like the way I'm doing it, you can do it yoreself." + +Luke stood up at last, a white bandage encircling his head, said that +he was much obliged, and would like to borrow a lantern for a few +moments. + +"Aw, you don't need any lantern," objected the proprietor. "I forgot +to fill mine to-day, anyway. Can't you find yore way to the hotel in +the dark? That crack on the topknot didn't blind you, did it?" + +"I lost something," explained Luke Tweezy. "When I fell down most all +my money slipped out of my pocket." + +"I'll get you a lantern then," grumbled the proprietor. + +Ten minutes later Luke Tweezy, frantically quartering the floor of Tom +Kane's barn, heard a slight sound and looked up to see Racey Dawson +and Swing Tunstall standing in the doorway. + +"I didn't know you fell down _inside_ the barn," Racey observed. + +"There's lots you dunno," said Luke, ungraciously. + +"So there is," assented Racey. "But don't rub it in, Luke. Rubbing it +in hurts my feelings. And my feelings are tender to-day--most awful +tender, Luke. Don't you go for to lacerate 'em. I ain't owing you a +dime, you know." + +To this Luke Tweezy made no comment. But he resumed his squattering +about the floor and his poking and delving in the piles of hay. He +raised a dust that flew up in clouds. He coughed and snorted and +snuffed. Racey and Swing Tunstall laughed. + +"Makes you think of a hay-tedder, don't he?" grinned Racey. "How much +did you lose, Luke--two bits?" + +At this Luke looked up sharply. "Seems to me you got over yore drunk +pretty quick," said he. + +"Oh, my liquor never stays by me a great while," Racey told him +easily. "That's the beauty of being young. When you get old and +toothless an' deecrepit like some people, not to mention no names of +course, why then she's a cat with another tail entirely." + +"What'ell's goin' on in here?" It was Red Kane speaking. Red was Tom +Kane's brother. + +Racey and Swing moved apart to let him through. Red Kane entered, +stared at the spectacle of Luke Tweezy and his bobbing lantern, stared +and stared again. + +"What you doing, Luke?" he demanded. + +"Luke's lost a nickel, Red." Racey answered for the lawyer. "And a +nickel, you know yoreself, is worth all of five cents." + +"I lost some money," grumbled Luke. + +"But you _said_ you lost it when you tripped and fell," said Racey. +"And you fell outside." + +"I lost it here," Luke said, shortly. + +"I don't giveadamn where you lost it or what you lost," declared Red +Kane. "You can't go flirtin' round with any lantern in Tom's barn. +First thing you know you'll set it afire. C'mon, Luke, pull yore +freight." + +"But lookit here," protested Luke, "I lost something valuable, Red. I +gotta find it." + +"It wasn't money then?" put in Racey. + +"Of course it was money," averred Luke. + +"You said 'it' this time, Luke." + +"It don't matter what I said. I lost some money, and I want to find +it." + +"You can want all you like," said Red Kane, "but not in this barn. +C'mon back to-morrow morning, and you can hunt the barn to pieces, but +you can't do any more skirmishing round in here to-night. I'll lock +the barn door so's nobody else will go fussbudgettin' round in here. +C'mon, Luke, get a move on you." + +So Luke was driven out much against his will, and Racey and Swing +roamed around to the dance hall. Here at a table in the ell where the +bar stretched its length they could sit and talk--unheard under cover +of the music. + +"But how come you had yore boots off?" Swing desired to know when a +table, a bottle and two glasses were between them. "Don't try to tell +me you stuck 'em behind that wagon-seat on purpose to trip him. You +never knowed he was comin'." + +"Well, no, I didn't exactly," admitted Racey, with a sly smile. "Those +boots were laid out all special for you." + +"For me?" + +"For you." + +"But why for me?" Perplexedly. + +"Because, Swing, old settler, I didn't like you this afternoon. The +more I saw you over there on that porch the less I liked you. So I +took off my boots and hid 'em careful like behind the wagon-seat so +they'd stick out some, and you'd see 'em and think I was there asleep, +and naturally you'd go for to wake me up and wouldn't think of looking +behind the crate where I was laying for you all ready to hop on yore +neck the second you stooped over the wagon-seat and give you the Dutch +rub for glommin' all the fun this afternoon." + +"And what didja think I'd be doin' alla time?" grinned Swing Tunstall. + +"You wouldn't 'a' tried to knife me, anyway." + +"G'on. He didn't." + +"Oh, didn't he? You better believe he did. If I hadn't got a holt of +his wrist and whanged him over the head with my Colt for all I was +worth he'd 'a' had me laid out cold. Yep, li'l Mr. Luke Tweezy +himself. The rat that don't care nothing about fighting with anything +but a law book." + +"A rat will fight when it's cornered," said Swing. + +Racey nodded. "I've seen 'em. It's something to know Luke carries a +knife and where." + +"Where?" + +"Under his left arm. Fill up, and shove the bottle over." + +Swing filled abstractedly and slopped the table. He pushed the bottle +toward Racey. The latter caught it just in time to prevent a smash on +the floor. + +"Say, look what yo're doing!" cried Racey. "Y' almost wasted a whole +bottle of redeye. I ain't got money to throw away if you have." + +"I was just wonderin' what Fat Jakey's plan is," said Swing, +scratching his head. + +"No use wonderin'," Racey told him. "It's their move." + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE LOOKOUT + + +"Tell you, gents, somethin's come up to change my plans." It was Jack +Harpe speaking. Racey and Swing had met him on the sidewalk in front +of Lainey's hotel shortly after breakfast the following morning, and +Racey had told him of their ultimate decision. As he spoke Mr. Harpe +braced an arm against the side of the building, crossed his feet, and +scratched the back of his head. "I'm shore sorry," he went on, "but +I'd like to call off that proposition about you riding for me. Coupla +men used to ride for me one time are coming back unexpected. You know. +Naturally--you know how it is yoreself--I'd like to have these fellers +riding for me, so if it's alla same to you two gents we'll call it +off. But I wanna be fair. You expected a job on my ranch. I told you +you could have it. I owe you somethin'. What say to a month's wages +apiece?" + +Racey shook a slow head, and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "You don't +owe us a nickel," he told Jack Harpe. "Take back yore gold. We're +honest workin'-girls ourselves. Of course we may starve, but what's +that between friends? In words of one syllable what do we care for +poverty or precious stones?" + +Jack Harpe followed this flight of fancy with an uncertain smile. +"Alla same," he said, "I wish you'd lemme give you that month's wages. +I'd feel better about it. Like I was paying my bets sort of." + +"'Tsall right," nodded Racey Dawson. "We still don't want any money. +We're satisfied if you are. Yep, we're a heap satisfied--now. _But_ I +ain't contented--much." + +"That's tough," commiserated Jack Harpe, and dropped at his side the +arm he had braced against the wall of the hotel. Also he straightened +his crossed leg. His air and manner, even to the most casual of eyes, +took on a sudden brisk watchfulness. "That's tough," repeated Jack +Harpe, and added a headshake for good measure. + +"Ain't it?" Racey Dawson said, brightly. "But maybe you can help me +out. Lookit, I ain't trying to pry, y' understand. I'm the least +prying feller in four states, but this here ranch of yores which ain't +got anything to do with the 88 and won't cut any corners off the Bar S +might it by any chance overlap on Mr. Dale's li'l ranch?" + +"Overlap the Dale ranch! What you talkin' about?" + +"I dunno," Racey replied, simply. "I'm trying to find out." + +Jack Harpe laughed his soundless laugh. "I dunno what it is to you," +he said, "but if my ranch don't come near the Bar S how can it hit the +Dale place?" + +"Stranger things than that have happened. But still, alla same, I'd +shore not admire to see any hardship come to old Chin Whisker--Dale, I +mean." + +If Racey had hoped to gain any effect by mentioning "Chin Whisker" he +was disappointed. Jack Harpe was wearing his poker face at the moment. + +"I wouldn't like that any myself," concurred Jack Harpe. "Old Dale +seems like a good feller, sort of shackles along a mite too shiftless +maybe, but his daughter takes the curse off, don't she?" + +"We weren't talking about the daughter," Racey pointed out. + +Swing Tunstall immediately stepped to one side. There was a something +in Racey's tone. + +But Jack Harpe did not press the point. He smiled widely instead. + +"We weren't talking about her, for a fact," he assented. "Coming right +down to cases, we'd oughta be about done talking, oughtn't we?" + +"Depends," said Racey. "It all depends. I'd just like folks to know +that I'd take it a heap personal if any tough luck came to old Dale +and his ranch." + +"Meanin'?" + +"What I said. No more. No less." + +"What you said can be took more ways than one." + +"What do you care?" flashed Racey. "What I said concerns only the gent +or gents who are fixing to colddeck old Dale. Nobody else a-tall. So +what do you care?" + +"I don't. Not a care, not a care. Only--only one thing. Mister Man, if +you're aiming to drynurse old Dale you're gonna have yore paws most +awful full of man's size work. Leastaways, that's the way she looks +to a man up a tree. Me, I'm a great hand for mindin' my own business, +but--" + +"Yo're like Luke Tweezy thataway," cut in Racey. "That's what he's +always doing." + +"Who's Luke Tweezy?" + +"So you've learned yore lesson," chuckled Racey. "It was about time. +Guess you must 'a' bothered Luke Tweezy some when you spoke to him +that day in front of the Happy Heart just before you and Lanpher +crawled yore cayuses and rode to Dale's on Soogan Creek.... Don't +remember, huh? I do. You said, 'See you later, Luke,' and he didn't +speak back. Just kept on untying his hoss and keeping his head bent +down like he hadn't heard a word you said. 'S'funny, huh?" + +"Damfunny," assented Jack Harpe with an odd smoothness. + +"Yeah, you fellers that don't know each other are all of that. Tell me +something, do you meet in the cemetery by a dead nigger's grave in the +dark of the moon at midnight or what? I'm free to admit I'm puzzled. +She's all a heap too mysterious for me." + +"Crazy talk," commented Jack Harpe. "You been wallowing in the +nosepaint and letting yore imagination run on the range too much." + +"Maybe," Racey said, equably. "Maybe. You can't tell. As a young one I +had a powerful imagination. I might have it yet." + +Jack Harpe gazed long and silently at Racey Dawson. The latter +returned the stare with interest. With the sixth sense possessed by +most men who live in a country where the law and the sixshooter are +practically synonymous terms, Racey was conscious that Marie, the +Happy Heart Lookout, had suddenly drifted up to his left flank and now +stood with arms akimbo on the inner edge of the sidewalk. Her body +was turned partly toward him but her head was turned wholly away. +Evidently there was something of interest farther up the street. + +Racey moved slightly to the left. He wished to have a little more +light on Jack Harpe's right side. The Harpe right hand--it was in the +shadow. Jack Harpe pivoted to face Racey. The light from the hotel +window fell on the right hand. The member was near the gun butt, but +not suggestively near. + +"Listen here," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, in a snarling whisper +designed solely for the ears of Racey Dawson, "I dunno what you been +a-drivin' at, but just for yore better information I'm telling you +that I always get what I go after. Whether it's land, cows, horses, +or--women, I get what I want. Nothing ever has stopped me. Nothing +ever will stop me. Don't forget." + +"Thanks," smiled Racey. "I'll try not to." + +"And here's somethin' else: What I take I keep--always." + +"Always is a long word." + +"There's a longer." + +"What?" + +"Death." + +"Meanin'?" + +"That folks who ain't for me are against me. Looks like yore friend +there wanted to talk to you. So long." + +Abruptly Jack Harpe faced about and went into the hotel. Racey felt a +touch on his arm. He turned to find that Marie had almost bumped into +him. Her head was still turned away. One of her hands was groping for +his arm. Her fingers clutched his wrist, then slid upward to the crook +of his elbow. + +"Le's go across the street," she said in a breathless voice, and +pulled him forward. + +Her body as she pulled was pressed tightly against him. She seemed to +hang upon him. And all to the discomfort and mental anguish of Racey +Dawson. He was no prude. His moral sense had never oppressed him. But +this calm appropriation of him was too much. But he accompanied her. +For there was Swing Tunstall, a nothing if not interested observer. +Other folk as well were spectators. To shake loose Marie's grip, +to run away from her, would make him ridiculous. He continued to +accompany the young woman quite as if her kidnapping of him was a +matter of course. + +In the middle of the street they were halted by the headlong approach +of a rapidly driven buckboard. As it swept past in front of them the +light of the lantern clamped on the dashboard flashed on their faces. + +"'Lo, Mr. Dawson," cried the driver, her fresh young voice lifting +to be heard above the drum of the hoofs and the grind of the rolling +wheels. And the voice was the voice of Miss Molly Dale. + +Racey did not reply to the greeting. He was too dumb-foundedly aghast +at the mischance that had presented him, while arm in arm with a +person of Marie's stamp, to the eyes of one upon whom he was striving +to make an impression. What would Molly Dale think? The worst, of +course. How could she help it? Appearances were all against him. Then +he recalled that she had been the sole occupant of the buckboard--that +she had called him by name _after_ the light had fallen on the face of +the lookout. It was possible that she might not know who Marie +was. Although it was no more than just possible, he cuddled the +potentiality to him as if it had been a purring kitten. + +He allowed Marie to lead him across the sidewalk and into the +pot-black shadow between Tom Kane's house and an empty shack. But here +in the thick darkness he paused and looked back to see whether Swing +Tunstall were following. Swing was not. He was entering the hotel in +company with Windy Taylor. + +Marie jerked at his arm. "C'mon," she urged, impatiently. "Gonna take +root, or what?" + +Willy-nilly he accompanied his captor to the extremely private and +secluded rear of Tom Kane's new barn. Here were the remains of a +broken wagon, several wheels, and the major portion of a venerable and +useless stove. Marie released his arm and Racey sat down on the stove. +But it was a very useless stove, and it collapsed crashingly under his +weight (later he learned that even when it had been a working member +of Tom Kane's menage the stove had been held together mainly by trust +in the Lord and a good deal of baling wire). + +"Clumsy!" Marie hissed as he arose hurriedly. "All thumbs and left +feet! Why don't you make a li'l more noise? I'll bet you could if you +tried." + +"Say," Racey snapped, temperishly, for a sharp corner of the stove +door had totally obscured his sense of proportion, "say, I didn't ask +to come over here with you! What do you want, anyway?" + +"Want you to shut up and pay attention to me!" she flung back. "I +thought you was gonna leave town. Why ain't you?" + +"Changed my mind," was his answer. + +"Why can't you do what you said you'd do?" She was quite vehement +about it. + +"I got a right to change my mind, ain't I?" + +"Go, dammit! Why can't you go? You gave them a chance to even up +when you ran that blazer on Doc Coffin an' Honey Hoke there in the +Starlight. Let it go at that. Whadda you want to hang round here for? +Don't you know that every hour you stay here makes it more dangerous +for you?... Oh, you can laugh! That's all you do when a feller does +her level best to see you don't come to any harm. Gawd! I could shake +you for a fool!" + +"Was that what you pulled me alla way over here to tell me?" he +inquired, somewhat miffed at her acerbity. + +"I pulled you across the street because if I'd left you where I found +you you wouldn't 'a' lived a minute." The starlight was bright enough +to reveal to him the set and earnest tenseness of her features. + +"I wouldn't 'a' lived a minute, huh?" was his comment. "I didn't see +anybody round there fit and able to put in a period." + +"It wasn't anybody you could _see_. Don't you remember what I said +about a knife in the night, or a shot in the dark? Man, do you have to +be killed before you're convinced?" + +"Well--uh--I--" + +"Whadda you guess I was standin' alongside of you for while you was +talkin' to that other feller, huh? Tryin' to listen to what you was +sayin'? Think so, huh?" + +"You shore had yore nerve," he said, admiringly--and helplessly. + +"Nerve nothin'!" she denied. "He wouldn't shoot through me. I know +that well enough." + +"Why wouldn't he? And how do you know?" + +"Because, and I do. That's enough." + +"Which particular _one_ is he?" + +"I ain't sayin'." + +"Do you like him as much as that?" Shrewdly. + +"Not the way you mean." Dispassionately. + +"Then who is he?" + +"I ain't sayin', I tell you!" + +"You snitched on Nebraska." Persuasively. + +"This feller's different." + +"How different?" + +"None of yore business. Lookit, I'm doin' my best for you, but I won't +have the luck every time that I had to-night--nor you won't, neither. +Gawd! if I hadn't just happened to strike for a night off this evenin' +I dunno where you'd be!" + +"Say, I thought you didn't dare let them see you have anythin' to do +with me?" + +"I didn't, and I don't. But I had to. I couldn't set by an' let you be +plugged, could I? Hardly." + +"But--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. Don't you worry any about me. I got a ace +in the hole if the weather gets wet. But I wanna tell you this: If +yo're bound to go on playin' the fool, keep a-movin' and walk round a +lighted window like it's a swamp." + +She dodged past him and was gone. He made no move to follow. He pushed +back his hat and scratched his head. + +"Helluva town this is," he muttered. "Can't stand still any more +without having some sport draw a fine sight where you'll feel it +most." + +After she left Racey Dawson Marie diagonalled across Main Street, +passed between the dance hall and Dolan's warehouse, and made her way +to the most outlying of the half-dozen two-room shacks scattered +at the back of the dance hall. She entered the shack, felt for the +matches in the tin tobacco-box nailed against the wall, and struck one +to light the lamp. Like the provident miss she was she turned the wick +down after lighting in order that the chimney might heat slowly. + +It may have been the dimness of the lighted lamp. It may have been +that she was not as observing as usual. But certainly she had no +inkling of another's presence in the same room with her till she had +slipped out of her waist. Then a man in the corner of the room swore +harshly. + +"---- yore soul to ----!" were his remarks in part. "What did you horn +in for to-night?" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE DISCOVERY + + +Racey Dawson did not remain long idle after Marie's departure. The +girl had barely entered the narrow passage between the warehouse and +the dance hall before he was crossing the street at a point beyond +the jail, where there were no shafts of light from open windows and +doorways to betray him. + +Racey Dawson circled the sheriff's house and tippytoed past the +outermost of the six two-room shacks at the rear of the dance hall. +His objective was the Starlight Saloon, his purpose to discover the +bushwhacker who had tried to shoot him. + +As he passed the outermost shack a light flashed up within it. He +saw Marie's head and shoulder silhouetted against the curtain. He +recognized her immediately by the heavy mass of her hair. No other +woman in Farewell possessed such a mop. + +Racey resolved to speak with Marie again. His hand was lifted in +readiness to knock when Marie's visitor spoke. Racey's hand promptly +dropped at his side. He had recognized the voice. It was that of Bull, +the Starlight bartender. + +The shack door was fairly well constructed. At least there were no +cracks in it. But a log wall has oftentimes an open chink. This wall +had one between the third and fourth tiers of logs not more than a +yard from the door. Racey crouched till his eyes were on a level with +the narrow crack. + +He could not see Bull. But he could see Marie. Apparently she was +not according her visitor the slightest attention. She daintily and +unhurriedly hung her waist over the back of a chair. Then she turned +up the lamp, removed the pins from her abundant hair, shook it down, +and began to brush it calmly and carefully. + +"---- you!" snarled Bull, advancing to the table where he was within +range of Racey's eyesight. "I spoke to you! What didja do it for?" + +She raised her head and looked at him, the brush poised in one hand. +"---- you, Bull," she drawled at him. "I'm tellin' you, because I felt +like it." + +Bull shot forth a hand and grabbed her right wrist. Marie, as a whole, +did not move. But her left hand dropped languidly and nestled in the +overhang of her bodice. + +"Bull," she said, softly, staring straight into the evil eyes +glowering upon her. "Bull, bad as you are, you ain't never laid a hand +on me yet. You ain't gonna begin now, are you?" + +Bull's great fingers began to tighten on her wrist, slowly, +inexorably. + +"I'm sorry, Bull," she resumed, when he made no reply, "but I got a +derringer pointin' straight at yore stomach. Now you ain't gonna lemme +make a mess on my clean carpet, are you?" + +Bull released her wrist as though it burnt him. + +"You devil!" he exclaimed. "I believe you'd do it." + +"Shore I would," she affirmed, serenely, dragging a small and ugly +derringer from its place of concealment and balancing it on a pink +palm. "I'll drill you in one blessed minute if you don't keep yore +paws to home. They's some things, Bull, you can't do to me. An' one +of them things is hurting me. I don't believe in corporal punishment, +Bull." + +"I wanna know what you horned in for," he demanded, pounding the table +till the lamp danced again. + +"If you only knowed what a silly fool you looked," she commented, +"you'd sit down and take it easy.... That's right, tell the +neighbours, do! Squawk out good and loud how yore bushwhackin' li'l +killing turned out a misdeal. Shore, I'd do that, if I was you. Whadda +you guess they pay Jake Rule an' Kansas Casey for, huh?" + +"What did you get in front of him for?" Bull persisted in a lower +tone. "I pretty near had him, but you--Gawd, I could wring yore neck!" + +"But you won't," she reminded him, sweetly. "Lookit here, Bull, if you +hadn't locked the door leading up the stairs to the Starlight's loft, +I'd 'a' come after you there and done my persuadin' of you right in +the loft. As it was when I heard what you were up to--nemmine how I +heard. I heard, that's enough--I had to go out in the street and +do what I could there. I don't believe the feller liked it much, +neither." + +"But what's he to you? You ain't soft on him, are you, account of what +he done for that yellow mutt of yores?" + +"I owe him something," she evaded. "That dog--I like that dog. And +then that man treats me like a lady. It ain't every man treats me like +a lady." + +"I should hope not," guffawed the amiable Bull. + +"Now that's a right funny joke," she assured him. "It almost makes me +laugh. Still, alla same, I got feelin's. I'm a human being. And you'll +notice molasses catches a heap more flies than vinegar does. I like +that Dawson man, and I ain't gonna see him hurt." + +"Did you tell him it was me up there with a rifle?" There was a hint +of unease in the blustery tone. + +"I didn't tell him nothin'," said Marie. "I ain't no snitch." + +"Ah-h, you _are_ soft on him," Bull sneered in disgust. + +"What if I am?" she flared. "What business is it of yores?" + +"What'll Nebraska say?" he proffered. + +"Nebraska hell!" she sneered. "Nebraska and me are through!" + +"I know you've split, but that ain't saying Nebraska will let you go +with another gent." + +"I'll go with anybody I please, and neither Nebraska nor you nore any +other damn man is gonna stop me. If you think different, _try_ it, +just _try_ it! Thassall I ask. _This_ for you and Nebraska!" With +which she snapped her fingers under his nose once, twice, and again. + +"I wish Pap was still alive. He could always handle you. Remember the +time you sassed him there in ..." Here Marie accidentally dropped her +brush into an empty pail, and the clatter drowned out the name of the +town so far as Racey was concerned. But Marie caught the name, for she +straightened with a start and stared at Bull. "Yeah," continued Bull, +"you remember it, huh? I guess you do. That was where Pap slapped yore +chops and throwed you down the stairs. Like to broke yore neck that +time. I wish you had." + +"'Pap,'" she repeated. "'Pap,' and that town. What made you think of +them two names together?" + +"Because that was the town where he throwed you down the stairs," Bull +told her matter-of-factly. + +"It was the town where we met up with Bill Smith." + +"What about it?" + +"Nothing--only Bill Smith is here in town." + +"In Farewell?" + +"In Farewell." + +"Why ain't I seen him if he's in Farewell?" + +"Because he's shaved off all of that beard and part of his +eyebrows--they used to meet plumb in the middle, remember--till a body +would hardly know him. I didn't. I knowed they was somethin' familiar +about him, but I couldn't tell what till you mentioned Pap and the +town together. Then I knowed. Yeah, Bull, this gent's the same Bill +Smith Pap picked up on the trail. He's a respectable member of society +now, I guess. Calls himself Jack Harpe and spends most of his time +runnin' round Lanpher." + +"Then he ain't too respectable, the lousy pup. Calls himself Jack +Harpe, huh? Shore, he come in the Starlight with Lanpher and gimme +the eye without a quiver. Didn't know me, he didn't! And I ain't done +nothin' to _my_ looks to change 'em." + +"Huh, y' oughta seen the way he looked me up and down when he passed +us on the Marysville trail. You'd 'a' thought he just seen me. Oh, +he's got his nerve." + +"Who is _us_?" Suspiciously. + +"What it won't do you no good to know. I guess I can go riding with a +friend if I like. You seem to keep forgettin' you ain't got any ropes +on me--nary a rope. Stop botherin' yore fool head about me and my +doings, and think of something worth while--for instance, Jack Harpe." + +"Then what?" + +"No wonder they call you Bull. That's all you are, beef to the heels +and no more sense than a calf. Listen, Jack Harpe's respectable, ain't +he? Or he aims to be, which is the same thing. Anyway, he's swelling +round here like a poisoned pup and don't know us a-tall. Takin' him +down a couple o' pegs wouldn't hurt him. He always was too tall. I'll +bet if he was come at right he'd pay cash down on the hoof for us, me +and you both, to keep our heads shut about what we know." + +"But we was in that, too." + +"But we didn't do what he done," pointed out Marie. "And you know +yoreself the company don't drop the case like a ordinary sheriff +does. No, I expect Jack Harpe would be worried some if he knowed we'd +recognized him.... Aw, what are you scared of? Pap's dead, ain't he? +How can Harpe hurt us? He never knowed how intimate we knowed Pap +while he was stayin' at our house. He just thought Pap was a friend. +He never knowed we got our share of the money. Nawsir, he can't hook +us up with that killin' nohow, but we can hook him. Brace up to him, +Bull. Maybe you can work him for a stake. They ain't no danger, I tell +you." + +"By Gawd, I'd like to!" declared Bull and swore a string of oaths. + +"Then go ahead," urged Marie. "And don't forget I want in on the +stake." + +"Ah-h, I do all the work and then have to whack up with you, huh? I +will not. What I get I keep." + +"I remember Jack Harpe used to say that. He shore hated himself, the +poor feller. Alla same, I guess maybe you'll go even Steven with me, +Bull. Who is it recognized him first? Who give you the idea? Who did, +huh? Who did? Whatever you get you'll divide with me or I'll know the +reason why. And if you don't think I'm a wildcat get me roused, man, +get me roused." + +Bull stood back and scratched a tousled head. "I--well--" he began and +paused. Obviously the prospect did not wholly please him. + +"Go to Jack Harpe easy like," suggested the girl. "Don't tell him too +much, just enough to show yo're meanin' what you say. I'd do it myself +only he'd laugh at me. He's one of those gents a woman has to shoot +before they'll believe she's in earnest. He ain't the only one, they's +another just like him in town.... Nemmine who. You go to Jack Harpe. +He'll listen to a man. G'on! They's money in it, if you work it right. +You want money, don't you? You need three hundred to pay what you owe +Piggy Wadsworth, don't you? Yah, you big hunk, you been runnin' to me +for money long enough! Here's a chance to make some of yore own. Fly +at it." + +When Bull had picked up a rifle standing in a corner and departed, +slamming the door behind him, Marie sat down on the lid of a mottled +zinc trunk and wiped her hot face on a petticoat that hung on the wall +conveniently to hand. "Warm work, warm work!" she muttered, wearily. +"I dunno when I seen Bull so mad. I shore thought one time there +I wasn't gonna get rid of him without a fight." She rolled her +well-shaped ankles and flipped the gilt tassels on her shoe tops to +and fro (yes, indeed, some women wore tasseled footgear in those +days). "Men," she went on, staring down at the shiny tassels, "men are +shore hell." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A BOLD BAD MAN + + +Bull had halted a moment outside the door of the shack to roll a +cigarette. Before he pulled out his tobacco bag he leaned the rifle +against the doorjamb. + +His eyes, unaccustomed to the darkness, did not see the crouching +Racey Dawson within arm's-length. + +Both of Bull's hands were cupped round the lighted match. He lifted +it to the end of the cigarette. He sucked in his breath and--a voice +whispered: "Drop that match an' grab yore ears." + +Bull did not hesitate to obey, for the broad, cold blade of a bowie +rested lightly against the back of his neck. Bull swayed a little +where he stood. + +"I got yore rifle," resumed the whisperer. "Walk away now. Yo're +headin' about right. Don't make too much noise." + +Bull did not make too much noise. In fact, he made hardly any. It is +safe to say that he never progressed more quietly in his life. The man +with the bowie steered him to a safe haven behind a fat white boulder +half buried in sumac. + +"Si'down," requested the captor in a conversational tone. "We can be +right comfortable here." + +"Dawson!" breathed the captive. + +"Took you a long time to find it out," said Racey Dawson. "Si'down, I +said," he added, sharply. + +Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower +his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle +was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The +firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. + +Racey smiled widely. He felt very chipper and pleased with himself. He +was managing the affair well, he thought. + +"You show up right plain against that white rock," he remarked. "If +yo're figuring to gamble with me, think of that." + +"Whatcha want?" demanded Bull, sullenly. + +"Lots of things," replied Racey, shifting a foot an inch to the left. +"I'm the most wantin' feller you ever saw. Just now this minute I want +you to tell me where it was you met up with Bill Smith and what it was +he did so bad that you and Marie think you've got a hold on him." + +"You _was_ listenin' quite a while," muttered Bull. + +"Quite a while," admitted Racey Dawson. "Quite a while." + +"But you didn't listen quite hard enough," suggested Bull. + +"No," assented Racey, "I didn't. I'm expecting you to sort of fill in +the gaps." + +Bull shook a decided head. "No," he denied. "No, you got another guess +comin'. I won't do nothin' like that a-tall." + +"And why not?" + +"Because I won't." + +"'Won't' got his neck broke one day just because he wouldn't." + +"Yeah, I guess so," sneered Bull. + +"You must forget I heard all about how you tried to bushwhack me from +the second floor of the Starlight," Racey put in, gently. + +"Aw, that's a damn lie," bluffed Bull. "A damn lie. All a mistake. You +heard wrong." + +Racey shook a disapproving head. "When it's after the draw," he said, +"and you ain't got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have +everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she's poor +poker to make a bluff. Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about," persisted Bull. + +"Aw right, let it go at that. Who put you up to bushwhack me?" + +"Nun-nobody," hesitated Bull. + +"Yore own idea, huh?" + +Bull spat disgustedly on the grass. He had seen the trap after it had +been sprung. + +"You shore can't play poker," smiled Racey, his eyes shining with +pleasure under the wide brim of his hat. "I--The starlight's pretty +bright remember." + +Bull's sudden movement came to naught. He settled back, his eyes +furtively busy. + +"Still, alla same," pursued Racey, "I wonder was it all yore own +idea." + +"Whatell didja kick me for?" snarled Bull. + +"'Kick you for?'" Racey repeated, stupidly. + +"Yeah, kick me," said Bull. "No damn man can kick me and me not take +notice." + +"Dunno as I blame you. Dunno as I do. If any damn man kicks you, Bull, +you got a right to drill him every time. And you think I kicked you?" + +"I know you did." + +"You know I did, huh? Did you see me do it?" + +"You kicked me after you'd knocked me silly with that bottle. Kicked +me when I was down and couldn't help myself." + +"So I did all that to you after you were down, huh? Who told you?" + +"Nemmine who told me. You done it, that's enough." + +"No, it ain't enough. It ain't enough by a long mile. I want to know +who told you?" + +"I ain't sayin'." Sullenly. + +"Come to think, she's hardly necessary. Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke were +the only two gents in the Starlight at the time. It was either one +or both of 'em told you. Maybe I'll get a chance to ask 'em about it +later. Now I dunno whether you'll believe it or not but to tell the +truth and be plain with you, Bull, I didn't kick you." + +"I don't believe you." But Bull's tone was not confident. + +"I wouldn't expect you to--under the circumstances. What I'm tellin' +you is true alla same. Lookit, you fool, is it likely after takin' +the trouble to knock you down, I'd kick you besides? Do I look like a +sport who'd do a thing like that? Think it over." + +Bull was silent. But Racey believed that he had planted the seed of +doubt in his mind. + +"And another thing," resumed Racey, "do I look like a sport who'd +let another jigger lay for him promiscuous? You go slow, Bull. +I'm good-natured, a heap good-natured. But don't lemme catch you +bushwhacking me again." + +"I won't," said Bull with a flash of humour. + +"Be dead shore of it," cautioned Racey. "If I ever get to even +thinking that yo're laying for me, Bull, I'm liable to come a-askin' +questions you can't answer. Yo're a bright young man, Bull, but you +want to be careful how you strain yore intellect. You might need it +some day. And if you want to keep on being mother's li'l helper, be +good, thassall, be good." + +"Yo're worse'n a helldodger," affirmed Bull. + +"You got me sized up right. I'm worse than a helldodger, a whole lot +worse." The words were playful, but the tone was sardonic. + +Bull grunted. + +"You tell me, will you, just where it was you met this Bill Smith-Jack +Harpe feller, and what it was he did? There's a company in it, too. +What company is it--the Northern Pacific?" + +"Ah-h, you got a gall, you have," sneered Bull, savagely. "Think +you'll make something out of Harpe yore own self, huh?" + +"That is my idea," admitted Racey. + +"Well, you got a gall, thassall I gotta say." + +"You forget you've got a gall, too, when you try to bushwhack me," +Racey reminded him. "I'm trying to play even for that." + +"Try away." + +"You seem to make it hard for me kind of," grinned Racey. + +"Of course I'd enjoy makin' it easy for you all I could," observed +Bull with sarcasm. + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say _that_," was the Dawson comment. +"But maybe it's possible to persuade you to tell me what you know." + +"It ain't." + +"Suppose I decided to leave you here." + +"You won't." Confidently. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you ain't shootin' a unarmed man." + +"Yet you think I'm the boy to kick one that's down." + +"Sometimes I change my mind," said Bull with a harsh laugh. + +"You laugh as loud as that again," said Racey, irritably, "and you'll +change somethin' besides yore mind. Don't be too trusting a jake, +Bull, not too trusting. I might surprise you yet. About that +information now--I want it." + +"If anybody's gonna make money out of Harpe I am." Thus Bull, +stubbornly. + +"I ain't aimin' to make _money_ out of Harpe. What I'm figuring to +make out of him is somethin' else again." + +"Whatsa use of lying thataway? Don't--" + +"That'll be about all," interrupted Racey. "You've called me a liar +enough for one night. I ain't got _all_ kinds of patience. You going +to tell me what I want to know?" + +"No, I ain't." + +"Yo're mistaken. You'll tell me, or you'll leave town." + +"Leave town!" + +"Yep, leave town, go away from here, far, far away. So far away that +you won't be able to blackmail Jack Harpe. See? Yore knowledge won't +be worth a whoop to you then. An' I'll find out what I want to know +from Marie." + +"She'll never tell." + +"Oh, I guess she will," said Racey, but he knew in his heart that +worming information out of Marie would not be easy. Saving his life +was one thing, but giving up information with a money value would be +quite another. The amiable Marie was certainly not working for her +health. + +"Yo're welcome to what you can get out of her," said Bull. + +"Then you'll be starting to-night. From here we'll go get yore hoss +and see you safely on yore way." + +"What'll you gimme to tell you?" inquired the desperate Bull. + +"Nothin'--not a thin dime, feller. C'mon, let's go." + +"Nun-no, not yet. I--say, suppose you lemme talk to Jack Harpe first +myself. Just you lemme get my share out of him, and I'll tell you all +you wanna know." + +"When you going to him?" Racey demanded, suspiciously. + +"To-night if I can find him. It ain't so late. But to-morrow, anyway." + +"I'll give you till sundown to-morrow night. If you ain't ready to +tell me then you'll have to drift." + +"Maybe, maybe not," sneered Bull. + +"I've said it," Racey said, shortly, rising to his feet. + +"There's no ropes on you. Skip.... Nemmine yore Winchester. She's all +right where she is. So long, Bull, so long." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE SURPRISE + + +The sun, lifting over the rim of the world, sprayed its rays through +the window and splashed with gold the face of Racey Dawson. He awoke, +and much to the profane disgust of Swing Tunstall, shook that worthy +awake immediately. + +"Aw, lemme sleep, will you?" begged Swing, with suspicious meekness, +reaching surreptitiously for a boot. "You lemme alone, that's a good +feller." + +"Get up," commanded Racey. "Get up, it's the early worm catches the +most fish. Rise and shine, Swing. Never let the sun catch you snorin'. +Besides, I can't sleep any more myself. I--" + +Wham! Swing's flung boot shaved Racey's surprised ear and smashed +against the partition. + +"You'll wake up that Starlight proprietor," Racey said, calmly, as he +picked up the boot and dropped it out of the window. "Good dog," he +continued, presumably addressing a canine friend without, "leave +Swing's nice new boot alone, will you? Don't go gnawin' at it +thataway. It ain't a bone." + +Swing, pulling on his pants, left the room, hopping physically and +mentally. Racey rested both elbows on the sill and waited happily for +his comrade to appear beneath him. + +"Shucks," he said in a tone of great surprise when Swing shot round +the corner of the hotel, "I shore thought there was a dog there +a-teasin' that boot. I could have took my Bible oath there was a +great, big, black, curly-haired feller with lots of teeth down there. +I saw him, Swing. Shore thought I did. Must 'a' been mistaken. And you +went and believed me, and got splinters in yore feet because you were +in such a hurry. Never mind, Swing, here's the other one." + +He jerked the boot in question at his friend's head, and sat down on +his cot to complete his own dressing. + +Came then the sound of a prodigious yawn from the room next door +occupied by Jack Harpe. A cot creaked. A boot was scraped along the +floor. + +"Shore must be a sound sleeper," said Racey Dawson to himself, "if he +really did just wake up." + +He buckled on his gunbelt, set his hat a-tilt on one ear, and went +down to wash his face and hands in the common basin on the wash-bench +outside the kitchen door. + +But Swing Tunstall was before him, and was disposed to make an issue +of the dropped boots. Only by his superior agility was Racey enabled +to dodge all save a few drops of a full bucket of water. + +"Djever get left! Djever get left!" singsonged Racey from the corner +of the building, and set the thumb of one hand to his nose and +twiddled opprobrious fingers at his comrade. "You wanna be a li'l bit +quicker when you go to souse me, Swing. Yo're too slow, a lot too +slow. Yep. Now I wouldn't go for to fling that pail at me, Swing. +You might bust it, and yore carelessness with crockery thataway has +already cost you ten dollars and six bits." + +This was too much for the ruffled Swing. Waving the pail he pursued +his tormentor round the hotel and into the front doorway. Racey +fled up the stairs. At the stair foot Swing gave over the chase and +returned to the washbench to resume his face-washing. Racey went on +into their room. There was in it several articles belonging to Swing +that he intended to throw out of the window at once. + +But when he had entered the room and the door was closed behind him he +did not touch any of Swing's belongings. Instead he remained standing +in the middle of the room looking thoughtfully at the floor. What had +given him pause was the fact that he had found the door ajar. And +he knew with absolute certainty that he had closed the door tightly +before he went downstairs. + +It is the vagrant straw that shows the wind's direction, and since the +attempt to bushwhack him Racey was not overlooking any straws. The +door had been ajar. Why? + +There was no closet, and from where he stood he could see under both +cots. No one lay concealed in the room. The bedclothes on Swing's cot +had not been touched. At least they were in precisely the position in +which they had been landed when thrown back by Swing's careless hand. +Racey did not believe that his own had been touched, either. But the +saddlebags and _cantenas_ lying on the floor at the head of his cot +had certainly been moved. He recalled distinctly having, the previous +evening, piled the _cantenas_ on top of the saddlebags. And now the +saddlebags were on top of the _cantenas_. + +He glanced at Swing's warbags. They had not been moved. He wondered +if Jack Harpe and the Starlight's owner were still in their rooms. He +listened intently. Hearing no sound he went out into the hall, and +knocked gently on Jack Harpe's door and called him softly by name. +Getting no reply, he lifted the latch and walked in. There were Jack +Harpe's saddlebags, _cantenas_, and rifle in a corner. A coat lay on +the tumbled blankets of the cot. Otherwise the room was empty. + +Racey went out, being careful to close the door tightly, and went to +the room of the Starlight's owner. This room, too, was empty. Racey +returned to his own room, tossed his _cantenas_ and saddlebags on the +cot, and began feverishly to paw through their contents. + +Nothing had been subtracted from or added to the heterogeneous +collection of articles in the _cantenas_. The contents of the off-side +saddlebag were in their familiar disorder. There was nothing in or +about the off-side saddlebag to arouse suspicion. Not a thing. + +He unbuckled the flap of the near-side saddlebag, and flipped it back. +Somebody had been at this saddlebag. He was sure of it. His extra +shirt, instead of being wadded into the fore-end of the saddlebag on +top of a pair of socks, had been stuffed into the hinder end on top of +a pair of underdrawers. Which underdrawers should by rights have been +at the bottom of the leather hold-all. + +But there was something else at the bottom of the saddlebag. It was +something long and hard and wrapped in the buttonless undershirt +despised and rejected by Swing. + +Racey unrolled the undershirt. His eyes stared in genuine horror at +what the unrolling revealed. It was the commonest of butcher knives +that someone's busy hand had wrapped in the undershirt. But what was +not nearly so common was that the broad, thin blade was stained with +blood. From point to haft the steel was as red as if it had been +dipped in a pail of paint. Indeed, being dry, it looked not unlike +paint. But Racey knew that it was not paint. + +"It was dry before it was wrapped in that undershirt," he said to +himself, testing the blood on the blade with a speculative fingernail. +"There ain't a mark on the undershirt. Gawd! Here it is again--the +earmark of a crime, and no crime--yet. This is getting monotonous." + +He laid down the knife, settled his hat, and methodically searched +Swing Tunstall's warbags. It turned out a needless precaution. He had +felt that it would be. But he could not afford to take any risks. +Having found nothing in Swing's warbags save his friend's personal +belongings, Racey slid the knife up his sleeve and went downstairs to +breakfast. On the way he stopped a moment at a fortuitous knothole in +the board wall. When he passed on his way the knife was no longer with +him. + +Jack Harpe was still eating when Racey eased himself into the chair at +Swing's right hand. Jack Harpe nodded to Racey and went serenely on +with his meal. Racey seized knife and fork, squared his elbows, and +began to saw at his steak. And as he chewed and swallowed and sloshed +the coffee round in his cup in order to get the full benefit of the +sugar he wondered whether it was Jack Harpe or Bull to whom he was +indebted for the butcher knife. It was one of the two, he thought. Who +else could it be? + +He believed it would be wise to spend most of his spare time in his +room. At least until he knew the inwardness of the butcher-knife +incident. It was possible that the man who had secreted the knife +would return. Racey might well be in line for other even more delicate +attentions. + +Before going up to his room Racey went to the corral. He had left his +saddle-blanket out all night, he mentioned to Swing in the hearing +of Jack Harpe. He was gone five minutes. When he returned, strangely +enough minus the saddle-blanket, he was in time to see Piney Jackson +dart round the corner of the blacksmith shop, cup his hand at his +mouth, and raise a stentorian bellow for Jake Rule. + +Piney did not wait to see whether the sheriff replied to his call. +Instead he beckoned violently to the handful of men grouped on the +sidewalk in front of the hotel. + +"C'mon over!" he bawled. "Look what I found here this morning." + +Jack Harpe and the owner of the Starlight being among those present +and responding to the invitation, Racey Dawson took a chance and went +with the rest. + +"Look at that," said Piney Jackson, indicating a humped-up individual +sitting behind the woodpile. + +Racey and the other spectators went round the woodpile and viewed the +humped-up individual. The latter was Bull, the Starlight bartender. +And he was dead, very dead. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. +He was a ghastly object. + +"Who done it?" inquired one of the fools that infest every group of +men. + +"He didn't leave any card," the blacksmith replied with sarcasm. + +The fool asked no more questions. Came then Jake Rule and Kansas +Casey. Jake, a rather heavy, well-meaning officer, old at the +business, began to sniff about for clues. Kansas Casey laid the body +down on its back and thoroughly searched the pockets of the clothing. + +"One thing," said Kansas Casey, looking up from what he had found--a +handful of silver dollars, a pocket knife, and a silver watch, +"robbery wasn't the motive." + +Racey looked sidewise from under his eyebrows at Jack Harpe. The +latter was staring down unmoved at the dead body. + +"Somebody must 'a' had a grudge against Bull," offered the fool. + +"You think so?" said Piney. "Yo're a real bright feller." + +The fool subsided a second time. + +"Lookit here, Jake," Piney continued to the sheriff's address, "you +don't have to kick my wood all over the county, do you?" + +"I'm lookin' for the knife," explained the sheriff, ceasing not to +stub his toes against the solid chunks. "Feller after doing a thing +like this gets flustrated sometimes and drops the knife. And finding +the knife might be a help in locating the feller." + +All of which seemed sufficiently logical to the bystanders. + +Racey decided he had seen enough. Besides, he wanted to camp closer to +his warbags. He should have been in his room before this, and he would +have been had he cared to make himself conspicuous by not going along +with the crowd to see what Piney Jackson had found. + +Declining Swing's earnest invitation to drink he returned to the +hotel. Swing went grouchily to the Happy Heart, wondering what was the +matter with his friend. It was not like the Racey he knew to play the +hermit. + +Once in his room Racey again explored his own and Swing's saddlebags +and _cantenas_, looked under the cots and through the bedclothes. But +he found nothing that did not belong to either himself or Swing. + +"They didn't make a second trip," he said to himself. "I'm betting +it's Jack Harpe. Shore it is, the polecat." + +Then in order to have a water-tight reason for remaining in the room +he pulled off his boots and trousers, fished a housewife from a +_cantena_, and set about repairing a rip in his trousers. It was a +perfectly good rip. He had had it a long time. What more natural that +on this particular day he should wish to sew it up? + +It was an hour later that he heard the tramp of several pairs of boots +on the stairs. He could hear the wheezing, laboured breathing of Bill +Lainey, the hotel proprietor. Climbing the stairs always bothered +Bill. The latter and his followers came along the hall and stopped in +front of Racey's door. + +"This is his room," panted Bill Lainey. + +Unceremoniously the latch was lifted. A man entered. The man was Jake +Rule, the sheriff of Fort Creek County. He was followed by Kansas +Casey, his deputy. + +Jake looked serious. But Kansas was smiling as he closed the door +behind him. Then he opened it quickly and thrust his head into the +hall. + +"No need of you, Bill," he said. + +"Aw right," said Bill, aggrievedly, and forthwith shuffled away. + +Kansas withdrew his head and nodded to Jake Rule. "He's gone," he +said. + +Racey Dawson, sitting crosslegged on his cot and plying his needle in +most workmanlike fashion, grinned comfortably at the two officers. +Lord, how glad he was he had found that knife! If he hadn't-- + +"Sidown, gents," invited Racey. "There's two chairs, or you can have +Swing's cot if you like." + +Jake Rule shook his head. "We don't wanna sit down, Racey," he said. +"We got a li'l business with you, maybe." + +"Maybe? Then you ain't shore about it?" + +"Not unless yo're willing. You see, Dolan's drunk to-day, and of +course we can't get a warrant till he's sober." + +"A warrant? For me?" + +"Not yet," said Jake Rule. "Only a search warrant--first. But of +course if you ain't willing we can't even touch anything." + +"Still, Racey," put in Kansas Casey, smoothly, "if you could see yore +way to letting us go through yore warbags, yores and Swing's, it would +be a great help, and we'd remember it--after." + +"Yeah, we shore would," declared the sheriff. "You save us trouble +now, Racey, and I'll guarantee to make you almighty comfortable in the +calaboose. You won't have nothing to complain of. Not a thing." + +Racey laughed cheerily. "Got me in jail already, have you?" he +chuckled. "You'll have me hung next." + +"Oh, they's quite some formalities to go through before _that_ +happens," declared the sheriff, seriously. + +"I'm glad," drawled Racey. "I thought maybe you were fixing to take me +right out and string me up before dinner. Want to search our stuff, +huh? Hop to it. Swing ain't here, but I'll give you permission for +him. He won't mind." + +Jake and Kansas went at the warbags like terriers digging out a +badger. Racey leaned on his elbow and watched them. What luck that the +door had been ajar and that he had noticed it! If it had not been a +life-and-death matter he would have laughed aloud. + +At the end of twenty minutes the officers stood up. They had gone +through everything in the room, including the cots. Kansas Casey wore +a pleased smile. Jake Rule looked disappointed. + +"Don't look so glum, Jake," urged Racey. "Is it a fair question to ask +what yo're hunting for?" + +"The knife," he said, shortly. "The knife that cut Bull's throat." + +"The knife, huh?" remarked Racey as if to himself. "So yo're +suspectin' me of wiping out Bull, are you?" + +"I never did," said Kansas, promptly. "I know you. You ain't that +kind." + +Jake looked reproachfully at his deputy. "You never can tall, Racey," +he said, turning to the puncher. "I've got so myself I don't trust +nobody no more." + +"Was this here yore own idea," pursued Racey, "or did somebody sic you +onto me?" + +Jake made no immediate answer. It was obvious that he was of two minds +whether to speak or not. + +"Why not tell him?" suggested Kansas. "What's the odds?" + +At this Jake took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it +to Racey. + +"I found this lying on the floor of my office when I come back after +attending to Bull," was his explanation. + +There were words printed on the slip of paper. They read: + +Look in Racey Dawson's room for what killed Bull. + +The communication was unsigned. + +Racey handed it back to Jake Rule. "Got any idea who put it in yore +office?" he asked. + +Jake shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "The window was open. Anybody +passing could 'a' throwed it in." + +"You satisfied now, Jake, or--" Racey did not complete the sentence. + +"Oh, I'm satisfied you didn't do it," replied the sheriff, "if that's +what you mean. But--the man who wrote this here _joke_!" + +As he spoke he tore the note in two, dropped the pieces on the floor, +and stamped out of the room. Kansas Casey looked over his shoulder as +he followed in the wake of his superior. + +He saw Racey Dawson picking up the two pieces of the note. Racey's +mouth was a grim, uncompromising line. + +"If Racey ever finds out who wrote that," thought Kansas to himself, +pulling the door shut, "hell will shore pop. And I hope it does." + +For he liked Racey Dawson, did Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +FIRE! FIRE! + + +"Why didn't you tell me at breakfast?" demanded Swing Tunstall. + +"And give it away to Jack Harpe!" said scornful Racey. "Shore, that +would 'a' been a bright thing to do now, wouldn't it?" + +"What didja do with the knife?" + +"Dropped it through a knothole in the wall. The only way they'll ever +get hold of it is by tearing the building down." + +"Jack Harpe, if he _is_ the feller, will know you found it and try +again." + +"Shore. We can't help that. One thing, we'll know before the day is +over whether it is Jack Harpe or not." + +"How?" + +"Remember me this morning telling you how I'd left my saddle-blanket +out all night and then going out in the corral for the same. I said it +so Jack could hear me. He did hear me, and he watched me go. He saw +me go out round the corral, and he saw me come back without the +saddle-blanket. Now anybody'd know I wouldn't leave my saddle-blanket +out behind the corral, would I?" + +"Not likely." + +"But a feller who'd just found a knife with blood on it in his warbags +might go out back of the corral to lose the knife, mightn't he?" + +"He might." + +"Well, that's what I did. Naturally, having already lost the knife +down through the knothole I couldn't lose her again. But I did the +best I could. I dug in the ground with a sharp stick, and I made a +li'l hole like, and I filled her in again, and tramped her all down +flat, and sort of half smoothed down the roughed-up ground like I was +trying to hide my tracks and what I'd been doing. Then I came away. + +"Now I'm betting that if Jack Harpe is the lad tucked away that knife +in my warbags he'll go skirmishing out behind the corral to see what I +was really doing." + +"Maybe." Doubtfully. + +"There ain't any maybe if he's the man turned the trick. And from +where we're a-laying under this wagon we can see the back of the +corral plain as--There he comes now." + +The posts of the corral were less than a hundred yards from where +Racey and Swing lay beneath a pole-propped freight wagon. From the +wagon, which was standing beyond the stage company's corral, the +ground sloped gently to the hotel corral. Racey had taken the +precaution to mask their position with a cedar bush. + +Hatless he peered through the branches at the man quartering the +ground behind the hotel corral. + +"He's getting close to where I made that hole," he told Swing. "Now +he's found it," he resumed as the man dropped on his knees. "Jack +Harpe all along. Ain't he the humoursome codger?" + +"He shore couldn't 'a' dug up that hole already," declared Swing when +Jack Harpe jumped to his feet after a sojourn on his knees of possibly +thirty seconds' duration. + +"No," assented Racey, puzzled. "He couldn't. There's an odd number," +he added, as Jack Harpe pelted back at a brisk trot over the way he +had come. "Le's not go just yet, Swing. I have a feeling." + +He was glad of this feeling when ten minutes later Jack Harpe returned +with Jake Rule and Kansas Casey. The latter carried a shovel. The +three men clustered round the spot where Racey had dug his hole. +Kansas Casey set his foot on the shovel and drove it into the ground. +Racey chuckled at the pleasant sight. What must inevitably follow +would be even pleasanter. + +The deputy sheriff made the dirt fly for six minutes. Then he threw +down the shovel, pushed back his hat, and wiped his face on his +sleeve. He spoke, but his language was unintelligible. Jack Harpe said +something and picked up the shovel. He began to dig. He cast the earth +about for possibly five minutes. + +"Ain't he the prairie-dog, huh?" Racey demanded, jabbing his comrade +in the ribs with stiffened thumb. "Just watch him scratch gravel." + +Suddenly Jake Rule and Kansas Casey turned their backs on the +frantically labouring Jack Harpe and walked away. Jack Harpe watched +them, threw up a few more half-hearted shovelfuls, and then slammed +the implement to earth with a clatter, hitched up his pants, and +strode hurriedly after the officers. + +"That proves it, I guess," said Swing. + +"Naturally. She's enough for us, anyhow.---- it to ----!" + +"Whatsa matter?" inquired Swing, surprised at his friend's vehemence. + +"Whatsa matter? Whatsa matter? Everythin's the matter. I just happened +to think that now Bull won't be able to tell me what he was going to +to-night." + +"That'so. Can't you ask the girl?" + +"I can, but I ain't shore it'll do any good. Marie ain't the kind that +blats all she knows just to hear herself talk. If she wants to tell me +she will. If she don't want to, she won't. Bull was my one best bet." + +"What's that?" cried Swing, raising himself on an elbow. + +"That" was the noise of a tumult in Farewell Main Street. There were +shouts and yells and screams. Above all, screams. Racey and Swing +hurried to the street. When they reached it the shouts and yells had +subsided, but the screams had not. If anything they were louder than +before. They issued from the mouth of Marie, whom Jake Rule, Kansas +Casey, and four other men were taking to the calaboose. They were +doing their duty as gently as possible, and Marie was making it +as difficult for them as possible. She was as mad as a teased +rattlesnake, and not a man of her six captors but bore the marks of +fingernails, or teeth, or heels. + +She had, it appeared, attacked without warning and with a derringer, +Jack Harpe as he was walking peacefully along the sidewalk in front +of the Starlight. Only by good luck and a loose board that had turned +under the girl's foot as she fired had Mr. Harpe been preserved from +sudden death. + +"That's shore tough," Racey said to their informant. "I'm goin' right +away now and get me a hammer and some nails and fix that loose board." + +"You better not let Jack Harpe hear you say that," cautioned the +other. + +"If you want something to do, suppose now you tell him," was Racey's +instant suggestion. + +Racey's tone was light, but his stare was hard. The other man went +away. + +"Fire! Fire!" shrilled young Sam Brown Galloway, bouncing out of his +father's store, and jumping up and down in the middle of Main Street. +"The jail's afire! The jail's afire!" + +Men added their shouts to his childish squalls and ran toward the +jail. Racey and Swing trundled along the sidewalk together. "She's +afire, all right," said Racey. "Lookit the smoke siftin' through the +window at the corner." + +The smoke was followed by a vicious lash of flame that whipped up the +side of the building and set the eaves alight. The glass of another +window fell through the bars with a tinkle. A billow of smoke rushed +forth. Smoke was seeping through cracks at the back of the building. + +"My Gawd!" exclaimed Racey, as a shriek rent the air. "The girl's in +there!" + +He had for the moment forgotten that Marie was incarcerated in the +jail. But Kansas Casey had not forgotten. Racey, having picked up a +handy axe, raced round to the back only to find the deputy unlocking +the back door. A burst of smoke as he flung open the door assailed +their lungs. Choking, holding their breath, both men dashed into the +jail. Kansas unlocked the girl's cell. + +"You shore took yore time about comin'," drawled Marie. "I didn't know +but what I'd be burned up with the rest of the jail. You big lummox! +You don't have to bust my wrist, do you? Go easy, or I'll claw yore +face off!" + +Once outside they were immediately surrounded by the townsfolk. Most +of them were laughing. But Jake Rule was not laughing. + +"Good joke on you, Jake," grinned a friend. "Burned herself out on +you, didn't she?" + +"You can't keep a good man down," shouted another. + +"Never let the baby play with matches," advised a third. + +"Get pails, gents!" shouted Rule. "We gotta put it out. Where's a +pail? Who--" + +"Aw, let 'er burn," said Galloway. "Hownell you gonna put it out? +She's all blazin' inside. You couldn't put it out with Shoshone +Falls." + +"The wind's blowin' away from town," contributed Mike Flynn. "Nothin' +else'll catch. Besides, we been needing a new calaboose for a long +time. You done us a better turn than you think, Marie." + +"If you say I set the jail afire, Mike Flynn," cried Marie, "Yo're a +liar by the clock." + +"You set it afire," said the sheriff, sternly. "You'll find it a +serious business setting a jail afire." + +"Prove I done it, then!" squalled Marie. "Prove it, you slab-sided +hunk! Yah, you can't prove it, and you know it!" + +To this the sheriff made no reply. + +"We gotta put her somewhere till the Judge gets sober," he said, +hurriedly. "Guess we'll put her in yore back room, Mike." + +"Guess you won't," countered Mike. "They ain't any insurance on my +place, and I ain't taking no chances, not a chance." + +"There's the hotel," suggested Kansas Casey. + +"You don't use my hotel for no calaboose," squawked Bill Lainey. +"Nawsir. Not much. You put her in yore own house, Jake. Then if she +sets you afire, it's your own fault. Yeah." + +Jake Rule scratched his head. It was patent that he did not quite know +what to do. Came then Dolan, the local justice of the peace. Dolan's +hair was plastered well over his ears and forehead. Dolan was pale +yellow of countenance and breathed strongly through his nose. He +looked not a little sick. He pawed a way through the crowd and cast a +bilious glance at Marie. + +He inquired of Jake Rule as to the trouble and its cause. On being +told he convened court on the spot. Judge Dolan agreed with Mike +Flynn that the burning of the jail was a trivial matter requiring no +official attention. For was not Dolan's brother-in-law a carpenter and +would undoubtedly be given the contract for a new jail. Quite so. + +"You can't prove anything about this jail-burning," he told Jake Rule +and the assembled multitude, "but this assault on Jack Harpe is a cat +with another tail. It was a lawless act and hadn't oughta happened. +Marie, yo're a citizen of Farewell, and you'd oughta take an interest +in the community instead of surging out and trying to massacre a +visitor in our midst, a visitor who's figuring on settlin' hereabouts, +I understand. Gawd knows we need all the inhabitants we can get, and +it's just such tricks as yores, Marie, that discourages immigration." + +Here Judge Dolan frowned upon Marie and thumped the palm of his hand +with a bony fist. Marie stood first on one leg and then on the other +and hung her head down. Since her raving outburst at the time of her +arrest she had cooled considerably. It was evident that she was now +trying to make the best of a bad business. + +"Marie," resumed Judge Dolan, and cleared his throat importantly, "why +did you shoot at Mr. Jack Harpe?" + +"He insulted me," Marie replied without a quiver. + +"I ain't ever said a word to her," countered Jack Harpe. "I don't even +know the girl." + +The judge turned back to Marie. "Have you any witnesses to this +insult?" he queried. + +"Nary a witness." Marie shook her brown head. + +"Y' oughta have a witness. She's yore word against his. Where did this +insult take place?" + +"At my shack. He come there early this mornin'." + +"That's a lie!" boomed Jack Harpe. + +"Which will be about all from you!" snapped Judge Dolan, vigorously +pounding his palm. + +"What did he say to you?" was the judge's next question. + +"I'd rather not tell," hedged Marie. + +"Well, of course, you don't have to answer," said the judge, +gallantly. "But alla same, Marie, you hadn't oughta used a gun on him. +It--it ain't ladylike. Nawsir. Don't you do it again or I'll send you +to Piegan City. Ten dollars or ten days." + +"What?" Thus Jack Harpe, astonished beyond measure. + +"Ten dollars or ten days," repeated Judge Dolan. "Taking a shot at you +is worth ten dollars but no more. It don't make any difference whether +you came here to invest money or not, you wanna go slow round the +women." + +"But I didn't even say howdy to her," protested Jack Harpe. + +"She says different. You leave her alone." + +Public opinion, which at first had rather favoured Jack Harpe, now +frowned upon him. He shouldn't have insulted the girl. No, sir, he had +no business doing that. Be a good thing if he was arrested for it, +perhaps. What a virtuous thing is public opinion. + +"I ain't got a nickel, Judge," said Marie. "You'll have to trust me +for it till the end of the week." + +"I'll pay her fine," nipped in Racey, glad of an opportunity to annoy +Jack Harpe. "Here y' are, Judge. Ten dollars, you said." + +It was a few minutes after he had eaten dinner that Racey Dawson +presented himself at the door of Kansas Casey's shack. The door was +open. Racey stood in the doorway and leaned the shovel against the +wall of the room. + +"You forgot yore shovel, Kansas," he said, gently, "or Jack Harpe did. +Same thing, and here it is." + +Kansas had the grace to look a trifle shamefaced. "Somebody said you'd +buried that knife--" he began, and stopped. + +"Yep, I know, Jack Harpe," smiled Racey. "Li'l Bright Eyes is shore a +friend of mine. Only I wouldn't bank too strong on what he says about +me." + +"I ain't," denied the deputy. + +"Another thing, Kansas," drawled Racey, "did you ever stop to think +how come he knowed so much about that knife? And did you ask him if he +was the gent left that paper in Jake's office? And going on from that +did you ask him why he didn't come out flat footed at first and say +what he thought he knowed instead of waiting till after you'd searched +my room? You don't have to answer, Kansas, only if I was you I'd think +it over, I'd think it over plenty. So long." + +From the house of Casey he went to the shack of Marie. He found the +girl cooking her dinner quite as if attempts at murder, dead men, +and jailburning were matters of small moment. But if her manner +was placid, her eyes were not. They were bright and hard, and they +flickered stormily upon him when she lifted her gaze from the pan of +frying potatoes and saw who it was standing in the doorway. + +"I'm obliged to you," she said, calmly, "for payin' my fine. You ran +away so quick this mornin' you didn't gimme any chance to thank you. +I'll pay you back soon's I get paid come Saturday." + +Racey stared reproachfully. He shifted his weight from one +uncomfortable foot to the other. "I didn't come here about the fine," +he told her. "I--" He stopped, uncertain whether to continue or not. + +"If you didn't come about the fine it must be something else +important," said she, insultingly. "I shore oughta be set up, I +suppose. So far it's always been me that's had to make all the moves." + +"'Moves?'" repeated Racey, frankly puzzled. + +"Moves," she mimicked. "Didn't you ever play checkers? Oh, nemmine, +nemmine! Don't take it to heart. I don't mean nothin'. Never did. +C'mon in an' set. Take a chair. That one. What do you want? Down +feller, down!" + +The command was called forth by the violent entry of the yellow dog +which, remembering Racey as a friend, flung itself upon him with +whines and tail-waggings. + +"He's all right," said Racey, rubbing the rough head. "I just thought +I'd ask you what you knew about Jack Harpe." + +Marie's narrowed eyes turned dark with suspicion. "Whadda you know +about me an' Jack Harpe?" she demanded. + +"Not as much as I'd like to know," was his frank reply. + +"I ain't talkin'." Shortly. + +"Now, lookit here--" he began, wheedlingly. + +She shook her head at him. "S'no use. I don't tell everything I know." + +"Then you do know something about Jack Harpe?" + +"I didn't say I did." + +"You didn't. But--" + +"That's what the goat done to the stone wall. Look out you don't bust +yore horns, too." + +"Meanin'?" + +"Meanin' you'll knock 'em off short before you get anything out o' me +I don't want to tell you. And I tell you flat I ain't talkin' over +Jack Harpe with you." + +"Scared to?" he hazarded, boldly. + +"You can give it any name you like. Pull up a chair. Dinner's most +ready. They's enough for two." + +Despite the fact that he had just dined at the hotel he accepted her +invitation in the hope that she could be persuaded to talk. And after +dinner he smoked several cigarettes with her--still hoping. Finally, +finding that nothing he could say was of any avail to move her, he +took up his hat and departed. + +"Don't go away mad," she called after him. + +"I ain't," he denied, and went on, her mocking laughter ringing in his +ears. + +After Racey was gone out of sight Marie turned back into her little +house. There was no laughter on her lips or in her eyes as she sat +down in a chair beside the table and stared across it at the chair in +which Racey had been sitting. + +"He's a nice boy," she whispered under her breath, after a time. "I +wish--I wish--" + +But what it was she wished it is impossible to relate, for, instead of +completing the sentence, she hid her face in her hands and began to +cry. + +Early next morning Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall rode out of town by +the Marysville trail. They were bound for the Bar S and a job. + + * * * * * + +"What have you been drinkin', Racey?" demanded Mr. Saltoun, winking at +his son-in-law and foreman, Tom Loudon. + +The latter did not return the wink. He kept a sober gaze fastened on +Racey Dawson. + +Racey was staring at Mr. Saltoun. His eyes began to narrow. "Meanin'?" +he drawled. + +"Now don't go crawlin' round huntin' offense where none's meant," +advised Mr. Saltoun. "But you know how it is yoreself, Racey. Any gent +who gets so full he can't pick out his own hoss, and goes weaving off +on somebody else's is liable to make mistakes other ways. You gotta +admit it's possible." + +The slight tinge of red underlying Racey's heavy coat of tan +acknowledged the corn. "It's possible," he admitted. + +Mr. Saltoun saw his advantage and seized it. "S'pose now this is +another mistake?" + +"Tell you what I'll do," said Racey. "You said you had jobs for a +couple of handsome young fellers like us. Aw right. We go to work. We +ride for you six months for nothing." + +"Huh?" Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon stared their astonishment. + +"Oh, the cat's got more of a tail than that," said Racey. "You don't +pay us a nickel for those six months _provided_ what I said will +happen, don't happen. If it does happen like I say, you pay each of us +two hundred large round simoleons per each and every month." + +"Come again," said Mr. Saltoun, wrinkling his forehead. + +Racey came again as requested. + +"Six months is a long time" frowned Mr. Saltoun. "If I lose--" + +"But I dunno what I'm talkin' about," pointed out Racey. "I make +mistakes, you know that. And you were so shore nothin' was gonna +happen. Are you still shore?" + +"Well--" hesitated Mr. Saltoun. + +"If you take us up you stand to be in the wages of two punchers for +six months. That's four hundred and eighty dollars. Almost five +hundred dollars. Of course, it's a chance. What ain't, I'd like to +know? But yo're so shore she's gonna keep on come-day-go-day like +always, that I'd oughta have odds." + +"Five to one," mused Mr. Saltoun, pulling at the ends of his gray +mustache. + +"And fair enough--seeing that nothing is going to happen." + +"I wouldn't do it," put in Tom Loudon. "These trick bets are unlucky." + +"Oh, I dunno," said Mr. Saltoun, running true to form in that he +rarely took kindly to advice. "Looks like a good chance to get six +months' work out of two men for nothing." + +"Looks like a good chance to lose twenty-four hundred dollars," +exclaimed Tom Loudon, wrathfully. + +"My Gawd, Tom," said Mr. Saltoun, cocking a grizzled eyebrow, "you +don't mean to tell me you think they's any chance a-tall of Racey's +winning this bet, do you?" + +"They's just about ten times more chance for him to win than to lose." + +"Tom, do you ever see any li'l pink lizards with blue tails an' red +feet? I hear that's a sign, too." + +"Aw right, have it yore own way," said Tom Loudon with every symptom +of disgust. "Only don't say I didn't warn you." + +"Gawd, Tom, y' old wet blanket, yo're always a-warnin' me. I never see +such a feller." + +"Aw right, I said. Aw right. But when yo're a-writin' out a check +for twenty-four hundred dollars, just remember how I always told you +somebody was gonna horn in here some day and glom half the range." + +"Laugh," said Mr. Saltoun. "Yo're shore the jokin'est feller, Tom +Loudon. Even Racey and his partner are laughing." + +"I should think they would," Tom Loudon returned, savagely. "I'd +laugh, too, if I stood to win twenty-four hundred in six months." + +Mr. Saltoun shook a whimsical head at Racey Dawson. "Whatsa use?" he +asked, sorrowfully. "Whatsa use?" + + * * * * * + +"You was too easy with him," declared Swing, as he and Racey were +unsaddling at the Bar S corral. "You could 'a' stuck him for three +hundred a month just as easy." + +Racey shook a decided head. "No, there's a limit even to Old Salt's +stubbornness. I know him better'n you do ... Aw, what you kicking +about? We've got enough coin in our overalls to last out six months if +you don't drink too much." + +"If I don't drink too much, hey! If _I_ don't drink too much! Which I +like that. Who's--" + +"Racey," interrupted Tom Loudon, who had approached unperceived, "this +is a fine way to treat yore friends." + +"What's bitin' you?" + +"You hadn't oughta take advantage of Old Salt thisaway." + +"And why not? What's wrong with the bet? Fair bet. Leave it to +anybody." + +"Shore, shore, but alla same, Racey, you'd oughta gone a li'l easy. +Twenty-four hundred dollars--" + +"What's the dif? You won't have to pay it." + +"'Tsall right, but I didn't think it of you, damfi did. You know how +Old Salt is--always certain shore he's right, and you took advantage." + +"Shore I took advantage," Racey acquiesced, amiably. "I got sense, I +have. Alla same, he'd never 'a' taken me up if you hadn't slipped in +yore li'l piece of advice for him not to. That was a bad play, Tom. +You might know he'd go dead against you. But I ain't complaining, not +me. Nor Swing ain't, either. We'll thank you for yore helping hand to +our dying day." + +"I guess you will," Tom Loudon said, ruefully. "When you get through +here, Racey, you and Swing come on over to the wagon shed. I wanna +sift through this Jack Harpe business once more." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE BAR S + + + "_Kind friends, you must pity my horrible tale. + I'm an object of sorrow, I'm looking quite stale. + I gone up my trade selling Pink's Patent Pills + To go hunting gold in the dreary Black Hills_." + +"I wish to Gawd you'd stayed there," said Jimmie, the Bar S cook, +pausing in his march past to poke his head in at the bunkhouse +doorway. "Honest, Racey, don't you ever get tired of yell-bellerin' +thisaway?" + +Racey Dawson, standing in front of the mirror, ceased not to adjust +his necktie. The mirror was small and he was not, and it was only +by dint of much wriggling that he was succeeding in his purpose. To +Jimmie and his question he paid absolutely no attention. + + "_Don't go away, stay at home if you can, + Stay away from that city, they call it Cheyenne_." + +"Seemin'ly he don't get tired," Jimmie answered the question for +himself. "And what's more, he don't ever get tired of dandy-floppin' +himself all up like King Solomon's pet pony. Yup," Jimmie continued +with enthusiasm, addressing the world at large, "I can remember when +Racey used to ride for the 88 and the Cross-in-a-box how he was a +regular two-legged human being. A handkerchief round his neck was good +enough for him _always_. If his pants had a rip in 'em anywheres, or +they was buttons off his vest, or his shirt was tore, did it matter? +No, it didn't matter. It didn't matter a-tall. But now he's gotta buy +new pants if his old ones is tore, and a new shirt besides, and he +sews the buttons on his vest, and he's took to wearin' a necktie. A +_necktie_!" + +Jimmie, words failing him for the moment, paused and hooked one foot +comfortably behind the other. He leaned hipshot against the doorjamb, +and spat accurately through a knothole in the bunkhouse floor. + +"Yop," he went on, ramming his quid into the angle of his jaw, "and +he's always admiring himself in the mirror, Racey is. He pats his hair +down, after partin' it and usin' enough goose-grease on it to keep +forty guns from rusting for ten years, and he shines his boots with +blacking, _my_ stove-blacking, the rustling scoundrel. Scrouge +southwest a li'l more, Racey, and look at yore chin. They's a li'l +speck of dust on it. Oh, me, oh, my! Li'l sweetheart will have to wash +his face again. Who is she?" + +Still Racey did not deign to reply. He placed, removed, and replaced a +garnet stickpin in the necktie a dozen times handrunning. Jimmie beat +the long roll with his knuckles on the bottom of the frying-pan, and +winked at the broad back of Racey Dawson. + +"I hear they's a new hasher at Bill Lainey's hotel," pursued the +indefatigable Jimmie. "Tim Page told me she only weighed three hundred +pounds without her shoes. It ain't her! Don't tell me it's her! You +ain't, are you, Racey?" + +Racey, pivoting on a spurred heel, faced Jimmie, stuck his arms +akimbo, and spoke: + +"Not mentioning any names, of course, but there's some people round +here got an awful lot to say. Which if a gent was to say their tongues +are hung in the middle he'd be only tellin' half the truth. Not that +you ain't popular with me, James. You are. I think the world of you. +How can I help it when you remind me all the time of my aunt's pet +parrot in yore face and language. Except you ain't the right colour. +If yore whiskers had only grown out green." + +"We're forgetting what we was talkin' about," tucked in Jimmie the +cook, smiling sweetly. "The lady, Racey. Who is she?" + +"James," said Racey, his smile matching that of the cook, "they's +something about you to-day, something I don't like. I dunno the name +for it exactly. But if you'll step inside the bunkhouse a minute, I'll +show you what I mean. I'll show you in two shakes." + +Jimmie shook a wise head and backed out into the open. "Not while I +got my health. You come out here and show me." + +"Oh, I ain't gonna play any tricks on you," protested Racey Dawson. + +"You bet you ain't," Jimmie concurred, warmly. "Not by severial +jugfuls. I--" He broke off, cocking a listening ear. + +"Yeah," grinned Racey, "you hear a noise in the cook-shack, huh? I +_thought_ I saw the Kid slide past in the lookin'-glass while you were +standing in the doorway." + +"And you never told me!" squalled Jimmie, speeding toward his beloved +place of business. + +He reached it rather late. When he entered by the doorway the Kid, a +pie in each hand, was disappearing through a back window. + +"Did you ever get left!" tossed back the Kid as the flung frying-pan +buzzed past his ear.--"Now see what you done," he continued, skipping +safely out of range; "dented yore nice new frypan all up. You +oughtn'ta done that, Jimmie. Fry-pans cost money. Some day, if you +ain't careful, you'll break something, you and yore temper." + +"Them's the Old Man's pies," declared Jimmie, leaning over the +window-sill and shaking an indignant fist at the Kid. "You bring 'em +back, you hear?" + +"They ain't, and I won't, and I do," was the brisk answer. "Yo're +making a big mistake, Jimmie boy, if you think they're _his_ pies. +Don't you s'pose I know he's gone to Piegan City, and he won't be back +for a coupla weeks? And don't you s'pose I know them pies would be too +stale for him to eat by the time he got back? You must take me for a +fool, Jimmie. And you lied to me, Jimmie, you lied. Just for that I'll +keep these pies, I'll keep 'em and eat 'em no matter how big a pain +I get, and let this be a lesson to you. Hey, Racey, Jimmie gimme a +coupla pies! C'mon out and we'll eat 'em where Jimmie can watch us." + +"If I catch you--" began the angry Jimmie. + +"But you ain't gonna catch me," tantalized the Kid. "C'mon, Racey, +hurry up." + +Racey came slowly and with dignity. + +The Kid stared. "Well, I bedam! Where are you goin'?" + +"Ride, just a li'l ride," was the vague reply. + +"Is that all? I thought it was a funeral or a wedding or something, +an' I was wonderin'. Just a li'l ride, huh? And where might you be +a-going to ride to, if I may make so bold as to ask?" + +"You can ask, of course," replied Racey, shrugging his wide shoulders +and spreading his hands after the fashion of Telescope Laguerre. + +"But that ain't sayin' he'll tell you," put in Jimmie. "Bet you he's +gonna go see that new hasher of Bill Lainey's." + +"No," denied the Kid, judicially, "not that lady. Even Racey's arms +ain't long enough to reach round her. I--_Say_, one of these pies is a +_raisin_ pie!" + +"You can gimme that one," suggested Racey Dawson, glad of an +opportunity to change the subject. + +The Kid, his teeth sunk in the raisin pie, shook a decisive head and +mumbled unintelligibly. He thrust the other pie toward his friend. + +Racey Dawson rode away westward munching pie. And it was a very good +pie, and would have brought credit to any cook. He regretfully ate the +last crumb, and rolled a cigarette. He felt fairly full and at utter +peace with the world. Why not? Wasn't it a good old world, and a +mighty friendly world despite the Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses that +infested it? I should say so. + +Racey Dawson inhaled luxuriously, pushed back his wide hat, and let +the breeze ruffle his brown hair. He rubbed the back of one hand +across his straight eyebrows, and stared across the range toward +the distant hills that marked his goal. Which goal was the old C Y +ranch-house at Moccasin Spring on Soogan Creek, where lived the Dales +and their daughter Molly. + +And as he looked at the hill and bethought him of what lay beyond it, +he drew a Winchester from the scabbard under his left leg and made +sure that he had not forgotten to load it. For Racey laboured under no +delusion as to the danger that menaced not only his own existence but +that of his friend Swing. He knew that their lives hung by a thread, +and a thin thread at that. They were but two against many, and +their position had not been aided by the string of uneventful days +succeeding their advent at the Bar S. For their enemies were taking +their time in the launching of their enterprise. And Racey had not +expected this. It threw him off his balance somewhat. Certainly it +worried him. + +It was not humanly possible that Jack Harpe could be aware that Old +Man Saltoun did not believe what Racey had told him. But he was acting +as if he knew. Perhaps he was waiting till Nebraska Jones should be +entirely well of his wound. That was possible, but not probable. Jack +Harpe had not impressed Racey as a man who would allow his plans to +be indefinitely held up for such a cause. There was no telling +when Nebraska would be up and about. His recovery, thanks to past +dissipations, had been exceedingly slow. + +Again, perhaps the delay might be merely a detail of the plan Fat +Jakey Pooley mentioned in his letter to Luke Tweezy, or it might be +due to the more-than-watchful care the Dales and Morgans were taking +of old Mr. Dale. Wherever the old gentleman went, some one of his +relations went with him. Certainly no ill-wisher had been able to +approach Mr. Dale (since his spree at McFluke's) at any time. Mr. +Dale, to all intents and purposes, was impossible to isolate. + +At any rate, whatever the reason, the fact remained that Harpe had not +moved and showed no signs of moving. Mr. Saltoun, every time he met +Racey, took special pains to ask his puncher how much twice six times +two hundred was. Then Mr. Saltoun, without waiting for an answer, +would walk off slapping his leg and cackling with laughter. Even Tom +London was beginning to take the view that perhaps his father-in-law +was in the right, after all. + +"You been here near two months now, Racey," he had said that very +morning, "and they ain't anything happened yet." + +"I've got four months to go," Racey had replied with a placidity he +did not feel. + +Now as he rode, his eyes closely scanning the various places in the +landscape providing good cover for possible bushwhackers, he recalled +what Loudon had said. + +"I'll show him all the happenstances he wants to see before I'm +through," he said, aloud. "Something's gonna happen. Something's got +to happen. Jack Harpe won't let this slide. Not by a jugful." + +The words were confident enough, but they were words that he had been +in the habit of repeating to himself nearly every day for some time. +Perhaps they had lost some of their force. Perhaps-- + +"Twelve hundred dollars," mused Racey. "And the same for Swing. Six +months' work for--Hell, it can't turn out different! I know it can't. +We'll show 'em all yet, won't we, Cuter old settler?" + +Cuter old settler waggled his ears. He was a companionable horse, +never kicked human beings, and bucked but seldom. + +"Yep," continued Racey, sitting back against the cantle, "she's a long +creek that don't bend some'ers or other." + +And then the creek that was his flow of thought shot round a bend into +the broad and sparkling reaches of a much pleasanter subject than the +one that had to do with Harpes and Tweezys and Joneses. After a time +he came to where the pleasanter subject, on her knees, was +weeding among the flowers that grew tidily round Moccasin Spring. +Baby-blue-eyes, low and lovely, cuddled down between tall columbines +and orange wall-flowers. Side by side with the pink geranium of +old-fashioned gardens the wild geranium nodded its lavender blooms in +perfect harmony. + +The subject, black-haired Molly Dale, rested the point of her +hand-fork between two rows of ragged sailors and Johnny-jump-ups and +lifted a pair of the clearest, softest blue eyes in the world in +greeting to Racey Dawson. + +"This is a fine time for you to be traipsing in," she told him, with +a smile that revealed a deep dimple in each cheek. "I thought you +promised to help me weed my garden to-day." + +"I did," he returned, humbly, dismounting and sliding the reins over +Cuter's neck and head, "but you know how it is Sunday mornin's, Molly. +There's a lot to do round the ranch sometimes. Now, this mornin'--" + +"I'll bet," she interrupted, smoothing out the smile and frowning as +severely as she was able. "I'd just tell a man that, I would. I would, +indeed. I'm sure it must have taken you at least half-an-hour to shine +those boots. Half-an-hour! More likely an hour. Why, I can see my face +in them." + +"And a very pretty face, too," said Racey, rising to the occasion. "If +I owned that face I'd never stop looking at it myself. I mean--" He +floundered, aghast at his own temerity. + +But the lady smiled. "That'll do," she cautioned him. "Don't try to +flirt with me. I won't have it." + +"I ain't--" he began, and stopped. + +Molly Dale continued to look at him inquiringly. But as he gave no +evidence of completing the sentence, she lowered her gaze and resumed +her weeding. Racey thought to have glimpsed a disappointed look in her +eyes as she dropped her chin, but he could not be certain. Probably he +had been mistaken. Why should she be disappointed? Why, indeed? + +"Start in on that bed, Racey," she directed, nodding her head toward +the columbines and wall-flowers. "There's some of that miserable +pusley inching in on the baby-blue-eyes and they're such tiny things +it doesn't take much to kill them. And Lord knows I had a hard enough +job persuading 'em to grow in the first place." + +"Wild things never cotton to living inside a fence," he told her. +"They're like Injuns thataway--put 'em in a house and they don't do so +well." + +"Shucks, look at the Rainbow." + +"Half-breed. There's the difference, and besides the Rainbow ain't +lived in a house since she left the convent. She lives in a tepee same +as her uncle and aunties." + +"I don't care," defended Molly, straightening on her knees to survey +her garden. "Every single plant in my garden except the pink geraniums +is wild. Look at those thimble-berry bushes round the spring, and the +blue camass along the brook, and the squaw bushes round the house, +and the squaw grass and pussy paws back of the clothes-lines. Some I +transplanted, the rest I grew from seeds. And where will you find a +better-looking garden?" + +Racey sagged back on his heels and stared critically about him. + +"Yeah," he drawled, nodding a slow head, "they do look pretty good. +Got to give you lots of credit. But those squaw bushes now--" He broke +off, grinning. + +"Oh, of course, you provoking thing!" cried she, irately. "Might know +you'd pick on those squaw bushes. It is a mite too shady for 'em +where they are, but still they're doing pretty well, considering. I'm +satisfied--What's that?" + +"That" was a horseman appearing suddenly among the cottonwoods that +belted with a scattering grove the garden and the spring. The horseman +was Lanpher, manager of the 88 ranch. He was followed by another +rider, a lean, swarthy individual with a smooth-shaven, saturnine +face. Racey knew the latter by sight and reputation. The man was one +Skeel and rejoiced in the nick-name of "Alicran." The furtive scorpion +whose sting is death is not indigenous to the territory, but Mr. +Skeel had gained the appellation in New Mexico, a region where the +tail-bearing insect may be found, and when the man left the Border for +the Border's good the name left with him. + +"Oh, lookout! The bushes! The bushes! Don't trample my +thimble-berries!" + +But Lanpher, heeding not at all Molly's cries of warning, spurred his +sweating horse through the thimble-berry growth, breaking down three +shrubs, and splashed cat-a-corneredly across the spring, the brook, +and several rows of flowers. + +The garden looked as if a miniature cyclone had passed that way. + +Midway across the garden Lanpher's horse halted--halted because a +flying figure in chaps had appeared from nowhere and seized it by the +rein. But the horse did more than halt. In obedience to a powerful +jerk administered by the man in chaps the horse pivoted on its +forelegs and slid its rider out of the saddle and deposited him +a-sprawl and face downward among the flowers. + +Lanpher arose, snarling, to face a levelled sixshooter. It did not +signify that Racey had not drawn the weapon. He was perfectly capable +of shooting through the bottom of his holster and Lanpher knew it. And +Racey knew that he knew it. + +"Get out of this garden!" ordered Racey. "Take yore friend with you," +he added, tossing the horse's bridle to Lanpher. "And if I were you +I'd walk a heap careful between the rows. I just wouldn't go a-busting +any more of these posies." + +Lanpher went. He went carefully. He was followed quite as carefully by +Racey Dawson. + +When Lanpher was free of the neat rows he looked up venomously into +the face of Alicran Skeel who had meticulously ridden round the +garden. + +"I was wondering where you was," Lanpher remarked with deep meaning. + +"I ain't rooting up nobody's gyarden," Alicran returned, cheerfully. +"And don't wonder too hard. Might strain yore intellect or something. +I'll always be where I aim to be--always. You done scratched yore +face, Lanpher." + +Lanpher turned from Alicran Skeel and spat upon the ground. + +"Alicran," said Racey, holding his alert attitude, "the first false +move you make Lanpher gets it." + +"I ain't makin' a move," said Alicran, thumbs hooked in the armholes +of his vest. "I got plenty to do minding my own business." + +"Huh?" Thus the sceptical Racey, who did not trust Mr. Skeel as far as +he could throw a horse by the tail. + +"Shucks," said Alicran, out of deference to the lady, "you don't +believe me." + +"Shore I do," asserted Racey, "Shore, you bet you. I--_Careful, +Lanpher_! I can talk to somebody else and watch you at the same time!" + +"If Alicran was worth a--" began Lanpher, furiously, and stopped. + +"You was gonna say--what?" queried Alicran, softly. + +"Nothing," said Lanpher, sulkily. "Put yore gun away," he continued to +Racey. "I ain't gonna hurt you." + +"Now that's what I call downright generous of you, Lanpher," Racey +declared, warmly. "I'd shore hate to be hurt. I shore would. But if +it's alla same to you, I'll keep my gun right where she is--if it's +alla same to you." + +"That'll do, Racey. Stop this rowing. I won't have it." It was Molly +Dale pushing past Racey and standing with arms akimbo directly +in front of his gun-muzzle. Racey let his gun and holster fall +up-and-down, but he did not remove his hand from the gunbutt. + +"Who do you want here?" Molly inquired of Lanpher. + +Lanpher's rat-like features cracked into an ugly smile. "Is yore paw +home?" he asked. + +"Father's gone to Marysville." + +"When'll he be back?" + +"Day after to-morrow, I guess." + +"Yeah, I kind of guess he'd want to spend the night so's he could do +business in the morning, huh?" The Lanpher smile grew even uglier. + +"He has some business to attend to in the morning, yes." + +"I kind of thought he would. Yeah. You don't happen to know the nature +of his business, do you?" + +"His business is none of yours, and I'll thank you to pick up your +feet and clear out, the pair of you." + +"Not so fast." Lanpher spread deprecatory hands, and his smile became +suddenly crooked. "I just come down to do yore paw a favour." + +"A favour? You?" Blank unbelief was patent in Molly's tone and +expression. + +"A favour. Me. You see, yore paw's got a mortgage coming due on the +tenth, and the reason yore paw went to Marysville was so he could be +there bright and early to-morrow morning at the bank to renew the +mortgage. Ain't I right?" + +"You might be." Molly's face was now a mask of indifference, but there +was no indifference in her heart. There was cold fear. + +Racey's expression was likewise indifferent. But there was no fear in +his heart. There was anger, cold anger. For he had sensed what was +coming. He knew that the previous winter had been a hard one on the +Dale fortunes. They had lost most of their little bunch of cattle in a +blizzard, and the roof of their stable had collapsed, killing two team +horses and a riding pony. Racey had conjectured that Mr. Dale would +have been forced to borrow on mortgage to make a fresh start in the +spring. And at that time in the territory the legal rate was 12 per +cent. Stiff? To be sure. But the security in those days was never +gilt-edged--cattle were prone to die at inconvenient moments, and land +was not worth what it was east of the Mississippi. + +"We'll take it I'm right," pursued Lanpher, lapping his tongue round +the words as though they possessed taste and that taste pleasant. "And +being that I'm right I'll say yore paw could 'a' saved himself the +ride to Marysville by stayin' to home." + +Oh, Lanpher was the sort of man who, as a boy, was accustomed to +thoroughly enjoy the pastime of pulling wings from living flies and +drowning a helpless kitten by inches. + +Now he nodded his head and grinned anew, and put up a satisfied +hand and rubbed his stubbly chin. Racey yearned to kick him. It was +shameful that Molly should be compelled to bandy words with this +reptile. Racey stepped forward determinedly, and slid past Molly. + +Promptly she caught him by the sleeve. "Don't mix in, Racey," she +commanded with set face. "It's all right. It's all right, I tell you." + +"'Course it's all right," Lanpher hastened to say, more than a hint of +worriment in his little black eyes. One could never be sure of these +Bar S boys. They were uncertain propositions, every measly one of +them. "Shore it's all right," went on the 88 manager. "I ain't meaning +no harm. Yo're taking a lot for granted, Racey, a whole lot for +granted." + +"Nemmine what I'm taking for granted," flung back Racey. "I get along +with taking only what's mine, anyway." + +Which was equivalent to saying that Lanpher was a thief. But Lanpher +overlooked the poorly veiled insult, and switched his gaze to Molly +Dale. + +"I just rid over to say," he told her, "that if yore paw is still set +on renewing the mortgage when he comes back from Marysville he'll have +to see me and Luke Tweezy at the 88. We done bought that mortgage from +the bank." + +Molly Dale said nothing. Racey felt that if he held his tongue another +second he would incontinently burst. He sidestepped past the girl. + +"You've said yore li'l piece," he told Lanpher, "and for a feller who +was bellyaching so loud about keeping out of this deal it strikes me +yo're a-getting in good and deep--buying up mortgages and all. Dunno +what I mean, huh? Yep, you do. Shore you do. Think back. Think way +back, and it'll come to you. Jack Harpe. You know him. Bossy-looking +jigger, seemed like. Has he been a-bearing down on you lately, +Lanpher? Mustn't let him run you thataway. Bad business. Might be +expensive. You can't tell. You be careful, Lanpher. You go slow--a +mite slow. Yep. Well, don't lemme keep you. This way out." + +He flicked a thumb westward, and stared at Lanpher with bright eyes. +Lanpher's eyes dropped, lifted, then veered toward Alicran Skeel, that +appreciative observer, who continued to sit his horse as good as gold +and silent as a clam. + +Lanpher turned to his horse without another word, slid the reins over +the animal's neck and crossed them slackly. He stuck toe in stirrup +and swung up. He looked down at Molly where she stood dumbly, her +troubled eyes gazing at nothing and the fingers of one hand slowly +plaiting and unplaiting a corner of her apron. Lanpher opened his +mouth as if to speak, but no words issued. For Racey had coughed a +peremptory cough. + +Lanpher turned his horse's head toward the creek. + +"Lookit here, Alicran," the peevish Lanpher burst forth when he and +his henchman had forded the creek and were riding westward, "whatsa +matter with you, anyway?" + +"With me?" Alicran tilted a questioning bead. "I dunno. I don't feel a +mite sick." + +"What do you think I hired you for?" Heatedly. + +"Gawd he knows." Business of rolling a cigarette. + +"Yo're supposed to be a two-legged man with a gun." + +"Yeah?" Indifferently. + +"Yeah, but I got my doubts--now. Hell's bells! Wasn't you off to one +side there when Racey pulled? Wasn't you?" + +"Wasn't you listenin' to what Racey said at the time? Wasn't you?" + +"After! I mean after! His gun was back hugging his leg after the girl +slid in between. What more of a chance didja want?" + +"So that's it, huh?" + +"That's--it." Between the two words was a perceptible pause. + +"I ain't shootin' nobody in the back. I never have yet, and I ain't +beginnin' now, not for you or any other damn man." + +"Say--" began Lanpher, threateningly. + +Alicran Skeel turned a grim face on his employer so suddenly and +sharply that Lanpher almost dodged. + +"Lookit here, Lanpher," said he, quietly, "don't you try to start +nothin' that I'll have to finish. I know you from way back, you +lizard, and outside of my regular work I ain't taking no orders from +you. Don't gimme any more of yore lip." + +"Aw, I didn't mean nothing, Alicran. You ain't got any call to get +het. I need you in the business." + +"Shore you do," Alicran declared, contemptuously. "You need me to do +anything you ain't got the nerve to do." + +"I got my duty to my company," Lanpher bluffed lamely. + +"Duty bedam. You ain't got the guts for a tough job, that's whatsa +matter." + +This was rubbing it in. Lanpher plucked at the loose strings of his +courage, and managed to draw out a faintly responsive twang. "I'll +show you whether I got guts--" he began. + +"Oh, look," said Alicran. "See that wild currant bush." + +To Lanpher it seemed that the sixshooter was barely out of the holster +before it was back again. But there was a swirl of smoke adrift in the +windless air and the topmost branch of a wild currant bush thirty feet +distant had been that instant cut in two. + +"What was that you was gonna say?" Alicran prompted, softly. + +"I forget," evaded Lanpher. "But they's one thing you wanna remember, +Alicran. It don't pay to be squeamish. It comes high in the end +usually. You'll find, if you keep on being mushy thisaway, that you'll +have more'n you can swing at the finish." + +"Is that so? You leave me do things my own way, you hear? Lemme tell +you if I'd 'a' knowed all what you was up to by coming to Dale's this +mornin' I'd never have allowed it." + +"Allowed it!" + +"Yes, allowed it, I said. Want me to spell it for you? You +thumb-handed idjit, if you had any more sense you'd be a damfool. +Don't you know that in anything you do, no matter what, they's no +profit in unnecessary trimmings? Most always it's the extra frills on +a feller's work that pushes the bridge over and lands him underneath +with everything on top of him and the job to do again, if he's lucky +enough to be livin' at the finish. And yore swashing through that +girl's gyarden was a heap unnecessary. It was a close squeak you +wasn't drilled by Racey Dawson. I wouldn't have blamed him if he had +let a little light in on yore darkened soul. Done it myself in his +place. And yore rubbing in that mortgage deal was another unnecessary +piece o' damfoolishness. It only made Racey have it in for you more'n +ever. And after acting like more kinds of a fool thataway in less time +than anybody I ever see before, you sit up on yore hunkers and tell +_me_ I'll have more'n I can swing at the finish. Say, you make me +laugh! Listen, Lanpher, for a feller that's come out second best with +the Bar S outfit as many times as you have it looks to me like you was +crowdin' Providence a heap close." + +"That's all right," sulked Lanpher, then added, with a sudden flare of +spite: "When I hired you as foreman I shore never expected to draw a +skypilot full o' sermons into the bargain." + +"No?" drawled Alicran, looking hard at Lanpher. "I often wonder just +what you did hire me for." + +On which Lanpher made no comment. + +"Yeah," resumed Alicran, the fish having failed to bite, "I often +wonder about that. Was it a foreman you wanted or a--gunman? And what +did Racey mean about Jack Harpe a-bearing down on you so hard, huh?" + +"Nothing, nothing, nothing a-tall," Lanpher replied, irritably. + +"If Racey didn't mean nothing by it, what did yore eyes flip for and +why didja shuffle yore feet?" + +"Whatell business is it of yores?" burst out the goaded manager. + +"None," Alicran replied, calmly. "I was just wondering. I got a +curiosity to know why, thassall." + +"Then hogtie yore curiosity--or you'll be gettin' yore time. I'm free +to admit I need you, like I said before, but I can do without you if I +gotta." + +"That's just where yo're dead wrong," Alicran promptly contradicted. +"You can't do without me. Lanpher, I like the job of bein' yore +foreman. I like it so well that if you was to fire me I dunno what I +wouldn't do. You know, Lanpher, a man is a whole lot bigger target +than the branch of a wild currant bush." + +Frankly speculative, the eyes of Alicran travelled up and down the +spare frame of the 88 manager. Which gave Lanpher furiously to think, +as it were. + +"Why," said he, forcing a smile, "I guess we understand each other, +Alicran." + +"Shore we do," said Alicran, cheerfully. "And don't you forget it." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +SIGNED PAPER + + +When the two 88 men had departed Molly Dale continued to stand where +she was for a space and stare dumbly at nothing. Racey, realizing well +enough that her world had crashed to pieces about her, wished that she +would burst into tears. A sobbing woman is easily comforted. It is +simply necessary to pet her and keep on petting her till her grief +is assuaged. But this hard stillness of Molly Dale's gave Racey no +opening. He could but gaze at her uncomfortably and shift his weight +from one foot to the other. + +"That was a dirty trick of the Marysville bank." Thus tentatively. + +It is doubtful whether Molly heard him. "Poor Father," she said in a +low tone. + +"Lookit here, Molly," said Racey, struck by a bright idea, "I've got a +li'l money I been saving. I--I want you should take it." + +Molly continued to stare into the distance. + +"I've got some money--" he began again, thinking that Molly had not +heard. + +But she turned her face toward him at that, and he saw that her eyes +were shining with unshed tears. + +"Racey," she said, with a slight catch in her voice, and laid her hand +lightly on his arm. "Racey, you're a dear, good boy. We--we'll manage +somehow. I mum-must tell Mother." + +Abruptly she swung away and left him. He watched her cross the garden +and enter the kitchen of the ranch-house. Then slowly, thoughtfully, +he set to work repairing as best he could the ravages left in the +garden by the hoofs of Lanpher's horse. + +Came then Swing Tunstall on a paint pony and was moved to mirth at +sight of Racey Dawson engaged in earthy labour. + +"See the pret-ty flowers," mouthed Swing Tunstall, after the fashion +of a child wrestling with the First Reader. "Does Racey like pret-ty +flow-ers? Yeth, he'th crathy ab-out them. Ain't he cute squattin' +there all same hoptoad and a-workin' away two-handed? Only he ain't +a-workin' now. He's stopped workin'. He's gettin' all red in the face. +He's mad at Swing who never done him no harm nohow. Whatsa matter, +Racey?" he added in his natural voice. "What bit you on the ear this +fine an' summer day?" + +Racey looked over his shoulder toward the house. Then he got to his +feet and strode across the garden to where Swing Tunstall sat his +horse. + +"Swing," said he, quietly, "are you busy just now?" + +Swing, suspecting a catch somewhere, stared in swift suspicion. +"Why--uh--no," was his cautious reply. + +"Then go off some'ers and die." + +Without waiting for Swing's possible comment Racey turned his back on +his friend and walked unhurriedly to his horse Cuter. Swing slouched +sidewise in the saddle and watched him go. + +He rolled a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled luxuriously. And all +without removing his gaze from Racey's back. He watched while Racey +flung the reins crosswise over Cuter's neck, mounted, and rode down +into the creek. When he saw that Racey, after allowing Cuter to drink +nearly all he wanted, rode on across the creek and up the farther +bank, Swing's brow became corrugated with a puzzled frown. + +"He means business," muttered Swing. "I ain't seen that look on his +face for some time. I wonder what did happen this morning." + +His eyes still fixed on the dwindling westward moving object that was +Racey Dawson and his horse, he smoked his cigarette to a butt. Then he +picked up his reins, found his stirrups, and rode away. + +Racey Dawson, bound for the 88 ranch-house, did not smoke. He did not +feel like it. He did not feel like doing anything but facing Lanpher. +What he would be moved to do while facing Lanpher he was not sure. +Time enough to cross that bridge when the crucial moment should +arrive. He knew what he wanted to do, but he knew, too, that he could +not do it unless Lanpher made the first break. Otherwise it would be +murder, and Racey was no murderer. + +"He'll back down if he can, the snake," Racey said aloud. "And he'll +be shore to slick and slime round till all's blue. Damn him, riding +over those flowers of hers!" + +Racey did not hurry. He had no desire to come up with Lanpher on +the open range. It would be better to meet the man at his own +ranch-house--where there were apt to be plenty of witnesses. Racey +realized perfectly that he might need a witness, several witnesses, +before the sunset. He hoped that all the boys of the 88 outfit would +be at the ranch. He hoped that Luke Tweezy would be there, too. +Lanpher and Tweezy together, the pups. + +"Fat Jakey Pooley's li'l playmates," he muttered and swore +again--heartily. + +He understood now the true reason for Jack Harpe's lack of activity. +This purchasing by Lanpher and Tweezy of the Dale mortgage was the +eminently safe and lawful plan of Jakey Pooley. In his letter Fat +Jakey had written that it would take longer. And wasn't it taking +longer? It was. Racey thought he saw the plan in its entirety, and was +in a boil accordingly. He would have been in considerably more of a +boil had he been blessed with the ability to read the future. + +When he rode in among the buildings of the 88 ranch his eyes were +gratified by the sight of freckle-faced Bill Allen straddling a +cracker-box in front of the bunkhouse and having his hair cut by Rod +Rockwell. + +"That's right," Bill Allen was complaining, "whynell don't you cut off +the whole ear while yo're about it?" + +"Aw, shut up," said Rod Rockwell, "it was only the tip, and I didn't +go to cut it, anyway." + +"I don't giveadamn whether you went to cut it or not, you cut it! I +can feel the blood running down the back of my neck." + +"That's only sweat, you bellerin' calf! Hold still, can't you? Djuh +want me to hurt you?" + +"You done have already," snarled Bill Allen, fidgeting on his +cracker-box. "You wait till I cut yore hair after. I'll fix you. I'll +scalp you, you pot-walloper." + +"That's right, Bill," said Racey, checking his horse beside the +quarrelling pair. "Talk to him. Givem hell." + +"'Lo, Racey," grinned the two youngsters in unison. + +"Where did you rustle _this_ hoss?" asked Bill Allen. + +"Nemmine where," smiled Racey, for both Bill and Rod had been his +friends in his 88 days and could therefore insult him with impunity. +"I wouldn't wanna put li'l boys in the way of temptation. Does the +cook still spank him regular, Rod?" + +"Stab his hoss with the scissors, Rod," begged Bill Allen. "Let's see +what for a rider Mr. Dawson is." + +Racey pressed his off rein against his horse's neck. The animal +whirled on a nickel, and reared, hard held, after the first plunge. +The flying pebbles plentifully showered the two punchers. Bill Allen +swore heartily, for one of the pebbles had clipped his damaged ear. + +"You see what a good rider I am," Racey said, sweetly. "Can't feaze +me, nohow. Sit still, Bill, and lemme try can I jump the li'l hoss +over you. Rod, do you mind movin' back a yard?" + +"No," said Bill Allen, decidedly, and picked up his cracker-box and +retreated backward to the bunkhouse door. "No, you don't play any such +tricks as that on me. He'd just as soon try it as not, the idjit," he +added over his shoulder to Tile Stanton who was peering out to see +what all the racket was about. + +"Let him try it," Tile Stanton advised promptly. "If the cayuse does +happen to hit yore head, it won't hurt yore thick skull. G'on, Bill, +be a sport." + +"Be a sport yoreself," returned Bill Allen, skipping into the +bunkhouse. "Where's the other scissors? I'll finish this job myself." + +Racey, left alone with Rod Rockwell, smiled slightly. "Bill ain't got +a sense of humour this mornin'," he observed, softly. "He must 'a' +thought I meant it." + +There was no answering smile on Rod's features as he looked up at +Racey Dawson. "Racey," said he, laying a hand on the horse's mane, +"have you been to McFluke's lately?" + +"I ain't," replied Racey, his smile fading out. + +"Then keep on stayin' away." + +"As bad as that?" + +"As bad as that." + +"McFluke been talking?" was Racey's next question. + +"If McFluke was the only one it would be a mighty short hoss to +curry." + +"Then there are others?" + +"Plenty." Rod Rockwell gave a short, hard laugh. + +"All of Nebraska's bunch, huh?" + +"All but Nebraska." + +"How long has this been going on--this talking, I mean?" + +"Doc Coffin started it about a week ago. He told Windy Taylor of the +Double Diamond A he was gonna ventilate yore good health some fine +day. He wasn't drunk, neither." + +"Then he must have serious intentions." + +"Somethin' like that. Five of us heard him say it. Lookit, while I was +at McFluke's alone day before yesterday Doc and Peaches Austin and +Honey Hoke was all three bellying the bar, and while I was tucking +away my nosepaint they was mumbling to themselves how you was all +kinds of a pup and would stand shootin' any day." + +"Mumblin' loud enough for you to hear, huh?" + +"Naturally, or I wouldn't 'a' heard it." + +"Then they wanted you to hear. Guess they know yo're a friend of +mine." + +"Guess they do now," Rod Rockwell said, grimly. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, nothin'. I just talked to 'em a li'l bit." + +"And you wasn't shot? Didn't they do anything?" + +"Hell, no," Rod denied, disgustedly. "Kansas Casey come in just at the +wrong time, and throwed down on the four of us and said he'd do all +the shooting they was to be done. And when he went he took me with +him. Said he'd arrest me if I didn't go peaceable. Ain't that just +like Kansas?" + +"Wearing the star shore means a lot to him." + +"Aw, since he's been deputy he's gotten too big for his boots. And +Jake the same way. The country's played out, that's whatsa matter. +Law and order, law and order, till a feller can't turn round no more +without fallin' into jail." + +"She's one lucky thing for you, cowboy," said Racey, seriously, "that +Kansas did come. Three of 'em! You had yore gall. Lookit here, next +time you let 'em talk. Names don't hurt less they're said to a +feller's face." + +"They knowed you was my friend," said Rod, simply. "Anyway, you keep +away from McFluke's." + +"Maybe I will take yore advice. It has its points of interest, as +the feller said when he sat down on the porkumpine. And speakin' of +porkumpines, have you seen Lanpher?" + +"Shore. Him and Alicran pulled in a hour ago. Guess he's in the +office--Lanpher." + +"See anything of Tweezy lately?" + +"Luke seems to be living with us _lately_." + +"I never knowed him and Lanpher was good friends?" Racey cast at a +venture. + +"I didn't either--till lately." + +"Jack Harpe ever come out here?" + +"Long-geared feller--supposed to have capital? Hangs out in Farewell? +The one that Marie girl tried to down? Bo, he ain't been here as I +know of, but then he could easy drift in and out and me not know it." + +Racey nodded. "Marie jump Jack again, do you know?" he asked. + +"Damfino. Don't guess so, though. I seen her pass him on Main Street, +and she didn't even look at him." + +"I'll bet he looked at her." + +"You can gamble he did. He ain't trustin' her, not him. I wonder what +was at the bottom of the fuss between him an' her?" A sharp glance at +Racey accompanied this remark. + +"I dunno," yawned Racey. "They say Mr. Harpe has had a career both +high, wide, and handsome." + +"That's what I'd call one too many," grinned Rod Rockwell. + +"You can put down a bet the career has been one too many, too." + +"Yeah?" said Rod, wondering what was coming next. + +"Yeah," said Racey, nodding mysteriously, but disappointing his friend +by immediately changing the subject. "Say, Rod, I'd take it as a +favour if you and Tile and Bill would sort of freeze round the +bunkhouse till after I'm through with Lanpher." + +"Shore," said Rod. "Tweezy's in the office, too, I guess." + +Racey nodded, and started his horse toward the office. + +He understood well enough that Rod and the other two punchers would +not interfere in any way with him and whatever acts he might be called +upon to perform during his conversation with Lanpher. Loyal to the +last cartridge and after whenever it was ranch business, none of the +88 punchers ever felt it incumbent upon him to go out of his way so +far as Lanpher personally was concerned. The manager was not the man +either to engender or to foster personal loyalty. + +At the open doorway of the office Racey dismounted. He dropped the +reins over his horse's head and walked to the doorway. There he +stopped and looked in. He saw Lanpher sitting behind his big homemade +desk. Lanpher was watching him. At one side of the desk, on a chair +tilted back against the wall, sat Luke Tweezy. Luke was chewing a +straw. His eyes were half closed, but Racey detected their glitter. +Luke Tweezy was not overlooking any bets at that moment. + +Racey stepped across the doorsill and halted just within the room. The +thumb of his left hand was hooked in his belt. His right hand hung at +his side. He was ready for action. + +"Lanpher," said Racey without preliminary, "I want to serve notice +on you here and now that if I catch you within one mile of Moccasin +Spring you come a-shooting because I will." + +Lanpher's hand remained motionless on the desktop. Then the man picked +up a pencil and began to tap it on the wood. He licked his lips +cat-fashion. + +"Is that a threat or a promise?" he asked. + +"You can take it she's both," Racey told him. + +"You hear that, Luke?" Lanpher turned to Luke Tweezy. "Threatenin' my +life, huh?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke Tweezy. "Actionable, that is. Mustn't threaten a +man's life, Racey. Against the law, you know." + +Racey moved to one side and leaned his back comfortably against the +wall. "Against the law, huh, Luke?" he said nervously. "Then I can be +arrested?" + +"You can," Luke Tweezy declared with evident relish. "That is, you can +if Lanpher wants to make a complaint." + +"You hear, Lanpher?" asked Racey, still more nervously. "You wanna +make a complaint, huh?" + +Lanpher had not failed to note the nervousness of Racey's tone. Now he +licked his lips again. He felt quite cheerful of a sudden. It gave +him a warm and pleasant feeling to think that Racey Dawson was to a +certain degree in his power. Having licked his lips several times he +rubbed his chin judicially and coughed, likewise judicially. + +"Well, I dunno as I wanna make a complaint exactly," he said, slowly. +"But you wanna walk a chalkline round here, Racey. You got too much to +say for a fact." + +"What do you think, Luke?" queried Racey. "Have I got too much to +say?" + +"You heard what Lanpher said," replied the cautious Luke. + +"Yep, I heard all right. I just wanted to get yore opinion, because I +ain't through yet--through talking, I mean. What I was going to say is +that I wouldn't be particular about catching Lanpher round Moccasin +Spring. If I only _heard_ he'd been hanging round there it would be +enough." + +"Meaning you'll drill him on suspicion?" + +"Meaning I'll do just that." + +"Now yo're threatenin' me again." Thus Lanpher. + +"Takes you a long time to wake up, don't it?" The nervousness had +vanished from Racey's voice. "Lanpher, you lousy skunk! Why don't you +pull? There's a gun in that open drawer not six inches from your hand. +Go after it, you hound-dog!" + +Lanpher was not inordinately brave. He would go out of his way to +avoid an appeal to lethal weapons. But Racey's words were more than he +could stand. His hand jerked sidewise and down toward the sixshooter +in the open drawer. + +Bang! Shooting from the hip Racey drove an accurate bullet through the +manager's right forearm. Lanpher grunted and gurgled with pain. But he +made no attempt to seize his weapon with his left hand. + +Luke Tweezy picked himself up from the floor where he had thrown +himself a split second before the shot. Luke Tweezy's leathery face +was mottled yellow with rage. + +"I'll get you ten years for this!" he squalled, pointing a long arm at +Racey. "You started this fight! You tried to murder him!" + +"Oh, say not so," said Racey. "If I'd wanted to kill him I wouldn't +'a' plugged him in the arm, would I? That wouldn't 'a' been sensible." + +"You provoked this fraycas!" snarled Luke, disregarding Racey's point +in a true lawyer-like way. "You--" + +"Why, no, Luke, yo're wrong, all wrong," interrupted Swing Tunstall, +leaning over the windowsill at Tweezy's back. "I seen the whole thing, +I did, and I didn't see Racey do anything he shouldn't. I could swear +to it on the stand if I had to," he added, thoughtfully. + +Come then Rod Rockwell, Bill Allen, and Tile Stanton from the +bunkhouse. None made any comment on the state of affairs. But while +Rod fetched water in a basin, Bill Allen cut away the sleeve of his +groaning employer, and made all ready. + +A few minutes later Alicran Skeel entered the office. "I thought I +heard a gun," he drawled, his calm eyes embracing everyone in the +room. + +"That man!" bubbled Luke Tweezy, shaking his fist at Racey. "That +man tried to kill Lanpher! I call upon you not to let him leave the +premises until I can go to Farewell and swear out a warrant for his +arrest." + +"That man," said Swing Tunstall, pointing a derisive finger at Luke +Tweezy, "is a liar by the clock. I saw the whole thing. And all I +gotta say is that Lanpher went after his gun first." + +"I ain't doubting yore word, Swing," Alicran said, tactfully, "but +they seems to be a difference of opinion sort of, and--" + +"I say that Luke Tweezy is a damn liar," reasserted Swing, "and they +ain't no difference of opinion about that." + +"Well, of course, if Luke--" Alicran did not complete the sentence. + +"I am a lawyer," Luke Tweezy explained, hurriedly. "I ain't paying any +attention to what his man says--now." + +"Or any other time," jibed Swing. + +"Any of you boys see this?" Alicran asked of his three punchers. + +"He tried to kill me, I tell you!" Lanpher gritted through his teeth. +"He didn't gimme a chance!" + +"Any of you boys see it?" repeated Alicran, paying no attention to +Lanpher. + +"How could we?" asked Rod Rockwell, glancing up from the bandaging of +Lanpher's arm. "We was all in the bunkhouse." + +"Then for the benefit of the gents who wasn't here," said Racey, +smoothly, "I don't mind saying that I told Lanpher to go after his +gun, and he did, and I did." + +"He's a liar," gibbered Lanpher. "Alicran, ain't you man enough to +take care of Racey Dawson?" + +Alicran nodded composedly. "I guess him and me would come to some kind +of an agreement provided I was shore he needed taking care of. But I +ain't none shore he does. Looks like it was a even break to me--the +word of you and Luke against his and Swing's. And what's fairer than +that I'd like to know?" + +"Alicran!" squalled Lanpher. "I'm telling you to--" + +"Yo're all worked up, that's whatsa matter," Alicran assured him. +"You don't mean more'n half you say. You lie down now after Rod gets +through with you and cool off--cool off considerable, I would. Do you +a heap o' good. Yeah." + +"And when you get all well, Lanpher," put in Racey, "will I still be a +liar like you say?" + +Lanpher looked at Racey and looked away. His heated blood was cooling +fast. His arm--Lord, how it hurt! He perceived that discretion was +necessary to preserve the rest of his precious skin from future +perforation. + +"I--I guess I was a li'l hasty," he mumbled, his eyelids lowered. + +"Now that's what I call right down handsome--for you," drawled Racey. +"Gawd knows I ain't a hawg. I'm satisfied. Luke, s'pose you and me +walk out to the corral together. I got a secret for yore pearly ear." + +It was obvious that Luke Tweezy was of two minds. Racey grinned to see +the other's hesitation. + +"What you scared of, Luke?" he inquired. "It ain't far to the corral, +and you can ask Alicran to come outside and watch me while I'm talkin' +to you." + +"I ain't got any business with you," denied Luke Tweezy. + +"Oh, yo're mistaken, a heap mistaken. Yes, indeedy, you got business +with me. But it ain't my fault, Luke. I can't help it. Of course, if +you don't wanna talk to me private like, I can reel her off in here. +My thoughts were all of you and yore feelin's, Luke, when I said the +corral. I was shore you'd be happier there." + +"I ain't got a thing to hide, not a thing," declared Luke Tweezy. "But +if you want to we'll go out to the corral." + +They went out to the corral and Racey found a seat on an empty +nailkeg. Luke Tweezy sat perforce on the hardbaked ground. He hunched +up his legs, clasped his hands round his shins, and rested his sharp +chin on his bony knees. His eyes were fixed on Racey. The latter +seemed in no hurry to begin. He rolled a cigarette with irritating +slowness. To force one's opponent to wait is always good strategy. + +"Well," said Luke Tweezy. + +"Is it?" smiled Racey. "Have it yore own way, if you like. Lookit, +Luke, you buy a lot of scrip now and then, don't you?" + +"Shore," nodded Luke. + +"Good big discount, I'll bet." + +"Why not? I ain't in business for my health. They's no law--" + +"Of course there ain't. And yore mortgages, Luke. Do a good business +in mortgages, don't you?" + +"So-so." + +"This mortgage of Old Man Dale's now--you figurin' on foreclosin' if +he can't pay?" + +"Whadda you know about Dale's mortgage?" + +"I heard Lanpher yawpin' about it. He talks too loud sometimes, don't +he? You gonna foreclose on him, I suppose?" + +"Like that!" Luke Tweezy snapped his teeth together with a click. + +"But foreclosing takes time. You can't sell a man up the minute his +mortgage is due. There's got to be notices in the papers and the like +of that. Suppose now he gets to borrow the money some'ers before the +sale? He'll have plenty of time to look round." + +"Who'd lend him money?" + +"Old Salt would. He's tight, but he'd rather have Dale at Moccasin +Spring than someone else, and he'd lend Dale money rather than have +him drove out." + +"Shucks, he wouldn't lend him a dime. I know Old Salt. Don't fret, +we'll foreclose when we get ready." + +"I ain't fretting," said Racey. "You'll foreclose, huh? Aw right. I +just wanted to be shore. You can go now, Luke." + +Thus dismissed Tweezy rose to his feet and glared down at Racey +Dawson. His little eyes shone with spite. + +"Say it," urged Racey. "You'll bust if you don't." + +But Luke Tweezy did not say it. He knew better. Without a word he +returned to the house. + +"They ain't going to foreclose, that's a cinch," said Racey when the +ponies were fox-trotting toward Soogan Creek and the Bar S range five +minutes later. "Luke's telling me they were proves they ain't." + +"Shore," acquiesced Swing, "but what are they gonna do?" + +"I ain't figured that out yet." + +"You mean you dunno. That's the size of it," + +"How'd you happen to be at that window so providential this mornin'?" +Racey queried, hurriedly. + +"How'd you s'pose? Don't you guess I'd know they was something up from +the nice, kind way you said so-long to me back there at the Dales'? +Huh? 'Course I did--I ain't no fool. You'd oughta had sense enough to +take me along in the first place instead of makin' me trail you miles +an' miles. And where would you 'a' been if I hadn't come siftin' +along, I'd like to know? Might know you'd need a witness. Them two +jiggers put together could easy make you lots of trouble. What was you +thinking of, anyhow, Racey?" + +"How could I tell they were _both_ gonna be together? Besides, three +of the 88 boys were over in the bunkhouse. I was counting on them." + +"Over in the bunkhouse, huh? A lot of good they'd done you there. A +lot of good. Oh, yo're bright, Racey. I'd tell a man that, I would." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE SHOWDOWN + + +Racey, walking suddenly round the corner of the Dale stable, came upon +Mr. Dale tilting a bottle toward the sky. The business end of the +bottle was inserted between Mr. Dale's lips. His Adam's apple slid +gravely up and down. He did not see Racey Dawson. + +"Howdy," said the puncher. + +Mr. Dale removed the bottle, whirled, and thrust the bottle behind +him. + +"Oh, it's you," he said, blinking, and slowly producing the bottle. +"Huh-have one on me." + +"Not to-day," refused Racey, shaking his head. "I got a misery in my +stummick. Doctor won't lemme drink any." + +"Yeah?" Thus Mr. Dale with interest. Then, again proffering the +liquor, he said: "This here's fine for the misery. Better have a +snooter." + +"No, I guess not." + +"Well, I will," averred Mr. Dale and downed three swallows rapidly. +"Yeah," he continued, driving in the cork with the heel of his hand, +"a feller needs a drink now and then." + +"Helps him stand off trouble, don't it?" Racey hazarded, +sympathetically, perceiving an opening. + +"Shore does," answered Mr. Dale. "I should say so. Dunno who'd oughta +know that better'n I do. Trouble, Racey--well, say, I'm just made of +trouble I am." + +"Aw, it ain't as bad as that," encouraged Racey. + +"Yes, it is, too," contradicted the other. "I got more trouble on my +hands than a rat-tailed hoss tied short in fly-time. Trouble--nothing +but." + +"Nothing is as bad as it looks." + +"Heaps of times she's worse." + +"I'm yore friend. You know me. If I can help you--" + +"Nobody can help me. I dunno what to do, Racey." + +"Well, you know best, I expect, but I've always found if I talk over +with somebody else anythin' that bothers me it don't seem to stick up +half so big." + +Mr. Dale sank down upon one run-over heel and stared blearily off +across the flats. The bottle in his hip-pocket made a pronounced bulge +under the cloth. + +"I dunno what to do, Racey," he said, looking up sidewise at Racey +where he stood in front of him, his hands in his pockets and his hat +on the back of his head. "I owe a lot of money. I dunno how I'm gonna +pay it, and I'm worried." + +"Let the other feller do the worrying," suggested Racey. + +"I wish I could," said Mr. Dale, drearily. "I wish I could." + +"Why don't you, then?" + +"He'll foreclose--they'll foreclose, I mean." + +"Aw, maybe not." + +"Yeah, they will. I know 'em! ---- 'em! They'd have the shirt off my +back if they could. You see, Racey, she's thisaway: I borrowed five +thousand dollars from the Marysville bank, on a mortgage, and there +they went and sold the mortgage to Lanpher of the 88 and Luke Tweezy. +And there's the rub, Racey. The bank would 'a' renewed all right, but +you can put down a bet and go the limit that Lanpher and Tweezy won't. +I done asked 'em." + +"Five thousand dollars is a lot of money," said Racey, soberly. He had +been thinking that the mortgage would not have been above two thousand +at the outside. But five thousand! What in Sam Hill had old Dale +done with the money? In the next breath Dale answered the unspoken +question. + +"I needed the money," he said in a low voice, his eyes lowered, +"and--and I had bad luck with it." + +"Yeah, I know, the cattle dying and all." + +"Cattle! What cattle?" Mr. Dale stared blankly at Racey. "Oh, them! +Hell, they didn't have nothin' to do with it, them cattle didn't. I'd +worked out a system, Racey--a system to beat roulette, and I was shore +it was all right. By Gawd, it was all right! They was nothin' wrong +with that system. But I had bad luck. I had most awful bad luck." + +"And the system, I take it, didn't work?" + +"It didn't--against my bad luck." + +Mr. Dale again dropped his eyes, and Racey stared down at the +hump-shouldered old figure with something akin to pity in his gaze. +Certainly he was sorry for him. He was not in the least scornful +despite the fact that it did not seem possible that any sensible man +could be such a fool. A system--a system to beat roulette! And bad +luck! The drably ancient and moth-eaten story with which every +unsuccessful gambler seeks to establish an alibi. + +"Whose wheel was it?" said Racey. + +"Lacey's at Marysville." + +"In the back room of the Sweet Dreams, huh? An' there's nothing +crooked about Lacey's wheel, either. It's as square as Lacey himself." + +"Lacey's wasn't the only wheel. They was McFluke's, too." + +So McFluke had a wheel, had he? This was news to Racey Dawson. + +"How long has McFluke been runnin' a wheel?" inquired Racey. + +"Quite a while," was the vague reply. + +"A year?" + +"Maybe longer. I dunno." + +"Funny it never got round." + +"It was a private wheel. Only for his friends. Nothin' public about +it." + +"Who used to play it besides you?" persisted Racey, hanging to his +subject like a bull-pup to a tramp's trousers. + +Mr. Dale wrinkled his forehead. "Besides me? Lessee now. They were Doc +Coffin, Nebraska Jones, Honey Hoke, and Punch-the-breeze Thompson." + +"Nobody else?" + +"Aw, Galloway and Norton and that bunch," Mr. Dale said, shamefacedly. + +Racey nodded his head slowly. A crooked wheel. Of course it was +crooked. Why not? That Dale, Galloway, Norton, and a few other +gentlemen of the neighbourhood were under their wives' thumbs to such +a degree that they did not dare to gamble openly was a matter of +common knowledge. What more natural than that someone should provide +them with a private gambling place? With such cappers as Nebraska and +his gang, losers would not feel equal to making much of an outcry. It +must be a paying occupation for McFluke, Nebraska, or whoever was at +the bottom of the business. + +Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a +stick and squinted along its length. + +"None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you +mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?" + +"About seven thousand." + +Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars. The full amount of +the mortgage and two thousand more. And McFluke had it all. + +"You see," said Mr. Dale, dolefully. "I began to make money after +I'd been here awhile and my health come back. Yeah, I made money all +right, all right." He pushed back his hat and scratched a grizzled +head. "I had luck," he added. "But you wasn't round here then. You'd +gone to the Bend." + +"Yep, I'd gone to the Bend, damitall, and it shore seems like I'd +stayed there too long. Didn't you ever guess McFluke's wheel wasn't +straight?" + +"Aw, it was so straight. Mac wouldn't cheat nobody. Yo're--yo're +mistaken, Racey." + +"I am, huh? Likell I'm mistaken. I know what I'm talking about. I tell +you flat, McFluke is so crooked he could swallow a nail and spit out a +corkscrew. And he's got that wheel trained. You just bet he has. Look +under the table and see what he's doing with his feet or his knees. +My Gawd, Dale, didn't you know they make roulette wheels with a brake +like a wagon?" + +"I--I've heard of 'em," Mr. Dale nodded, hesitatingly. "But I'm shore +Mac's is on the level." + +"And you bet seven thousand dollars it was on the level, didn't you?" + +"But--" + +"But where did you come out? Do you think you ever got a show for yore +money?" + +"Oh, I won a bet now and then," defended Mr. Dale. + +"Small ones, shore. Naturally he has to let you win now and then to +sort of toll you along and keep you good-natured. You won now and +then, yep. But did you ever win when you had a sizable stake up?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I +ever did." + +"I knowed you didn't," exclaimed Racey, triumphantly. "I tell you that +wheel is crooked." + +"Not so loud," cautioned Mr. Dale. "They'll hear you in the house." + +"Don't they know nothing about it a-tall?" probed Racey. + +"They know about the five-thousand-dollar mortgage," admitted Dale, +reluctantly. + +Racey rubbed his chin. "I was here when Molly found it out." + +Mr. Dale nodded miserably. He was too utterly wretched to resent +Racey's interference with his affairs. "She--she told me," he said. + +"Don't they know about the other two thousand you lost to McFluke, or +what you dropped at Lacey's?" + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "I never told 'em. I--I only lost fifteen or +sixteen hundred at Lacey's, anyway." + +"Fifteen or sixteen hundred is a whole lot when you ain't got it," +said the direct and brutal Racey. "Instead of seven thousand then, you +done lost eighty-five or eighty-six hundred. I swear I don't see how +you managed to lose all that and yore family not find it out." + +"I kept quiet." + +"I guess you did keep quiet. Gawd, yes! Lookit, Dale, I'm going to +help you out of this. But you'll have to start fresh. You've got to +go in and make a clean breast to the family about where the other +thirty-six hundred over and above the five thousand went." + +Mr. Dale's jaw dropped. "I--I never even told 'em where the five +thousand went." + +"Huh? I thought you said they knew about the mortgage--after Molly +found it out." + +"They knew about the mortgage all right enough, but they dunno where +the money went. Yuh see, Racey, I--I done told 'em I lost it in a land +deal." + +"You did! Aw right, you go right in and tell 'em the truth, all of it, +every last smidgen." + +"I cuc-can't!" protested Mr. Dale. "I ain't got the heart!" + +"You ain't got the nerve, you mean. You go on and tell 'em, Dale, an' +I'll fix it up for you, but I won't fix up anything for you if you +ain't gonna play square with those women from now on. And you can't +play square with 'em without you begin by telling 'em the truth." + +"How you gonna help me out?" temporized Mr. Dale. + +"I'm goin' to Old Salt, that's what I'm going to do. I'll fix it up +with him to lend you the money." + +Mr. Dale shook his head. "He won't do it." + +"Shore he'll do it. You don't think he's gonna have somebody else come +in here in yore place, do you? Not much he ain't. He'll lend you the +money and glad to." + +"I done already asked him, an' he wouldn't." + +"'You asked him, and he wouldn't?'" repeated Racey, stupidly. "When +did you ask him?" + +"About two months ago--soon as ever I found out I wouldn't be able to +pay off the mortgage." + +"And he wouldn't lend it to you? I don't understand it, damfi do. It +ain't reasonable. Lookit here, did you tell him what you wanted it +for? Did you tell him about the mortgage?" + +"Non-no," said Mr. Dale in a still, small voice. "I didn't." + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Because I was afraid he'd take advantage of me. I was afraid he'd fix +it so as to take my ranch away from me if he knowed how bad and what +for I needed it." + +"But ain't that exactly what the Marysville bank could 'a' done if it +wanted?" demanded Racey, aghast at the Dale obtuseness. + +"Yeah, but I had hopes of standing off the bank, and--" + +"But you ain't got any hope of standing off Lanpher and Tweezy. Nary a +hope. Now lookit, Old Salt is yore only chance round here. Of course, +he'd fix it to take away yore ranch if he could. That's his business. +And it's yore business to see he don't. An' it's my business to help +you see he don't. Suppose now I go to Old Salt and get him to lend you +the money on a mortgage, say a ten-year mortgage?" + +"But I got one mortgage on the place now. He'd never take a second +mortgage." + +"Naw, naw, that ain't gonna be the way of it a-tall. It will be fixed +so's Old Salt's mortgage won't go into effect till the first one's +paid off." + +"But then till the first one is paid off--maybe it will be three-four +days--Old Salt's five thousand will be unsecured." + +"It won't be unsecured. It won't go out of Saltoun's hands. He'll pay +off the mortgage himself." + +"Do you think you can get a easy rate from Old Salt?" asked Dale, the +light of a new hope dawning in his faded old eyes. "It's a awful tax +on a feller paying the full legal rate." + +"We'll have to take what we can get, but I'll do my best to tone it +down. Sometimes a man will take less if he has another object in view +besides the interest. And you bet Old Salt will have a plenty big +object in view in keeping out Lanpher and Tweezy. Money ain't tight +now, anyway. I'll do the best I can for you. Don't you fret. You go on +in now and square up with the women and I'll slide out to the Bar S +instanter." + +Mr. Dale, the poor old man, laid a hand on Racey's strong young +forearm. "I'll tell 'em," he said. "I'll tell 'em. You--you fix it up +with Old Salt." + +Abruptly he turned away and hobbled hurriedly around the corner of the +barn. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +THE SHOOTING + + +Racey Dawson, riding back to Moccasin Spring, was in a warm and +pleasant frame of mind. With him rode Old Salt, and with Old Salt rode +Old Salt's check book. Racey had, after much argument and persuasion, +made excellent arrangements with Mr. Saltoun. The latter, anxious +though he was to own the Dale place himself, had agreed to pay off the +mortgage bought by Lanpher and Tweezy and take in return a 6 per cent. +mortgage for ten years. No wonder Racey was pleased with himself. He +had a right to be. + +As they crossed the Marysville and Farewell trail Racey's horse picked +up a fortuitous stone. Racey dismounted. Mr. Saltoun, slouching +comfortably back against his cantle, looked doubtfully down at Racey +where he stood humped over, the horse's hoof between his knees, +tapping with a knife handle at the lodged stone. + +"A ten-year mortgage is a long one, kind of," he said, slowly. + +"I thought we'd settled all that." Racey lifted a quick head. + +"Shore we've done settled it," Mr. Saltoun acquiesced, promptly. +"That's all right. I'm going through with my part of it. Gotta do it. +Nothing else to do. I was just a-thinking, that's all." + +Racey merely grunted. He resumed his tapping. + +"Alla same," Mr. Saltoun said, suddenly, "I don't believe this Jack +Harpe feller had anything to do with this mortgage deal, Racey." + +"Don't you?" + +"No, I don't. You can't make me believe they's any coon in _that_ +tree. If they was why ain't Jack Harpe done something before this? +Tell me that. Why ain't he?" + +"Damfino." + +"Shore you don't. You was mistaken, Racey. Badly mistaken. Yore +judgment was out by a mile. She's all just Luke Tweezy and that lousy +skunk of a Lanpher trying to act spotty. No more than that." + +"Well, ain't that enough?" + +"Shore, but--" + +"But nothing. Where'd you be if I hadn't found out about it, huh? +Wouldn't you look nice feedin' other folks' cows on yore grass?" + +"Alla same, they wouldn't 'a' been Jack Harpe's cows." + +"Which is all you know about it. You never would take warning, and you +know it. How about the time when Blakely was the 88 manager, and they +were rustling yore cattle so fast it made a quarter-hoss racing full +split look slow?" + +"Well, but--" interrupted Mr. Saltoun, beginning to fidget with his +reins. + +"And the time Cutnose Canter tried to run off a whole herd of hosses +on you?" Racey breezed on, warming to his subject. "You wouldn't let +Chuck warn you. Oh, no, not you. He didn't know what he was talking +about. No, he didn't. And how did it turn out, huh? What did that li'l +party cost you? Yeah, I would begin frizzling round if I was you. +You'll generally notice the feller who's the last to laugh enjoys it +the most. I'm that feller--me and Swing both." + +"Aw, say--" + +"Yeah, me and Swing will be thanking you for a healthy big check +apiece when our time-limit is up. Yes, indeedy, that's us." + +"Is _that_ so? _Is_ that so? You got another guess, Racey, and it's me +that will get the most out of that laugh. If it's like I say, even if +Lanpher and Tweezy are trying a game you don't get paid a nickel if +Jack Harpe and his cattle ain't in on the deal. You done put in the +Jack Harpe end of it yoreself. I heard you. So did Tom Loudon, and +Swing, too. Jack Harpe. Yeah. He is the tune you was playing alla +time. And up to now I can't see that Jack Harpe has made a move, not a +move." + +"But--" + +"Lanpher and Tweezy wasn't in the bet," insisted Mr. Saltoun. "It was +Jack Harpe, and you know it. 'If Jack Harpe don't start trying to get +Dale's ranch away from him and run cattle in on you inside of six +months you don't have to pay us.' Them was yore very words, Racey. I +got 'em wrote down all so careful. I know 'em by heart." + +"I'll bet you do," Racey told him, heartily. "I'll gamble you been +studying those words in all yore spare time." + +"It pays to be careful," smiled Mr. Saltoun. "Always bear that in +mind. I ain't wanting to rub anything in, Racey, but if you'd been a +mite more careful, just a mite more careful, you wouldn't be out so +much at the finish. Drinks are on you, cowboy. And when you stop to +think that I'd 'a' made the bet just the same if you'd wanted Lanpher +and Tweezy in on it. Only you didn't." + +"Guess I must 'a' overlooked 'em, huh?" grinned Racey. "Feller can't +think of everything, can he?" + +"I'm glad to see yo're taking it thisaway," approved Mr. Saltoun. +"Working for six months for nothing don't seem to bother you a-tall." + +"I ain't worked six months for nothing--yet," pointed out Racey. "The +six months ain't up--yet. You wanna remember, Salt, that a race ain't +over till the horses cross the line." + +"You gotta prove Jack Harpe's connection," began Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey topped his mount, but as the horse started he held him up. + +"Lessee who's coming," he suggested, jerking his thumb over his +shoulder. + +He and Mr. Saltoun both turned their heads. Someone was riding toward +them along the trail from the direction of the Lazy River ford--Racey +had caught the clatter of the horse's hoofs on the rocks of a wash +wherein the trail lay concealed. + +"Siftin' right along," said Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey nodded. Horse and rider slid into sight above the side of the +wash and trotted toward them. + +"Looks like Punch-the-breeze Thompson," said Mr. Saltoun. + +"It is Thompson," confirmed Racey. "Didn't it strike you he sort of +hesitated a li'l bit when he first seen us--like a man would whose +breakfast didn't rest easy on his stomach, as you might say." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "He did sway back on them lines at the top." + +"And he ain't boiling along quite as fast now as he was in the wash," +elaborated Racey. + +"I noticed that, too," admitted Mr. Saltoun. + +They waited, barring the trail. Punch-the-breeze Thompson did not +attempt to ride around them. He pulled up and nodded easily to the two +men. + +"They's been a fraycas down at McFluke's," Thompson said. + +"Fraycas?" Racey cocked an eyebrow. + +"Yeah--old Dale and a stranger." + +Racey nodded. He knew with a great certainty what was coming next. +"Anybody hurt?" he asked. + +"Old Dale." + +"Bad?" + +"Killed." + +Racey nodded again. "Even break?" + +"We don't think so," Thompson stated, frankly. + +"Who's we?" queried Racey. + +"Oh, Austin, Honey Hoke, Doc Coffin, McFluke, Jack Harpe, Lanpher, and +Luke Tweezy. We all just didn't like the way the stranger went at it, +so I'm going to Farewell after the sheriff." + +"Yo're holdin' the stranger then, I take it?" put in Mr. Saltoun. + +"Well, no, not exactly," replied Thompson. "He got away, that stranger +did." + +"And didn't none of you make any try at stopping him a-tall?" demanded +Racey. + +"Plenty," Thompson replied with a stony face. "I took a shot at him +myself just as he was hopping through the window. I missed." + +"Yet they say yo're a good snap shot, Thompson," threw in Racey. + +"I am--most usual," admitted Thompson. "But this time my hand must 'a' +shook or something." + +"Yep," concurred Racey, "I shore guess it must 'a' shook +or--something." + +Thompson faced Racey. "'Or something,'" he repeated, hardily. +"Meaning?" + +"What I said," replied Racey, calmly. "I never mean more'n I +say--ever." + +Thompson continued to regard Racey fixedly. Mr. Saltoun was glad that +he himself was two yards to the right, and he would not have objected +to double the distance. + +Racey's hands were folded on the horn of his saddle. Thompson's right +hand hung at his side. Racey had told the truth when he spoke of +Thompson as a good snap shot. He was all of that. And he was +fairly quick on the draw as well. It would seem that, taking into +consideration the position of Thompson's right hand, that Thompson +had a shade the better of it. Racey thought so. But he hoped, +nevertheless, by shooting through the bottom of his holster, to plant +at least one bullet in Thompson before the latter killed him. + +The decision lay with Thompson. Would he elect to fight? Racey could +almost see the thoughts at conflict behind Thompson's frontal bone. +Mr. Saltoun, hoping against hope, sat tensely silent. Racey's eyes +held Thompson's steadily. + +Slowly, inch by inch, Thompson's right hand moved upward--and away +from the gun butt. He gathered his reins in his left hand and with his +hitherto menacing right he tilted his hat forward and began to scratch +the back of his head. + +"If you don't mean more'n you say," offered Thompson, "you don't mean +much." + +"Which is all the way you look at it," said Racey. + +"And a damn good way, too," nipped in Mr. Saltoun, hurriedly, inwardly +cursing Racey for not letting well enough alone. "What was the fight +about, Thompson?" + +"Cards," said Thompson, laconically, switching his eyes briefly to Mr. +Saltoun's face. + +"And the stranger cold-decked him?" inquired Racey. + +"Something like that, but I can't say for shore. I wasn't playing with +him. Doc Coffin was, and so was Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin. Peaches +said he kind of had an idea the stranger dealt himself a card from the +bottom just before old Dale started to crawl his hump. But Peaches +ain't shore about it. Seemin'ly old Dale is the only one was shore, +and he's dead." + +"And yo're going for the coroner, huh?" asked Racey. + +"I said so." + +"But you didn't say if anybody was chasing the stranger now. Are +they?" + +"Shore," was the prompt reply. "They all took out after him--all +except McFluke, that is." + +Racey nodded. "I expect McFluke would want to stay with Dale," he +said, gently, "just as you'd want to go to Farewell after the coroner. +Yo're shore it is the coroner, Thompson?" + +"Say, how many times do you want me to tell you?" demanded the +badgered Thompson. "Of course it's the coroner. In a case like this +the coroner's gotta be notified." + +"I expect," assented Racey. "I expect. But if yo're really goin' for +the coroner, Thompson, what made you tell us when you first met us you +were going for the sheriff?" + +"Why," said Thompson without a quiver, "I'm a-goin' for him, too. I +must 'a' forgot to say so at first." + +"Yeah, I guess you did." Thus Racey, annoyed that Thompson had +contrived to crawl through the fence. He had hoped that Thompson might +be tempted to a demonstration, for which potentiality he, Racey, had +prepared by removing his right hand from the saddle horn. + +"It don't always pay to forget, Thompson," suggested Mr. Saltoun, +coldly. + +"It don't," Thompson assented readily. "And I don't--most always." + +"Don't stay here any longer on our account, Thompson," said Racey. +"You've told us about enough." + +"Try and remember it," Thompson bade him, and lifted his reins. + +"We will, and, on the other hand, don't you forget yore sheriff and +yore coroner." + +"I won't," grinned Thompson and rode past and away. + +"He ain't goin' for the sheriff and the coroner any more'n I am," +declared Mr. Saltoun, disgustedly, turning in the saddle to gaze after +the vanishing horseman. + +"Of course he ain't!" almost barked Racey. "In this country fellers +like Thompson don't ride hellbent just to tell the sheriff and the +coroner a feller has been killed. Murder ain't any such e-vent as all +that. Unless," he added, thoughtfully, "Thompson is the stranger." + +"You mean Thompson might 'a' killed him?" + +"I don't think it would spoil his appetite any. You remember how fast +he was pelting along down in the wash, and how he slowed up after +seeing us? A murderer would act just thataway." + +Mr. Saltoun nodded. "A gent can't do anything on guesswork," he said, +bromidically. "Facts are what count." + +"You'll find before we get to the bottom of this business," observed +Racey, sagely, "that guesswork is gonna lead us to a whole heap of +facts." + +"I hope so," Mr. Saltoun said, uncomfortably conscious that the death +of Dale might seriously complicate the lifting of the mortgage. + +Racey was no less uncomfortable, and for the same reason. He felt sure +that the killing of Dale had been inspired in order to settle once for +all the future of the Dale ranch. No wonder Luke Tweezy had been so +positive in his assertion that Old Man Saltoun would not lend any +money to Dale. The latter had been marked for death at the time. + +Despite the fact that Tweezy and Harpe were at last being seen +together in public, thus indicating that the "deal," to quote Pooley's +letter to Tweezy, had been "sprung," Racey doubted that the murder +formed part of Jacob Pooley's "absolutely safe" plan for forcing out +Dale. While in some ways the murder might be considered sufficiently +safe, the method of it and the act itself did not smack of Pooley's +handiwork. It was much more probable that the killing was the climax +of Luke Tweezy's original plan adhered to by the attorney and his +friends against the advice and wishes of Jacob Pooley. + +"Guess we'd better go on to McFluke's," was Racey's suggestion. + +They went. + +"Looks like they got back mighty soon from chasing the stranger," +said Racey, when they came in sight of the place, eying the number of +horses tied to the hitching-rail. + +"Maybe they got him quick," Mr. Saltoun offered, sardonically. + +They rode on and added their horses to the tail-switching string in +front of the saloon. Racey did not fail to note that none of the other +horses gave any evidence of having been ridden either hard or lately. +Which, in the face of Thompson's assertion that the men he left behind +had ridden in pursuit of the murderer, seemed rather odd. Or perhaps +it was not so odd, looking upon it from another angle. + +The saloon, when they had ridden up, had been quiet as the well-known +grave. It remained equally silent when they entered. + +McFluke, behind the bar, wearing a black eye and a puffed nose, nodded +to them civilly. In chairs ranged round the walls sat an assortment of +men--Peaches Austin, Luke Tweezy, Jack Harpe, Doc Coffin, Honey Hoke, +and Lanpher. The latter was nursing a slung right arm. They were all +there, the men mentioned by name by Thompson as having been in the +place when Dale was killed. + +"What is this, a graveyard meetin'?" asked Racey of McFluke, glancing +from the assembled multitude to McFluke and smiling slightly. It +was no part of wisdom, thought Racey, to let these men know of his +encounter with Thompson. He had Thompson's story. He was anxious to +hear theirs. + +'"A graveyard meeting,'" repeated the saloon-keeper. "Well, and that's +what it is in a manner of speaking." + +Racey stared. "I bite. What's the answer?" + +The saloon-keeper cleared his throat. "Old Dale's been killed." + +"Has, huh? Who killed him?" Racey allowed his eyes casually to skim +the expressionless faces of the men backed against the walls. + +"A stranger killed him," replied McFluke, heavily. + +Racey removed his eyes from the slack-chinned countenance of the +saloon-keeper to thin-faced, foxy-nosed Luke Tweezy. Luke's little +eyes met his. + +"You saw this stranger, Luke?" he asked. + +Luke Tweezy nodded. "We all saw him." + +"He was playing draw with Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin and me," Doc +Coffin offered, oilily. + +"And the stranger?" amended Racey. + +"And the stranger," Doc Coffin accepted the amendment. + +"What was the trouble?" pursued Racey. + +"Well, we kind of thought"--Doc Coffin's eyes slid round to cross an +instant the shifty gaze of Peaches Austin--"we thought maybe this +stranger dealt a card from the bottom. We ain't none shore." + +"Dale said he did, anyhow," said Peaches Austin. + +"He said so twice," put in Lanpher. + +Racey turned deliberately. "You here," said he, softly. "I didn't see +you at first. I must be getting nearsighted. You saw the whole thing, +did you, Lanpher?" + +"Yeah," replied Lanpher. + +"Who pulled first?" + +"The stranger." The answer came patly from at least five different +men. + +Racey looked grimly upon those present. "Most everybody seems shore +the stranger's to blame," he observed. "Besides saying the stranger +was dealing from the bottom did Dale use any other fighting words?" + +"He called him a--tinhorn," burst simultaneously from the lips of +McFluke and Peaches Austin. + +"Only two this time," said Racey, shooting a swift glance at Jack +Harpe and overjoyed to find the latter dividing a glare of disgust +between McFluke and Austin. "But you'll have to do better than that." + +Mr. Saltoun shivered inwardly. He was a man of courage, but not +of foolhardy courage, the species of courage that dares death +unnecessarily. He was getting on in years, and hoped, when it came his +time to die, to pass out peacefully in his nightshirt. And here was +that fool of a Racey practically telling Harpe and the other rascals +that he was on to their game. No wonder Mr. Saltoun shivered. He +expected matters to come to push of pike in a split second. So, being +what he was, a fairly brave man in a tight corner, he put on a hard, +confident expression and hooked his thumbs in his belt. + +Racey Dawson spread his legs wide and laughed a reckless laugh. He +felt reckless. He likewise felt for these men ranged before him the +most venomous hate of which he was capable. These men had killed the +father of Molly Dale. It did not matter whether any one or all of +them had or had not committed the actual murder, they were wholly +responsible for it. They had brought it about. He knew it. He knew it +just as sure as he was a foot high. And as he looked upon them sitting +there in flinty silence he purposed to make them pay, and pay to the +uttermost. That the old man had been a gambler and a drunkard, and the +world was undoubtedly a better world for his leaving it, were facts of +no moment in Racey's mind. He, Racey, was not one to condone either +murder or injustice. And this murder and the injustice of it would +cruelly hurt three women. + +He laughed again, without mirth. His blue eyes, glittering through +the slits of the drawn-down eyelids, were pin-points of wrath. His +hard-bitten stare challenged his enemies. Damn them! let them shoot +if they wanted to. He was ready. He, Racey Dawson, would show them +a fight that would stack up as well as any of which a hard-fighting +territory could boast. So, feeling as he did, Racey stared upon his +enemies with a frosty, slit-eyed stare and mentally dared them to come +to the scratch. + +But in moments like these there is always one to say "Let's go," or +give its equivalent, a sign. And that one is invariably the leader of +one side or the other. Racey Dawson saw Luke Tweezy turn a slow head +and look toward Jack Harpe. He saw Doc Coffin, Honey, and Austin, one +after the other, do the same. But Jack Harpe sat immobile. He neither +spoke nor gave a sign. Perhaps he did not consider the present a +sufficiently propitious moment. No one knew what he thought. Had he +known what the future held in store he might have gone after his gun. + +Tense, nerves wire-drawn, Racey and Mr. Saltoun awaited the decision. + +It came, and like many decisions, its form was totally unexpected. +Jack Harpe looked at Racey and said smilelessly: + +"Wanna view the remains?" + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +DRAWING THE COVER + + +"You don't understand it, do you, Peaches?" Racey inquired genially +of Peaches Austin when he found himself neighbours with that slippery +gentleman at the inquest. + +Peaches shied away from Racey on general principles. He feared +a catch. There were so many things about Racey that he did not +understand. + +"Whatcha talking about?" Peaches grunted, surlily. + +"You--me--Chuck--everybody, more or less. You don't, do you?" + +"Don't what?" A trifle more surlily. + +"You don't see how and why Chuck Morgan is so all-fired friendly with +me, and how I'm a-riding for a good outfit like the Bar S, when the +last you seen of me, Chuck was a-hazing me up the trail with my hands +over my head. You don't understand it none. I can see it in your light +green eyes, Peaches." + +Peaches modestly veiled his pale green eyes beneath dropped lids +and turned his head away. He would have given a great deal to go +elsewhere. But to do that would be to make himself conspicuous, and +there were many reasons, all more or less cogent, why he did not wish +to make himself conspicuous. Peaches sat still on his chair and broke +into a gentle perspiration. + +Racey perceived the other's discomfort and ached to increase it. "Did +you stay here three-four days like I told you to that time a few weeks +ago? And was Jack Harpe most Gawd-awful hot under the collar when you +did see him final? And if so, what happened?" + +Racey gaped at Peaches like an expectant terrier watching a rat-hole. +It may be that Peaches felt like a holed rat in a hole too small for +comfort. He turned on Racey with a flash of defiance. + +"There was a feller once," said Peaches, "who bit off more'n he could +chew." + +"I've heard of him," Racey admitted, gravely. "He was first cousin to +the other feller that grabbed the bear by the tail." + +"I dunno whose first cousin he was," frowned Peaches. "All I know is +he didn't show good sense." + +"Now that," said Racey, "is where you and I don't think alike. I may +be wrong in what I think. I may have made a mistake, but I gotta be +showed why and wherefore. Anybody is welcome to show me, Peaches, just +anybody." + +Racey accompanied his remarks with a chilling look. The perspiration +of Peaches turned clammy. + +"Meaning?" Peaches queried. + +"Meaning? Why, meaning that you can show me if you like, Peaches." + +This was too much for Peaches. He was out of his depth and unable to +swim. He sank with a gurgle of, "I dunno what yo're drivin' at." + +Racey shook a sorrowful head. "I'm shore sorry to hear it. I was +guessin' you did. I had hopes of you, Peaches. You've done gimme a +disappointment. Yep, she's a cruel world when all's said and done." + +This was too much for Peaches. He resolved to shift his seat whether +it made him conspicuous or not. The gambler removed to a vacant +windowsill, upon which he sat and looked anywhere but at Racey Dawson. +That young man leaned back in his chair and surveyed the multitude. + +Besides the citizens found in the saloon on his and Mr. Saltoun's +arrival there were now present Dolan, who combined with his office of +justice of the peace that of coroner, and twelve good men and true, +the coroner's jury and most intimate friends, ready and willing at +any and all times to serve the territory for ten dollars a day and +expenses. In addition to this representative group Alicran Skeel had +dropped in from nowhere, Chuck Morgan had driven over with a wagon +from Soogan Creek (mercifully the family at Moccasin Spring had not +yet been informed of their bereavement), and Sheriff Jake Rule and his +deputy Kansas Casey had ridden out from Farewell. Punch-the-breeze +Thompson had returned with the sheriff. Which circumstance either +disposed of the theory that Thompson was the murderer, or else +Thompson had more nerve than he was supposed to have. Racey began to +nurse a distinct grievance against Thompson. + +The main room of the saloon, into which the body had been brought from +the back room, was a fog of smoke and a blabber of voices. McFluke +had not been idle at the bar, and the coroner's jury was three parts +drunk. The members had not yet agreed on a verdict. But the delay was +a mere matter of form. They always liked to stretch the time, and give +the territory a good run for her money. + +Racey Dawson, conscious that both Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy were +watching him covertly, rolled a meticulous cigarette. He scratched +a match on the chair seat, held it to the end of the cigarette, +and stared across the pulsing flame straight into the eyes of the +Marysville lawyer. Tweezy's gaze wavered and fell away. Racey inhaled +strongly, then got to his feet and lazed across to the bar where Jake +Rule, with Kansas Casey at his elbow, was perfunctorily questioning +McFluke. The latter's hard, close-coupled blue eyes narrowed at +Racey's approach. + +Racey, as he draped himself against the bar, was careful to nudge +Casey's foot with a surreptitious toe. + +"Jake," said Racey, "would I be interruptin' the proceedings too much +if I made a motion for us to drink all round?" + +"Not a-tall," declared the sheriff, heartily. + +Racey turned to McFluke. + +When their hands had encircled the glasses for the third time, Racey, +instead of drinking, suddenly looked across the bar at McFluke who was +industriously swabbing the bar top. + +"Mac," he said, easily, "when that stranger ran out the door how many +gents fired at him?" + +"Punch Thompson," replied McFluke, the sushing cloth stopping +abruptly. "You heard him tell the coroner how he fired and missed, +didn't you?" + +"Oh, I heard, I heard," Racey answered. "No harm in asking again, is +there? Can't be too shore about these here--killin's, can you? Mac, +which door did the stranger run through--the one into the back room or +the one leadin' outdoors?" + +"Why, the one leadin' outdoors, of course." McFluke's surprise at the +question was evident. + +"Jake," said Racey, "s'pose now you ask Punch Thompson what the +stranger was doing when he cut down on him." + +The sheriff regarded Racey with his keen gray gaze. Then he faced +about and singled out Thompson from a conversational group across the +room. + +"Punch," he called, and then put Racey's question in his own words. + +"What was he doin'?" said Thompson, heedless of McFluke's agonized +expression. "Which he was hoppin' through that window there"--here he +indicated the middle one of three in the side of the room--"when I +drawed and missed. I only had time for the one shot." + +At this there was a sudden scrabbling behind the bar. It was McFluke +trying to retreat through the doorway into the back room, and being +prevented from accomplishing his purpose by Racey Dawson who, at the +innkeeper's first panic-stricken movement, had vaulted the bar and +grabbed him by the neck. + +"None of that now," cautioned Racey Dawson, his right hand flashing +down and up, as McFluke, finding that escape was out of the question, +made a desperate snatch at the knife-handle protruding from his +bootleg. + +The saloon-keeper reacted immediately to the cold menace of the +gun-muzzle pressing against the top of his spinal column. He +straightened sullenly. Racey, transferring the gun-muzzle to the small +of McFluke's back, stooped swiftly, drew out McFluke's knife and +tossed it through a window. + +"You won't be needing that again," said Racey Dawson. "Help yoreself, +Kansas." + +Which the deputy promptly proceeded to do by snapping a pair of +handcuffs round the thick McFluke wrists. + +"Whatell you trying to do?" bawled McFluke in a rage. "I ain't done +nothing! You can't prove I done nothing! You--" + +"Shut up!" interrupted Kansas Casey, giving the handcuffs an expert +twitch that wrenched a groan out of McFluke. "Proving anything takes +time. We got time. You got time. What more do you want?" + +The efficient deputy towed the saloon-keeper round the bar and out +into the barroom. He faced him about in front of Jake Rule. The +sheriff fixed him with a grim stare. + +"What did you try to run for, Mac?" he demanded. + +"I had business outdoors," grumbled McFluke. + +"What kind of business?" + +"What's that to you? You ain't got no license to grab a-hold of me and +stop me from transacting my legitimate business whenever and wherever +I feel like it." + +"You seem to know more about it than I do. Alla same unless you feel +like telling me exactly what all yore hurry was for, we'll have to +hold you for a while. Yo're shore it didn't have nothing to do with +yore saying the stranger run out the door and Thompson saying he +jumped through the window?" + +"Why, shore I am," grunted McFluke. + +"Glad to hear that. But how is it you and Thompson seen the same thing +different ways? It's a cinch the stranger, not being twins, didn't use +_both_ the door and the window. Yo're shore he run out the door, Mac?" + +"Shore I am. I seen him, I tell you." But McFluke's tone rang flat. + +"Punch," said the sheriff to Thompson who, in company with everyone +else in the room had crowded round the sheriff and the prisoner, +"Punch, how did the stranger who shot Dale leave the room?" + +"Through the window, like I said," Thompson declared, defiantly. "Ask +anybody. They all seen him. Mac's drunk or crazy." + +"Yo're a liar!" snarled McFluke. "I tell you he run out the door." + +"Aw, close yore trap!" requested Thompson with contempt. "You ain't +packin' no gun." + +"Lanpher," said the sheriff, "how did the murderer get away." + +"Through the window," was the prompt reply of the 88 manager. + +The sheriff asked Harpe, Coffin, Tweezy, and the others who had been +present at the killing, for their versions. In every case, each had +seen eye-to-eye with Thompson. The evidence was overwhelmingly against +the saloon-keeper. But he, a glint of fear in his hard blue eyes, +stuck to his original statement, swearing that all men were liars and +he alone was telling the truth. + +Racey, standing a little back from the crowd, pulled out his +tobacco-bag. But his fingers must have been all thumbs at the moment +for he dropped it on the floor. He stooped to retrieve it. The +movement brought his eyes within a yard of the body of Dale. And now +he saw that which he had not previously taken note of--an abrasion +across the knuckles of Dale's right hand. Not only that, but the hand, +which was lying over the left hand on the body's breast, showed an odd +lumpiness at the knuckles of the first and second fingers. + +Racey stuffed his tobacco-bag into his vest pocket and knelt beside +the body. It was cold, of course, but had not yet completely +stiffened. He laid the two hands side by side and compared them. +The left hand was as it should be--no lumpiness, bruises, or any +discolouration other than grime. But now that the two hands were side +by side the difference in the right hand was most apparent. + +Certainly it was badly bruised across the knuckles and the skin was +broken, too. Furthermore, there was that odd lumpiness about the +knuckles of the first and second fingers, a lumpiness that gave the +knuckles almost the appearance of being double. + +He picked up the dead hand and gingerly fingered the lumpy knuckles. +Then, in a flash of thought, it came to him. The hand was broken. + +He raised his head and looked across the room. And as it chanced he +looked across the packed shoulders and between the peering heads of +the crowd straight into the face of McFluke and the black eye adorning +that face. + +He rose to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd to the side +of the sheriff. + +"Can I ask a question?" said he to the officer. + +"Shore," nodded the sheriff. "Many as you like." + +"Thompson," Racey said, but watching McFluke the while, "did Dale have +any trouble here with anybody besides the stranger?" + +"Not as I know of," came the reply after a moment's hesitation. + +"He didn't have any fuss with anybody," spoke up Luke Tweezy. + +"I was talking to Thompson," Racey reminded the lawyer. "When I want +to ask you any questions I'll let you know." + +"Huh," Luke contented himself with grunting, and subsided. + +"No fuss a-tall, Thompson?" resumed Racey. + +"Nary a fuss." + +"And you was here alla time Dale was here?" + +"I was here before Dale come, and I was still here when Dale--went +away." + +"In the same room with him?" + +"In this room, yeah. In the same room with him alla time. Shore." + +"Then if Dale had had a riot with anybody else but the stranger man +you'd 'a' knowed it." + +"You betcha. He didn't have no trouble, only with the stranger." + +"Did anybody else have any trouble with anybody while you was here?" + +At this Thompson frowned. Where were Racey's questions leading him? +Was it a trap? Knowing Racey as he did, he feared the worst. He +would have liked to leave the questioned unanswered. But this was +impossible. As it was, he was delaying his answer longer than good +sense warranted. Both Jake Rule and Kansas Casey were staring at him +fixedly. Racey regarded him steadily, a slight and sinister smile +lurking at the corner of his mouth. + +"Well," prompted Racey, "you'd oughta be able to tell us whether there +was any other fights while you was here?" + +"They wasn't," plunged Thompson. "Everything was salubrious till Dale +started his battle." + +"And when did you get here?" pursued Racey. + +"Oh, I'd been here all night." + +"And you dunno of any other brush except the one between Dale and the +stranger?" + +"I done said so forty times," Thompson declared, peevishly. "How many +times have I gotta repeat it?" + +"As many times as yo're asked," put in the sheriff, sharply. + +"Didja see anybody get hurt--have a accident or something while you +were here, Thompson?" Racey bored on. + +Thompson shook an impatient head. "Nobody got hurt or had a accident." + +"Then," said Racey, turning suddenly on McFluke, "how did you get that +black eye?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +GONE AWAY! + + +McFluke's eyes flickered at the question. His body appeared to sink +inward. Then he straightened, and flung back his wide shoulders, and +glowered at Racey Dawson. + +"I ran into a door this morning," said the saloon-keeper in a tone of +the utmost confidence. + +"Oh, you ran into a door, did you," Racey observed, sweetly. "And what +particular door did you run into?" + +"The front door." + +"That one?" Racey indicated the door of the barroom. + +"That one." + +"We'll just take a look at that door." + +Accompanied by the deeply interested sheriff, who was beginning to +sniff his quarry like the old bloodhound he was, Racey crossed to the +barroom door. He looked at the door. He looked at the sheriff. The +sheriff looked only at the door. + +"Door's opened back flat against the wall, Mac," said the sheriff. +"Was she like this when you ran into her?" + +"Course not," was the heated reply. "She was swingin' open." + +Racey squatted down on the floor. "Lookit here, Sheriff." + +The sheriff stooped and regarded the wooden wedge under the door that +jammed it fast. Racey drew a finger across the top of the wedge. He +held up the finger-tip for the sheriff's inspection. The tip was black +with the dust of weeks. + +"That door has been wedged back all this hot weather," said Racey, +gently. "Look at the dust under the door on both sides of the wedge, +too. Bet that wedge ain't been out of place for a month." + +Softly as he spoke McFluke heard him. "---- you! I tell you that +door was opened this mornin'! I hit my head on it! Ask 'em all! Ask +anybody! Jack, lookit here--" + +"I didn't see you hit yore head on the door," interrupted Jack Harpe. +"Maybe you did, I dunno." + +Racey raised a quick head as Jack Harpe spoke. Quite plainly he saw +Jack Harpe accompany his words with a slight lowering of his left +eyelid. Racey glanced at McFluke. He saw the defiant expression depart +from the McFluke countenance, and a look of unmistakable relief take +its place. + +Racey dropped his head. The sheriff was speaking. + +"Mac," he was saying, "yo're lyin'. Yo're lyin' as fast as a hoss can +trot. You never got yore black eye on this door. I dunno why yo're +sayin' you did, but I'm gonna find out. Till--" + +"You won't have far to go to find out," struck in Racey Dawson. "I +know how he got his black eye." + +"How?" demanded the sheriff, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. + +"Dale gave it to him," was the answer pat and pithy. + +"He did not!" The saloon-keeper began to roar instantly, and had to be +quieted by Kansas Casey. + +When order was restored Racey explained his deductions. The sheriff +listened in silence. Then he went to the body of the dead man, and +examined the bruised and broken right hand. + +"I'm tellin' you," declared Racey with finality, "he hit somebody when +he broke that hand." + +"He might 'a' broke it when he fell after being shot," put in Luke +Tweezy. + +The sheriff shook his head. "He couldn't fall hard enough to break +them bones as bad as that. It's like Racey says. Question is, who did +he hit? McFluke's eye and McFluke's lies are a good enough answer for +me." + +"You'll have to prove it!" snapped Luke Tweezy. + +"I expect we'll do that, Luke," the sheriff said, calmly. "Have you +agreed on a verdict, Judge?" + +"We had," replied Dolan. "We was about satisfied that a plain 'killin' +by a person unknown,' was as good as any, but I expect now we'll +change it to murder _with_ the recommendation that McFluke be arrested +on suspicion. Whadda you say, boys?" + +"Shore," chorussed the "boys," and hiccuped like so many bullfrogs. + +"Whu-why not lul-let the shush-shpicion shlide," suggested one bright +spirit, "an' cue-convict him right now an' lul-lynch him after shupper +whu-when it's cool?" + +"No," vetoed Dolan, "it can't be done. He's gotta be indicted and +held for the Grand Jury at Piegan City. I ain't allowed to try murder +cases." + +"Tut-too bad," mourned the bright spirit, and refused to be comforted. + +"Can I take him now, Judge?" inquired Chuck Morgan, referring to the +dead man. + +"Any time," nodded Dolan. + +Racey Dawson, whose eyes that day were missing nothing, saw that Jack +Harpe was looking steadily at Luke Tweezy. Luke's nod was barely +perceptible. + +"Where were you thinking of taking him, Chuck?" was Tweezy's query. + +"Moccasin Spring," Chuck replied, laconically. + +"I wouldn't if I were you," said Luke Tweezy. "Better save trouble by +taking him to yore house." + +It was coming now--the answer to one puzzle at least. Racey was sure +of it. He was not disappointed. + +"And why had I better take him to my house?" demanded Chuck. + +"Because the ranch at Moccasin Spring don't belong to the Dale family +any more," Tweezy explained, smoothly. "Dale has turned over the place +to Lanpher and me." + +"It's a damn lie!" declared Chuck. + +Tweezy smiled. He was a lawyer, not a fighter. Names signified nothing +in his greasy life. "It's no lie," he tossed back. "You know Lanpher +and me bought the mortgage on the Dale place from the Marysville bank. +The mortgage is due in a couple of days. Dale didn't have the money to +satisfy the mortgage. We was gonna foreclose. In order to save trouble +all round he made the ranch over to us." + +"You mean to tell me Dale did that just to save trouble?" burst out +Racey. "Just because he liked you two fellers and wanted to make it as +easy as possible for you? Aw, hell, Tweezy. Aw, hell again. Yo're as +poor a liar as yore side-kicker McFluke." + +Tweezy smiled once more and drew forth a long and shiny pocket-book +from the inner pocket of his vest. From the pocket-book he extracted a +legal-looking document. Which document he handed to Sheriff Rule. + +"Read her off, Jake," requested Luke Tweezy. + +The sheriff read aloud the lines of writing. Shorn of the impressive +terms so beloved of law and lawyers, the document set forth that in +consideration of being allowed to retain all his live-stock, wagons, +and household goods, instead of merely the fixed number of cattle, +horses, and wagons, and those specified household articles, exempt +from seizure under the law, Dale voluntarily released to the +mortgagers, without the formality of foreclosure proceedings, the +mortgaged property comprising six hundred and forty acres as described +hereinafter, etcetera. + +The document was signed by Dale and witnessed by Doc Coffin and Honey +Hoke: + +The sheriff held the paper out to Chuck Morgan. "This Dale's +signature, Chuck?" + +Chuck Morgan examined the signature closely and long. + +"Looks like it," he said, hesitatingly. + +"It's his signature, all right," spoke up Honey Hoke. "I saw him sign +it." + +"Me, too," said Doc Coffin. + +"Paper's dated to-day," said the sheriff. "How long before he was +killed did Dale sign it, Luke?" + +"About a hour," replied Tweezy. + +"It's made out in yore writin', ain't it?" went on the sheriff. + +"Shore," nodded Luke. "All but the signature. So, you see, Chuck," +he continued, turning to Morgan, "you might as well pack him to yore +house. We intend to take possession immediately." + +"You do, huh," said Chuck. "You try it, thassall I gotta say. You try +it." + +"I'd admire to see you drive those women out of their home on the +strength of that paper, Tweezy," remarked Racey. + +"Sheriff, I'll make out eviction papers immediately and Judge Dolan +will have you serve them on the Dale family." Thus Luke Tweezy, +blustering. + +"That's yore privilege," said the sheriff, "and I'll have to serve +'em, I suppose. But only in the regular course of business, Luke. +I'm mighty busy just now. Yore eviction notice will have to take its +turn." + +"My punchers will throw 'em out then," averred Lanpher. + +"They ain't nary a one of 'em would gorm up their paws on a job like +that for you, Lanpher," Alicran stated in no uncertain tones. "If you +got any dirty work to do you'll do it yoreself." + +"Yo're--" began the 88 manager, and stopped suddenly. + +"What was you gonna say?" Alicran's voice cut sharply across the +general silence. + +Lanpher controlled himself by an effort. Or perhaps it was not such +an effort, after all. It may have been that he remembered the object +lesson of the severed branch of the wild currant bush. At any rate, +he did not pursue further the subject of the 88 cowboys cast as an +eviction gang. + +"I'll talk to you later, Alicran," said he in a tone he strove to make +grimly menacing, but which actually imposed upon no one, least of all +the truculent Alicran. + +"We won't need yore boys, Lanpher," said Racey. "The sheriff will +attend to it." + +"Lookit here, Tweezy," said Judge Dolan, slouching to the front of the +crowd, "are you gonna run them women off thataway after _this_?" Here +the Judge jerked his head backward in the direction of the body. + +"Why not?" Tweezy demanded, sulkily. "We got a right to." + +"It don't always pay to stand on our rights, Luke," suggested the +Judge. "I'd go a li'l easy if I was you." + +"You ain't me," said Tweezy, rudely. + +"Which is something I gotta be grateful for," the Judge returned to +the charge. "But alla same, Luke, I'd scratch my head and think how +this here is gonna look. Here Dale gives you this paper, and a hour +later he's cashed. Of course, it looks like his signature, and you +got witnesses who say it's his signature, but--" The Judge paused and +gravely contemplated Luke Tweezy. + +"I'll tell you what it looks like to me," announced Racey in a loud, +unsympathetic tone. "The whole deal's too smooth. She's so smooth +she's slick, like a counterfeit dollar. You and Lanpher are a couple +of damn thieves, Tweezy." + +But the sheriff's gun was out first. "None of that, Lanpher," he +cautioned. "They ain't gonna be no lockin' horns _here_. That goes for +you, too, Racey." + +"I don't need to pull any gun," Racey declared, contemptuously. "All +I'd have to use is my fingers on that feller. He never went after his +gun till he seen you pull yores. He ain't got any nerve, that's all +that's the matter with him." + +Lanpher snarled curses at this. He yearned for the daredevil +courage sufficient to risk all on a single throw by pulling his gun +left-handed and sending a bullet smack through the scornful face of +Racey Dawson. But it was precisely as Racey said. He did not have the +nerve. With half-a-dozen drinks under his belt he undoubtedly would +have made an attempt to clear his honour. But he was not carrying the +requisite amount of liquor. Lanpher snarled another string of oaths. +"If I didn't have my right arm in a sling--" he began. + +"I guess," interrupted the sheriff, "this will be about all. Lanpher, +yore hoss is outside. Git on and git out." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A CHECK + + +"Lookit here, Judge," said Racey, earnestly, "do you mean to say yo're +gonna let the sheriff serve them eviction papers?" + +Judge Dolan elevated his feet upon his desk and tilted back his chair +before replying. + +"Racey," he said, teetering gently, "I gotta do what the law says in +this thing." + +"Then yo're gonna sic the sheriff on, huh?" + +"I ain't doin' no sicin', not me. Luke Tweezy's the boy you mean." + +"But the law makes you back up Luke." + +"In this case it does." + +"Then it's a helluva law that lets a feller take away the home of two +women." + +"They's lots of times," observed Dolan, judicially, "when I think +she's a helluva law, too. But what you gonna do? Under the law one +man's word is as good as another's till he's proved a liar. And two +men's words are better than one, and so on. And so far nobody ain't +proved Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke and Luke Tweezy are liars." + +"Of course we know they are," protested Racey. + +"Not legally. You gotta remember that knowing a man is a liar is one +thing, and being able to prove it is another breed of cat." + +"Then they ain't nothing to be done short of rubbing out Lanpher and +Tweezy?" + +"And what good would wiping out either or both of them do? Beyond +Lanpher and Tweezy are their heirs and assigns, whoever they may be. +You can't go down the line and abolish 'em all." + +"I s'pose not," grumbled Racey. + +"Of course not. It ain't reasonable. You don't wanna bull along +regardless like a bufflehead in this, Racey. You wanna use yore brains +a few. They'll always go farther than main strength. You got brains, +and you can bet you'll need every single one of 'em if you wanna get +to the bottom of this business." + +"Under the circumstances, then, what's yore advice, Judge?" + +"I ain't got no particular advice to give," replied Dolan, promptly. +"I'm a judge, not a lawyer, but I'm free to say even if I was a +lawyer, I dunno exactly what I'd do, or where I'd begin." + +Racey nodded. He didn't see exactly where to begin, either. + +"Lookit, Judge," he said at last, "can't you sort of delay the +proceedin's for a while?" + +"I'll do what I can," assented Dolan, "but I can't keep it up forever. +I'm sworn to obey the law and see that it is obeyed. And if Luke +Tweezy's paper can't be proved a forgery certain and soon, they's only +one thing for me to do and one thing for the Dales to do. I'm sorry, +but that's the way it stands under the law." + +It was then that the door-latch clicked and one entered without +knocking. It was Luke Tweezy. Beyond the merest flicker of a glance +he did not acknowledge the presence of Racey Dawson. He nodded +perfunctorily to Dolan. + +"Mornin', Judge," said he, "are the papers ready for the sheriff yet?" + +"Not yet, Luke, not yet," Dolan assured, him blandly. "I ain't had +time to get at 'em." + +"When you gonna get at 'em?" + +"Soon as I get time." + +"But lookit here, Judge. We're bein' delayed. We wanna get the Dales +off their ranch soon as we can." + +"Off _their_ ranch is shore the truth," struck in Racey. "You do tell +it sometimes, don't you, Luke?" + +But Luke Tweezy was not to be drawn that morning. He focussed his eyes +and attention steadily on Judge Dolan. + +"We wanna take possession soon as we can," persisted Luke Tweezy. + +"Shore you do," said the Judge, heartily. "No reason why you shouldn't +wanna as I know of." + +"If you can't see yore way to getting at this business within a +reasonable time I'll have to sue out a mandatory injunction against +you, Judge, and--" + +Dolan smiled wintrily. "What judge are you figuring on to grant this +injunction?" + +Luke Tweezy was silent. + +"You don't expect me to grant a mandatory injunction against myself, +do you?" pursued Dolan. + +"I can go to Judge Allison at Marysville or to Piegan City, and I +guess--" + +"I guess not," interrupted the Judge. "Judge Allison, as you know, is +a Federal Judge, and these here eviction proceedin's are territorial +business. And, furthermore, lemme point out that the Piegan City court +ain't got any jurisdiction in this case." + +"Why not?" + +"Because the case ain't come to a hearing yet. That's why. You oughta +know that, Luke. Yo're a lawyer." + +"Alla same--" began Luke. + +"Alla same nothing!" declared Judge Dolan. "_After_ eviction +proceedin's have been started, and if you don't have any luck in +getting them women off the place, then you can apply to this court for +redress. I'll set a date for a hearing. _After_ the hearing, if you +got a notion in yore numskull that I ain't doing you right, you can +apply to the Piegan City court for all the ---- mandatory injunctions +you feel like and be ---- to you. Is they any further business you got +with me, Luke, or any more points of law you wanna be instructed on? +'Cause if they ain't, here's you, there's the door, and right yonder +is outside." + +Luke Tweezy departed abruptly. + +Dolan laughed harshly as the door slammed. "He can't bluff me, the +chucklehead. He knew he couldn't sue out a mandatory injunction yet, +knew it damn well, but he didn't think I knew it, damn his ornery +soul." + +"Oh, he's slick, Luke Tweezy is," said Racey Dawson, "but like most +slick gents he thinks everybody else is a fool." + +"He makes a mistake once in a while," grunted Dolan. + +At which Racey looked up sharply. "A mistake," he repeated. "There's +an idea. I wonder if he has made any mistake." + +"Who ain't?" nodded Dolan. "Luke's made plenty, I'll bet." + +"I dunno about plenty," doubted Racey. "One would be enough." + +Dolan rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "One would be enough," he +admitted. "If you could find the one." + +"It wouldn't have to be a mistake having to do with this particular +case, either, would it?" + +"Not necessarily. Of course it would be better to trip him up on this +case, but if you can get hold of something else Luke has done that +can be proved anyways shady it would be four aces and the joker. Luke +would have to pull in his horns about this mortgage. And if I know +Luke, he'd do it. He's got nerve, but it ain't cold enough nor witless +enough to go up against the shore thing." + +"If only McFluke would talk. He knows the ins and outs of this +business." + +Dolan nodded. "Shore as yo're a foot high Dale gave him that black +eye." + +"And shore as _yo're_ a foot high he downed Dale." + +"I guess likely. But circumstantial evidence is amazing queer. You +can't ever tell how the jury's gonna take it. But anyway we got +McFluke, and he'll do to start in on." + +Entered then Kansas Casey with a serious face. "McFluke has sloped," +said he without preliminary. + +"What!" cried Judge Dolan. + +But it was characteristic of Racey Dawson that he did not say "What!" +He asked "How?" + +"Because the jail was burned down," said Kansas; "you know we had to +put him in yore warehouse, Judge, as the next strongest place, and +they dug him out." + +"'Dug him out?'" Thus Judge Dolan. + +"That's what they did." + +"'They!' 'They!' Who's 'they?'" Again Judge Dolan. + +"If I knowed who they was," Kansas replied, "I'd dump 'em just too +quick. Way I know it's a 'they,' is because the job of diggin' is +bigger than a one-man job." + +"We'll go look into this," Dolan exclaimed, wrathfully, and reached +for his hat. + +"He'd never 'a' been pulled out of the calaboose so easy," said +Kansas, as he led Dolan and Racey up the street to the rear of the +Dolan warehouse, "but yore foundation logs ain't sunk more'n six +inches, and diggin' under and in was a cinch." + +"But why didn't you handcuff this sport to a roof stanchion inside?" +demanded the Judge. + +"We did, man, we did. We got a log chain and the biggest pair of +handcuffs in our stock and we ironed McFluke by the ankles to a +stanchion in the middle of the warehouse. Besides that his hands was +handcuffed, and no matter how he stretched he couldn't reach nothing. +We seen to that." + +"But, my Gawd, hownell did they have time to file through that log +chain or them cuffs? A log chain ain't made of wire an' them cuffs is +all special steel." + +"They didn't file neither the chain nor the cuffs," explained Kansas, +wearily. "They unlocked the cuffs." + +"Unlocked 'em, huh? Where'd they get the key? Lose one of yores, did +yuh?" + +"Ours is all safe. They must 'a' had a key. Anyway, there's the +handcuffs wide open when I found McFluke gone this mornin'." + +Dolan pulled out his watch. "Nine o'clock," said he. "When did you +first find Mac was gone, Kansas?" + +"When I took his breakfast in less'n five minutes ago." + +"Howcome you went to the warehouse so late?" + +"Well," said Kansas, somewhat shamefacedly, "we didn't lock him up +in the warehouse till one o'clock this morning, and I figured a li'l +extra sleep wouldn't do him any harm." + +"Or a li'l extra sleep wouldn't do yoreself any harm neither, huh?" + +"Maybe I did sleep later than usual," admitted Kansas. + +"I guess you did," said Dolan. "I guess you did. And Jake, too. Told +anybody else about this?" + +"Only Jake." + +They had left the street while they talked, and walked down the long +side wall of the warehouse. Now they turned the corner and saw, heaped +against a foundation log, a pile of freshly dug dirt. Beyond the dirt +pile gaped the mouth of a hole leading beneath the log. The hole was +quite large enough for an over-size man to crawl through without +difficulty. + +Judge Dolan got down on his hands and knees and peered into the hole. +Then he eased down into it headfirst and pawed his way through. + +"That's what you get for not walking in by the front door in the first +place, Kansas," grinned Racey. "Root hog or die, feller, root hog or +die." + +Swearing under his breath Kansas went to ground like a badger. His +broad shoulders did not scrape the sides of the hall. Observing which +Racey knew that it must have been an easy matter for McFluke to crawl +through, for the saloon-keeper's shoulders, wide as they were, were +not as broad as those of Kansas Casey by a good inch and a half. + +"That hole is four or five inches wider than necessary," ruminated +Racey, preparing to follow the deputy. "I wonder why. Yep, I shore +wonder why. Here they are in a harris of a hurry and they take time +to make a hole big enough for two men almost. Maybe they robbed the +warehouse, too." + +He suggested as much to Dolan when he joined the latter within. + +"No," said Dolan, sweeping with a glance the stacks of cases and +crates that half filled the single floor of the warehouse. "No, I +don't think they's anything missing. Who'd steal truck like this here, +anyway? It ain't valuable enough. Where's Jake, Kansas?" + +"I left him here when I went after you," replied the deputy. "Guess +this is him," he added, as the front door opened. + +It was the sheriff. He shut the door behind him and advanced toward +the little group gathered about the stanchion. "This is a great note, +Jake," said Dolan, eyeing the sheriff severely. "Can't you make out to +hang onto yore prisoners no more?" + +"Hang onto hell!" snapped back the sheriff. "Short of sleeping in here +with him, I done all that could be expected. I put Shorty Rumbold on +as guard, and Shorty--" + +"Where's Shorty?" + +"Went to the Starlight for a drink. He'll be along in a minute." + +"Maybe he went to sleep," suggested Dolan. + +"Not Shorty," denied the sheriff, with a decisive shake of his head. +"I've used Shorty before. He don't go to sleep on duty, Shorty don't. +Here he is now." + +Entered then Shorty Rumbold, a tall, lean-bodied man with a twinkling +eye and a square chin. + +"Shorty," said Dolan, "Jake says he put you on guard here last night." + +"Not here," said Shorty, always painfully meticulous as to facts. +"Outside." + +"Where outside?" + +"Just outside. I sat on the doorstep all night." + +"And didn't you go round to the back once even?" + +"I didn't think they was any use. They's no door in the back, and the +logs are forty inches through, some of 'em. I never thought of 'em +gopherin' under this away." + +"I guess the sheriff didn't, either," said Dolan, with a glance of +strong disapproval at the sheriff. "You didn't hear anything, huh? +Yo're shore of that?" + +"Shore I am. If I'd heard anything I'd 'a' scouted round to see what +made the noise." + +"Maybe you went to sleep." + +"Not me." The twinkle in Shorty's eyes was replaced by a frosty stare. +"I don't sleep on duty, Judge." + +"That's what the sheriff said, Shorty. But, hownell they could dig +that tunnel and not make _some_ noise I don't see." + +"I don't, either," Shorty Rumbold admitted, frankly. "But I didn't +hear a single suspicious sound either inside or outside the jail the +whole night." + +"Did you hear any noise a-tall?" asked Racey Dawson. + +"Only when some drunk gents had a argument out in front of the dance +hall. You couldn't help hearin' 'em. They made noise enough to hear +'em a mile." + +"How long did the argument last?" + +"Oh, maybe a hour--a long time for a plain argument without any +shooting." + +"Did they call each other any fighting names?" pressed on Racey. + +"Plenty." + +"And no shooting?" + +"Nary a shot." + +"Didn't that hit you as kind of odd?" + +"It did at the time sort of." + +"Recognize any of the voices?" + +Shorty Rumbold shook his head. "They was all too hoarse an' loud." + +"That's the how of it, Judge," said Racey to Dolan. "That's why Shorty +didn't hear any sounds of diggin'. The drunk gents a rowing together +for a long time like that without any shooting proves they were doing +it on purpose to keep Shorty from hearing anything else." + +The sheriff swore. "I heard them fellers, too," he said. "They woke +me up with their bellerin' and I had a job gettin' to sleep again. I +guess Racey's right." + +"I guess he is," assented the Judge. "Now we know how they managed +that part of it, where did they get the key to open the cuffs? Kansas +says you ain't lost any keys, Jake." + +"We got 'em all, every one. I don't believe they used a key. Them +handcuff locks was picked." + +"Picked?" + +"Picked. After Kansas went for you I found these here on the +floor." Here he produced from a pocket a bent and twisted piece of +baling-wire, and a steel half-moon horse-collar needle. + +"That's a Number Six needle," observed the sheriff, who invariably +scented clues in the most unpromising objects. "And the point's broke +off." + +"Number Six is a common size," said Racey. "Most stores carry 'em. And +if the point didn't get broke off wigglin' round inside the lock it +would be a wonder." + +"Still it would take a mighty good man to open them locks with only +bale-wire and a harness-needle," said the sheriff, hurriedly. "A +expert, you bet." + +"It don't matter whether he was a expert or not," said Dolan. "He +opened them, and the prisoner has skedaddled. That's the main thing. +Jake, how about trailin' him?" + +"How? They's tracks, a few of 'em, leadin' from the pile of dirt +straight to the hard ground in front of the stage corrals. Beyond +there they ain't any tracks. Trail 'em! How you gonna trail 'em?" + +"I dunno," replied Dolan, promptly passing the buck. "Yo're the +sheriff. She's yore job. You gotta do _something_. C'mon out." + +The five men, Dolan and the sheriff arguing steadily, went out into +the street. Racey walked thoughtfully in the rear. He was revolving in +his mind what the sheriff had said about an expert. Of course it had +been an expert. And experts in lock-picking in the cattle country are +few and far between. + +Racey decided that it would be a good idea for him to have a little +talk on lock-picking with Peaches Austin. Not that he suspected the +excellent Peaches of having picked those locks. But Peaches knew who +had. Oh, most certainly Peaches knew who had. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +TAKING FENCES + + +"'Lo, Peaches." + +Peaches Austin, standing at the Starlight bar, was raising a glass to +his lips. But at the greeting he set down the liquor untasted, turned +his head, and looked into the face of Racey Dawson. + +"Whatsa matter, Peaches?" inquired Racey. "You don't look glad to see +me." + +"I ain't," Peaches said, frankly. "I don't give a damn about seein' +you." + +"I'm sorry," grieved Racey, edging closer to the gambler. "Peaches, +yo're breaking my heart with them cruel words." + +At this the bartender removed hastily to the other end of the bar. He +sensed he knew not what, and he felt instead of curiosity a lively +fear. Racey Dawson was the most unexpected sport. + +Peaches looked nervously at Racey. A desperate resolve began to +formulate itself in the brain of Peaches Austin. His right arm tensed. +Slowly his hand slid toward the edge of the bar. + +"Why, no," said Racey, who had never been more wide-awake than at that +moment, "I wouldn't do anything we'd all be sorry for, Peaches. That +is, all of us but you yoreself. You might not be sorry--or anythin' +else." + +This was threatening language, plain and simple. But it was no bluff. +Peaches knew that Racey meant every word he said. Peaches' right hand +moved no farther. + +"Peaches," said Racey, "le's go where we can have a li'l private +talk." + +"All right," Peaches acquiesced, shortly, and left the saloon with +Racey. + +On the sidewalk they were joined by Swing Tunstall. The latter fell +into step on the other side of Peaches Austin. + +"Is he coming, too?" queried the gambler, with a marked absence of +cordiality in expression and tone. + +"He is," answered Racey. + +"I thought this talk was gonna be private." + +"It is--only the three of us. We wouldn't think of letting anybody +else horn in. You can rest easy, Peaches. We'll take care of you." + +The gambler didn't doubt it. His wicked heart sank accordingly. He +knew that he had been a bad, bad boy, and he conceived the notion that +Nemesis was rolling up her sleeves, all to his ultimate prejudice. + +He perceived in front of the dance hall Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke, and +plucked up heart at once. But Racey saw the pair at the same time, and +said, twitching Peaches by the sleeve, "We'll turn off here, I guess." + +Peaches turned perforce and accompanied Racey and Swing into the +narrow space between the express office and a log house. When they +came out into the open Racey obliqued to the left and piloted his +companion to a large log that lay among empty tin cans, almost +directly in the rear of and about fifty yards away from Dolan's +warehouse. + +"Here's a good place," said Racey, indicating the log. "Good seats, +plenty of fresh air, and nobody round to bother us. Sidown, Peaches." + +Peaches sat as requested. The two friends seated themselves one on his +either hand. Racey laughed gently. + +"Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us," he +remarked with enjoyment, "didn't they, Peaches?" + +"I didn't notice," lied Peaches. + +"It don't matter," nodded Racey. "See that pile of dirt over against +the back wall of Dolan's warehouse, Peaches?" + +"I ain't blind." + +"No, then maybe you've heard how and why it come to be dug and all?" + +"I ain't deaf, neither." + +Racey smiled his approval. "I always said you had all yore senses +except the common variety, Peaches." + +"Hop ahead with yore private talk," grunted the badgered gambler. + +"Gimme time, gimme time. It don't cost anything. Whadda you think of +that hole, Peaches?" + +"Good big hole," replied Peaches, conservatively. + +"Too big--that is, too big for just McFluke, or for any other feller +the size of McFluke." + +"What of it?" + +"Don't be in a hurry, Peaches, and you'll last longer. Did you know +Mac's handcuffs were picked open?" + +"How--picked open?" + +"Whoever opened 'em didn't use a key," Racey explained. "They were +picked open with a piece of bale-wire and a collar-needle." + +"I heard that." + +"I thought maybe so. But did you ever think that a feller has got +to have a good and clever pair of hands to pick a lock with only a +collar-needle and bale-wire?" + +"All that stands to reason," admitted Peaches. + +"There can't be a great many fellers like that. No, not many--not +around here, anyway. You'll find such sports in the big cities +mainly." + +"Yeah," chipped in Swing Tunstall, staring hard at Peaches, "I'll bet +you a hundred even they ain't more than one or two such experts in the +whole territory." + +"Whadda you think, Peaches?" inquired Racey. + +"Swing may be right," said Peaches, preserving a wooden countenance. +"I dunno." + +"Shore about that?" Sharply. + +"Shore I'm shore. Why not?" + +"You looked sort of funny when you said it. Well, then, Peaches, we'll +go back to our hole yonder. It's reasonable to suppose that fellers +hustlin' to dig it and without any too much time wouldn't make it any +bigger than they had to. How about it, huh?" + +"Guess so, maybe." + +"Aw right, I told you a while ago the hole was too big for McFluke. +Why was it made too big for McFluke?" + +"Damfino." + +"So as to let in the feller who was to pick open Mac's handcuffs." + +"Well, what does that prove?" + +"It proves that the expert who set Mac loose was a bigger man across +the shoulders than McFluke. Now who all around here, besides Kansas +Casey, is wider across the shoulders than McFluke?" + +Peaches wrinkled his forehead. "I dunno," he said after a space. + +"Think again, Peaches, think again. Don't you know anybody who's +bigger sidewise than McFluke?" + +"I don't. Mac's the biggest man across the shoulders I ever seen." + +"Good enough, Peaches. I've found out what I wanted. I had a fair idea +before, but now I know. I hear you were acting boisterious and noisy +out front of the dance hall last night?" + +"What of it?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin' a-tall. Only I'd think it over--I'd think +everythin' over good an careful, and after I'd done that I'd do what +looked like the best thing to do--under the circumstances. That's all, +Peaches. You can go now. I think yore friends are looking for you. I +saw Doc Coffin peekin' round the corner of the dance hall a couple of +times." + +Peaches arose and faced Racey Dawson and Swing Tunstall. "I--" he +began, and stopped. + +"I--" prompted Swing. + +"I what?" smiled Racey. "Speak right out, Peaches. Don't you care if +you do hurt our feelin's. They're tough. They can stand it. Say what's +on yore mind." + +But Peaches did not say what was on his mind. He turned about and +walked hurriedly away. + +"So it _was_ Jack Harpe who picked the cuffs," murmured Racey. +"Peaches, old timer, I didn't think you'd be so easy." + +"Neither did I," said Swing. "And him a gambler. No wonder he ain't +doin' so well." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +DIPLOMACY + + +Worried Mrs. Dale raised a work-scarred hand and pushed back a lock of +gray hair that had fallen over one eye. "It's a forgery," she said, +wretchedly. "I know it's a forgery. He--he wouldn't sign such a paper. +I know he wouldn't." + +Molly Dale, all unmindful of Racey Dawson sitting in a chair tilted +back against the wall, slipped around the table and slid her arm about +her mother's waist. + +"There, there, Ma," she soothed, pulling her mother's head against +her firm young shoulder. "Don't you fret. It will come out all right. +You'll see. You mustn't worry this way. Can't you believe what Racey +says? Try, dear, try." + +But unhappy Mrs. Dale was beyond trying. She saw the home which she +had worked to get and slaved to maintain taken from her and herself +and her daughter turned out of doors. There was no help for it. There +was no hope. The future was pot-black. She broke down and wept. + +"Oh, oh," she sobbed, "if only I'd watched him closer that day. But I +was washing, and I sort of forgot about him for a spell, and when I'd +got the clothes on the line he wasn't anywhere in sight, and--and it's +all my fuf-fault." + +This was too much for Racey Dawson. He got up and went out. Savagely +he pulled his hat over his eyes and strode to where his horse stood in +the shade of a cottonwood. But he did not pick up the trailing reins. +For as he reached the animal he saw approaching across the flat the +figures of a horse and rider. And the man was Luke Tweezy. + +With the sight of Mrs. Dale's tears fresh in his memory and the rage +engendered thereby galvanizing his brain he went to meet Mr. Tweezy. + +"Howdy, Racey," said the lawyer, pulling up. + +"Whadda you want?" demanded Racey, halting a scant yard from Luke +Tweezy's left leg. + +"I come to see Mrs. Dale," replied Tweezy, his leathery features +wrinkling in a grimace intended to pass for a propitiating smile. + +Racey's stare was venomous. "Tweezy," he drawled, "I done told you +something about admiring to see you put these women off this ranch, +didn't I?" + +"Oh, you was just a li'l hasty. I understand. That's all right. I've +done forgot all about it." + +"So I see. So I see. I'm reminding you of it. After this, Luke, I'd +hobble my memory if I was you, then it won't go straying off thisaway +and get you into trouble." + +"Trouble?" + +Racey did not deign to repeat. He nodded simply. + +"I ain't got no gun," explained the lawyer. + +"Alla more easy for me, then. You can't shoot back." + +Luke Tweezy choked. Choked and spat. "---- ----" he began in a violent +tone of voice. + +"Careful, careful," cautioned Racey, promptly kicking the lawyer's +horse in the ribs. "There's ladies in the house. You get a-holt of +yore tongue." + +Luke Tweezy obeyed the command literally. For, his horse going into +the air with great briskness at the impact of Racey's toe, even as the +puncher had intended it should, he, Luke Tweezy, bit his tongue so +hard that he wept involuntary tears of keenest anguish. + +"You stop that cussin'," resumed Racey, seizing the bridle short and +yanking the bouncing horse to a standstill with a swerve and a jerk +that almost unseated its rider. "You be careful how you talk, you--hop +toad!" + +"Leggo that bridle!" yammered Tweezy, almost distraught with anger. +His tongue pained him exquisitely and he was otherwise physically +shaken. "Leggo that bridle!" + +"I'll let it go!" Racey grated through set teeth, and he let it go +with a backward flip to the lower branches of the severe curb bit that +instantly sent the horse on its hind legs. If Luke Tweezy had not +quickwittedly smacked the animal between the ears with the butt of his +quirt it would have continued the motion to a backfall and rolled its +rider out. + +"Tough luck," mourned Racey, sorry to observe that Luke had contrived +to ward off an accident. "I was expecting to see that horn dislocate +yore latest meal. If you ain't quite so set on going to the house you +can flit." + +"I wanna see Mrs. Dale," persisted the lawyer in a strangled voice. +"I come to offer her money. I wanna do her a favour, can't you +understand?" + +"I can't," was the frank reply. "I can't see you doing anybody a +favour or giving away any money. C'mon, get a-going." + +It was then that the lawyer lifted up his voice and shouted aloud for +Mrs. Dale. Undoubtedly Racey would have done Tweezy a mischief had he +been given time. But unfortunately Molly Dale came to the lawyer's +rescue precisely as she had once come to the rescue of his partner in +evil, the bulldozer Lanpher. As it was Racey had contrived to pull +Luke Tweezy partly from the saddle when Molly arrived and forced her +defender to release his victim. + +Reluctantly Racey dropped the leg he held and allowed Tweezy to come +to earth on his hands and knees. + +"What do you want?" inquired Molly, regarding Tweezy much as she would +have regarded a poisonous reptile. + +"I want to see yore mother," snuffled Tweezy, applying his sleeve to +his nose. He had in the mixup smote his swell fork with the organ in +question and it had begun to bleed. + +"Why?" + +"I want to pay her money to go away quietly," said Tweezy, switching +from his sleeve to his handkerchief. "I--" + +"Here she is," interrupted Molly. "Tell her." + +"How do, ma'am," said Luke to the wet-eyed widow. "I guess it ain't +necessary for me to go through a lot of explanations with you. You +know what's what, and you know we'll take possession just as soon as +the sheriff serves the eviction papers on you." + +At this Racey Dawson made a noise in his throat. Molly laid cool +fingers on his wrist. + +"Steady, boy, steady," she whispered under her breath. + +Despite the seriousness of the moment Racey's heart skipped a beat and +the pleasantest shiver in the world ran about his body. "Boy!" she had +called him. "Boy." Her hand was actually touching his own. He-- + +"I don't want to be hard on you, Mis' Dale," resumed Luke, after an +apprehensive glance at Racey Dawson. "I don't like to be hard on +anybody that's sittin' into a run of hard luck, but business is +business, ma'am. You know that. And after all I'm--we're only asking +for what we're by rights entitled to. We got title to this place fair +and square, and--" + +"Title, huh?" struck in Racey, unable to keep silent. "Not yet you +ain't." + +"S-s-sh," breathed Molly, tightening her grip on his wrist. + +"It's like I say, Mis' Dale," Luke Tweezy burred on from behind his +handkerchief, "I ain't got any wish to add to yore troubles, and so I +got my partner to agree for me to give you five hundred dollars cash +money if you'll pack up and clear out quiet and peaceful." + +"Don't you do it, Mis' Dale!" urged Racey. "There's a trick in that +offer." + +"They ain't any trick!" contradicted Luke Tweezy, vehemently. "I just +wanna save trouble, thassall." + +Save trouble! That had been Lanpher's reason for coming the day he +rode through the garden. Save trouble, indeed. + +"If yo're so shore the sheriff is going to serve those eviction +papers," said Racey as calmly as he could because of the warning +pressure on his wrist, "if yo're so shore why are you giving away five +hundred?" + +"Because I don't like to be hard on Mis' Dale. Then, again, I'll admit +we wanna get in here soon as we can." + +"You admit it, huh? That's a good one, that is. Don't you do it, Mis' +Dale. You stand pat." + +"I don't want your five hundred dollars," said Mrs. Dale. + +"Seven-fifty," climbed up Tweezy. + +Mrs. Dale shook her head. "No." + +"One thousand," Tweezy raised his ante. + +"Lemme throw him out, Mis' Dale?" begged Racey Dawson. "Just lemme +throw him out, and I'll guarantee he'll never bother you again." + +Again Mrs. Dale shook her head, and the pressure on Racey's wrist +increased. "You mustn't touch him," said Mrs. Dale. "He'll go." + +"Think it over," Tweezy blundered on. "One thousand dollars gratis +cash money in yore hands if you'll leave at once." + +"I'll wait awhile," said Mrs. Dale. "Please go." + +Luke Tweezy opened his mouth to speak. Racey broke from Molly's +detaining grasp and stepped between him and Mrs. Dale, and Tweezy +closed his mouth without speaking. + +"You heard what she said," Racey drawled, softly. "Git." + +And Tweezy got. + +"Do you think the sheriff will put us out?" asked Mrs. Dale, twisting +a corner of her apron between her hands. + +"He'll take all the time to it he can," Racey evaded the direct reply. +"But whatever happens don't think of taking any offer like that of +Tweezy's. It's a trick, thassall. No matter who comes to you nor what +he offers don't you move till--Well, anyway, Judge Dolan and Jake Rule +are with you from soda to hock, and they'll do all they can to hold +things at a stand-still till I can fix it all up. You must remember +that I know what you dunno, and when I say that everything will end +fine and daisy you better believe I know what I'm talking about." + +Molly looked at him keenly. "Racey, that's the third or fourth time +you've said that. I wonder if you really have something up your +sleeve." + +"Of course I have," Racey insisted. "You wait. You'll see." + +"What do you know? Tell us." + +"Never mind, and I won't. It might spoil everything if I told you. You +just leave it to me." + +He had definitely made his bluff. He would have to make good. And he +no more knew how to make good in the business than the year-old baby +busy with its toes. But ere this men have killed dragons and made +wonders come to pass all for the sake of their ladies' eyes. Men as +prosaic and matter-of-fact as the puncher, Racey Dawson. Quite so. + +Half-an-hour after the departure of Luke Tweezy Mr. Saltoun and Tom +Loudon rode in on lathered horses. They were, it seemed, journeying +homeward from the 88 whither they had gone in an endeavour to persuade +Lanpher and Tweezy to sell the Dale mortgage. + +"Tweezy, huh?" said Racey. "He's just left here." + +"He must 'a' rode like the devil," said Mr. Saltoun. "He was in the +office with Lanpher when we left." + +"I thought I noticed a feller off to the south of us as we come +along," observed Loudon. "He was just a-boilin'. I only saw him the +once as he slid by the mouth of a draw. Looked like he was trying to +keep out of sight. Rode a gray hoss." + +"Tweezy rode a gray," nodded Racey. + +"Him, all right. What did he want here, Racey?" + +"Offered Mis' Dale one thousand cold if she'd pull her freight." + +"She ain't gonna do it, is she?" demanded the alarmed Mr. Saltoun. + +Racey shook his head. "She's gonna stick." + +"She must. Hell, yes. Those papers of Luke's are forged. I know they +are." + +"So does everybody else," put in Tom Loudon, "but if something don't +turn up damn quick--" He broke off, shaking a dubious head. + +"Something will," declared Racey, making his bluff a second time with +an air of supreme confidence. + +"You know something, Racey," prodded Mr. Saltoun who prided himself on +his perspicacity. "Whadda you know?" + +"I ain't telling it," answered Racey, coolly. "I ain't coming back to +the ranch to-day, neither." + +"Oh, you ain't. Listen to the new owner, Tom." + +"That's all right," said Racey. "If I'm going to do the world any good +I've got to have a free hand." + +"You can have two of 'em," conceded Mr. Saltoun. "The bridle's off." + +"Aw right, I'll take Swing Tunstall," Racey hastened to say. + +"I meant yore own two hands," demurred Mr. Saltoun. + +"I know you did, but I meant the other kind. Listen, do you want +Lanpher and Tweezy to get this ranch?" + +"---- it, no!" + +"Then gimme Swing Tunstall." + +"Take him. Need anybody else? Wouldn't you like all the rest of the +outfit, and me, too?" + +"My Gawd, no. This is a job requirin' brains." + +"Say, lookit here, Racey--" + +"When you get to the ranch tell Swing to come along soon as he can," +interrupted Racey. "I'll be expecting him." + +Tuckety-tuck! Tuckety-tuck! Somewhere beyond the cottonwood grove +surrounding Moccasin Spring a galloping horse was coming in. A moment +later horse and rider shot past the tail of the cottonwood grove, and +bore down on the house. + +"Marie!" exclaimed Racey. + +"And riding one of my hosses," observed Mr. Saltoun. + +At that instant Marie caught sight of the three men and swerved her +mount toward them. + +"They said at the Bar S you was here," panted the lookout, pulling up +in front of Racey Dawson. "So I borrowed a fresh hoss and kep' on. +Somethin's happened in Farewell, Racey. Swing Tunstall's shot." + +"Downed?" Racey did not usually jump at conclusions, but Swing +Tunstall was his friend. + +Marie shook her tousled head. "Nicked--shoulder and leg. But it ain't +their fault he wasn't rubbed out." + +"Who's responsible?" demanded Racey. + +"Doc Coffin." + +"You said 'their'." + +"Honey Hoke bumped into Swing just as he went after his gun, so Swing +couldn't get his gun out a-tall. Swing said Honey grabbed his wrist, +but Peaches Austin and Punch-the-breeze Thompson was on the other side +in the way so none of the boys seen what happened to Swing exactly +till after it had." + +"Austin, Thompson, Hoke, and Coffin," said Racey. "What began the +fuss?" + +"Doc Coffin upset a glass of whiskey over Swing's arm, and then cussed +him for getting his arm in the way." + +"And Swing called him a liar, huh?" + +"And a ---- one, too," elaborated Marie. + +"Put-up job." Gruffly Mr. Saltoun gave his opinion. + +"Shore." Tom Loudon nodded gravely. + +"Where are those four men now?" Racey asked, quietly, looking at +Marie. + +"They were in the Starlight when I left town--and _they weren't +drinkin_'." + +"No, they wouldn't be." + +"And the sheriff and Kansas went to Dogville this morning, and the +marshal is sick. I thought you ought to know. My Gawd, I thought you'd +hear the news from somebody else before I got here and go bustin' in +regardless, and--" + +"I guess I'll go in all right," he told her with a slight smile, "but +it won't be regardless." + +With that he turned on a spurred heel and crossed springily to where +his horse stood. + +"Aw, the devil!" exclaimed Marie, looking helplessly at Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. "And he'll do it, too." + +Then she "kissed" to her horse and rode into the cottonwood grove for +a drink at the spring. + +Racey, sticking foot in stirrup, found Molly Dale at his elbow. She +was looking at him the way women do when they either don't understand +or think they understand only too well. + +"Who is that woman?" asked Molly Dale. + +"Huh?" Thus Racey, stupidly. He was thinking of his friend lying +wounded in Farewell. "What woman you mean?... Oh, her, that's Marie, +she's--she's lookout in the Happy Heart." + +"Oh, yes, Marie. I--I've seen you with her--one evening when you and +she were crossing the street and I drove past. I--I, yes, indeed." + +And as she spoke her eyes were very bright, and her figure was stiffer +than the proverbial poker. Which was odd. And at the tail of her words +she gave a stiff nod and hurried into the house. Which was odder. The +species of nod and the hurry--both. + +But Racey was in no mood to speculate on the idiosyncrasies of woman. +Even _the_ woman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon and +Mr. Saltoun. They regarded him silently. + +"I guess," said Racey, whirling an empty tobacco-bag by it's +draw-string, "I'll borrow some of yore smokin', Tom. I'm plumb afoot +for tobacco at the present writing." + +Tom Loudon handed over his pouch without a word. But Mr. Saltoun was +fidgety. Unlike his son-in-law, he felt that he must speak. + +"Lookit here, Racey," he said, hurriedly, "you ain't going to Farewell +alone, are you?" + +"Why, no, certainly not," Racey replied, solemnly. "I'm going to send +word to Yardly for the troops. Hell's bells, there's only four of +them, man!" + +"Yes, well--Who's this? One of our boys?" + +But it was not one of "our" boys. It was Rack Slimson, the proprietor +of the Starlight Saloon. But he was riding in from the direction of +the Bar S. + +He rode soberly, as one bound on a journey of length. Even as Marie +had done he glimpsed the three men and turned his horse toward them. +Ten feet from the flank of Racey Dawson's mount he pulled in and +nodded. There was spite--spite and something else--in the gaze he +fixed on Racey Dawson. + +"Yore friend's hurt," said he. "Got in a fight." + +"Hurt bad?" asked Racey. + +"Not _too_ bad. I've seen worse." + +"Where's he hurt?" + +Rack Slimson merely corroborated what Marie had said. So far he seemed +to be telling the truth. And it was natural that there should be spite +in his eyes. He had no cause to feel affection for either man. But +there was the "something else" besides the spite in those eyes. That +was what interested Racey. + +"You come here special to tell me this?" said Racey, staring. + +"Not me," denied Rack Slimson. "I was just passing by, and I thought +I'd let you know." + +"Just bein' neighbourly, huh?" + +"I dunno as I'd go so far as to say that." + +"Well, I'm obliged to you, Slimson. I'm shore a heap obliged to you. +Is Swing Tunstall being taken care of all right?" + +"He's in Mike Flynn's house. Joy Blythe is a-nursin' him." + +"Then I ain't needed in Farewell right now." Racey's tone was casual. + +Rack Slimson rose to the bait immediately. "He's asking for you alla +time," said he. + +"He is, is he? Why didn't you say so at first?" + +"I didn't know it was necessary." + +"Which is true more ways than one. Lookit here, Slimson, where might +you happen to be going when you run into me so providential here at +Moccasin Spring?" + +"I might be going most anywhere," Rack Slimson replied with a flash of +temper. + +"No call to get het, Rack, no call to get het. What I'm asking is a +fair question: Where might you be going to-day." + +"Marysville." + +"Ain't you off the trail some?" + +"Shore I am, some. I remembered something I gotta see about at the +88 before I go to Marysville. That's how I'm going west instead of +south." + +"When did you first remember this here something of yores?" + +"When I stopped at the Bar S for a drink of water." + +"And after you'd just happened to remember this something, I s'pose +you just happened to ask where I was and they told you Moccasin +Spring. Is that the how of it?" + +"Yo're a good guesser," replied Rack Slimson with sarcasm. + +"Sometimes I do make a centre shot," Racey admitted, modestly. + +It was then that Marie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, +rode forth from the cottonwood grove. At sight of her Rack Slimson's +eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. + +"Hell," he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey. + +"What you hellin' about?" Racey inquired, pleasantly. + +"You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time," complained Rack Slimson. + +"What makes you think so?" Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack. + +"She told you." Thus Rack, bluntly. + +"'She?' What she you mean?" + +"Aw, her." Rack Slimson jerked his head toward the approaching girl. + +"He's got 'em again," said Racey to Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. "I +don't see any 'her' anywhere. Do you?" + +"Not me," chorussed both men. + +"You see how yo're mistaken, Rack," pointed out Racey. "Yore eyes are +deceivin' you. Don't you trust 'em. You don't see any girls round +here, exceptin' maybe Miss Dale over at the house. You might 'a' seen +her according to whether she came to the kitchen door or not. But you +ain't seen any other girl here. And you better be shore you ain't." + +"Why had I?" blustered Rack Slimson, without, however, making any +hostile motion with his hands. + +"Because I say so." + +"Whatell's it to you?" + +"All you have to do is say in Farewell that you saw Marie here at +Dale's and you'll find out. I'll even go farther than that. I'm +tellin' you, Rack, that if anybody finds out in Farewell that +Marie was here, or if any accident happens to her--any accident, +y'understand--I'll have to take it as evidence that you had to blat. +Fair enough, huh?" + +"But supposing somebody else sees her and tells about it?" protested +Rack Slimson. + +"In that case yo're out of luck," was the unfeeling reply. + +"But--" began again Rack Slimson. + +"You might try prayer," Racey interrupted. "It would maybe help. You +can't tell." + +The unhappy Rack Slimson looked toward Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. But +there was no aid for him in that quarter. In fact, both men eyed him +with frank hostility. + +"So you see Marie is kept out of it." Racey laid his final injunction +on Rack as the girl in question joined them. "You don't guess this +girl is her, do you?" + +"Nun-no," declared Rack, hastily. "I don't. She's somebody else for +all I care." + +"That's the way to talk," Racey said, nodding approvingly. "You keep +right on holding to those sentiments and I wouldn't be surprised if +you lived quite a long while." + +Marie showed her teeth in a laugh. "I ain't a-scared of any such breed +of chunker as Rack Slimson," said she, calmly. "I can manage him my +own self. You goin' back to Farewell, Racey?" + +"Right now." + +"Then I'll be going with you." + +"You'll do no such a thing. There's no sense in yore running into +trouble thataway. You'll come in to Farewell after me and from another +direction." + +"Shore, I was going to. I was only gonna ride along with you part +way." + +Racey shook his head. "Wouldn't be sensible, that wouldn't. Somebody +might see you. You come along later like I told you. Me and Rack will +travel together." + +"I was goin' to the 88," protested Rack. + +"Yo're mistaken," Racey told him, firmly. "Yo're going to +Farewell--with me. Ain't you?" + +"I s'pose so," Rack Slimson capitulated. + +"Then c'mon. Get a-goin'." + +Marie watched the two men ride away together. "Ain't he the hellion?" +she said, admiringly, to Tom and Old Salt. "Bound to have his own way +if it kills him." + +At this there was a slight sound from the direction of the garden. +Marie and the two men turned to look. Trowel in hand Molly Dale was +kneeling on one knee between the brook and a row of blue camass. But +she was not doing any weeding. She was staring fixedly at Marie. While +a man could breathe twice Molly stared at Marie, then she dropped her +head and became very busy with the trowel. + +Marie's sniff was audible at thirty feet. She picked up her reins and +nodded to Tom Loudon and Mr. Saltoun. + +"See you later," said she, and started her horse in the direction of +Farewell. But she whirled him back before he had taken three steps. + +"I clean forgot he was yore hoss," she said, apologetically, to Mr. +Saltoun. "I'll have to go back to the Bar S first." + +"Thassall right," Mr. Saltoun made haste to assure her. "You take him +right along. One of the boys can ride yore hoss to town on the next +trip an' ride this one back." + +"That _will_ save me a lot of trouble," said Marie, turning her +bewildered mount a second time. + +"She ain't ridin' straight toward Farewell," said Tom Loudon, rolling +a slow cigarette. + +"Aw, she's sensible," yawned Mr. Saltoun. "She'll do like Racey says +all right. She must like him a lot. I--Whatsa matter with _you_?" + +For Tom Loudon had contrived to make a long leg and give Mr. Saltoun a +vigorous kick on the ankle. + +"I guess we'll be goin'," dodged Tom Loudon, and then took off his hat +to Miss Dale. "So long, miss. If you--uh--You know where the Bar S is +in case--just in case, y' understand." + +He touched his horse with the spur and moved off with as much dignity +as a colonel of cavalry. Not so Mr. Saltoun. He had been kicked, +and the kick hurt, and he was very red and ruffled in consequence. +Swearing under his breath he followed his son-in-law. + +"Here," he demanded, crowding his horse alongside, "what did yuh kick +me for?" + +Tom Loudon looked over his shoulder before replying. The ranch-house +was a hundred yards in the rear and Molly Dale was not in sight. He +deliberately turned his head and looked his father-in-law straight in +the eye. "What did I kick you for?" he repeated. "I kicked you because +you didn't have any sense." + +This was too much. "Huh? Because I--Lookit here, you--" + +"'Tsall right, 'tsall right. You didn't have any sense. Here's Molly +Dale thinks Racey is the only fellah ever rode a cayuse, and you have +to blat out so she can hear you, 'Marie must shore like him a lot'." + +"Well, what of it? I don't see--" + +"You don't? Wait till I tell Kate." + +"It ain't necessary to tell my daughter," Mr. Saltoun remonstrated, +hurriedly. "I suppose my saying that about Marie might give Molly a +wrong idea maybe about Racey. But how do you know she likes Racey? You +been talking to her? Did she tell you so?" + +"I ain't, and she didn't. I been talking to Kate. She told me. Don't +ask me how she knows. She says she knows, and that's enough for me. +You can't fool a woman in things like that." + +"You can't fool 'em in anything," Mr. Saltoun corroborated, bitterly. +"I shore oughtn't to said that about Racey and Marie. I'll go right +back and tell Molly it ain't so." + +Mr. Saltoun started to wheel his horse, but Tom Loudon halted that +manoeuvre. + +"You gotta let it go now," said he. "If you tell her you didn't mean +what you said she shore _will_ think it's true." + +"We-ell, if you think I'd better not, I won't," Mr. Saltoun assented, +doubtfully. "But I wouldn't say anything to Kate if I was you." + +"Then I won't," said Tom Loudon, his tongue in his cheek. + +"Where you think yo're going?" Mr. Saltoun queried presently. "This +ain't the way to the ranch." + +"I know it ain't. It's the way to Farewell." + +"Whyfor Farewell?" + +"It's just possible Racey may need a li'l help before he's through +with this job." + +"You're right," Mr. Saltoun said, contritely. "I've been so took up +with this Dale mortgage and the idea of Luke Tweezy and that skunk +Lanpher getting this land that I ain't give much thought to anything +else. Of course Racey will need help, and you and I are the fellers to +give it to him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +STRATEGY + + +Racey Dawson and Rack Slimson, rising a hill on the way to Farewell, +simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other. Rack's +expression was dolefully sullen. Racey's was hard and uncompromising. + +"Who was it put you up to this?" asked Racey. + +"What?" + +"Coming out here after me." + +"I didn't come out after you, I tell you!" + +"Shore, shore," soothed Racey, "I know all about that. Who put you up +to it?" + +"I dunno what yo're talkin' about." + +"The ignorance of some people," said Racey, recalling sundry occasions +when other folk had oddly failed to grasp his meaning. + +They rode onward silently. + +When they reached the southern slope of Indian Ridge, Racey headed to +the east. A spirit of unease lit heavily upon the sagging shoulders of +Rack Slimson. + +"You ain't goin' straight for Farewell," he remarked at a venture. + +"I ain't--no." + +"I thought you was." + +"I am--but not straight." + +"Huh?" Rack Slimson wrinkled his forehead at this. + +"We're goin' in town from the side," explained Racey Dawson. + +This, too, was a puzzler. "Why?" queried Rack Slimson. + +"So's nobody will know we're coming till we're there." The smile with +which Racey garnished his answer was chilling to the soul of Mr. +Slimson. + +"But I don't see--" + +"You wouldn't. I'll tell you how it is all in words of one syllable. +You and me are coming into town from the east where that draw is and +those shacks behind the dance hall. We'll leave our hosses in the +draw, and proceed, like they say in the army, on foot. Then you and +me--" + +"But why me?" Rack Slimson desired to know. "What are you always +putting 'me' in for?" + +"Because yo're a-going with me, Rack, that's why. Yo're a-going with +me while I'm hunting for Coffin and Honey Hoke and Punch-the-breeze +Thompson and Peaches Austin. Those four will likely be together, see, +and I wanna use you for a breastwork sort of." + +"A breastwork!" cried the now thoroughly upset Mr. Slimson. "A +breastwork!" + +"Shore a breastwork. I'll shove you ahead of me into the saloon and if +they--there's four of 'em, y'understand--cut down on me you'll be in +the way." + +"But they'll down me!" + +"I'm counting on that." + +"But--" + +"Aw, shut up, you ---- skunk! You come out to Moccasin Spring on +purpose to get me to come to Farewell and be peaceably shot by Doc +Coffin and his gang. Can't tell me you didn't. I know better." + +"I didn't! I didn't! I--" + +"Aw right you didn't. In that case you got nothing to scare you. If +Doc and his outfit ain't got any harsh thoughts against me they won't +shoot when we run up on 'em. That'll prove yo're telling the truth, +and I'll beg yore pardon. I'll do more'n beg yore pardon. I'll eat +yore shirt an' my saddle." + +Racey's assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicions +proved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson. + +"I--lookit here," he began, desperately, "can't we fix this here up +some way? I dunno as--" + +"Shore we can fix it up," interposed Racey, heartily. "Go after yore +gun any time you feel like it. I been letting you keep it on purpose." + +Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation. He had not the slightest +desire to go after his gun. He was not fast enough, and he knew it. + +"It ain't necessary to do that," said he. + +"Suit yoreself," Racey told him calmly. "Hop into action any time you +feel like it. Of course before we get to that draw outside Farewell +where we're gonna leave our hosses I'll have to take yore gun away. +Later I might be too busy to do it--and I can't afford to take _every_ +chance. Not with four or five men. You can see that yoreself." + +Rack Slimson saw. He saw other things too. Oh, there was no warmth in +the sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled with +bitterness unutterable. + +"We'll be at the draw some time soon," suggested Racey ten minutes +later. + +But Rack Slimson's hands continued to remain in plain sight, the while +Rack gnawed a thin and bloodless lip. + +When at long last the draw opened before them Racey calmly reached +over and removed the saloon-keeper's sixshooter. After satisfying +himself that the weapon was fully loaded he stuffed it down inside the +waistband of his trousers. Then he buttoned the two lower buttons of +his vest and pulled the garment in question over the protruding butt. + +For a space of time they rode the bottom of the draw. Where a few +heavy willows grew about a tiny spring Racey pulled in. + +"We'll leave the cayuses here," said he. "We're right close in back of +Marie's shack." + +They dismounted, tied the horses to separate willows, and climbed the +side of the draw. + +"No hurry," cautioned Racey, for Rack Slimson was showing signs of a +nervous haste. "Besides, I want to pat you all over for a hideout." + +Behind the blind end of Marie's shack Rack Slimson submitted to +being searched for concealed weapons. Racey found none, not even a +pocket-knife. + +"Let's go," said Racey Dawson. "We'll go to yore saloon first. And you +pray hard that nobody sees us from the back window." + +They diagonalled down past the stage company's corral to the house +next door to the Starlight. + +"They haven't seen us yet," Racey observed, cheerfully, to Rack +Slimson whose wretched knees had been knocking together ever since he +had dismounted. "Slide over this way a li'l more, Rack. Now take off +yore spurs." + +Racey stooped and removed his own. And not for an instant did he lose +the magic of the drop. As a matter of fact, he had kept Rack covered +from the moment Rack set his boot-soles to earth. Rack's spurs jingled +on the ground. Racey let them lie. His own spurs he jammed each into a +hip pocket. + +"I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly, +to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to the +Starlight's back door." + +The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, the +proprietor in the lead. + +"Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to be +empty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes." + +He held Rack Slimson by the belt and pushed him toward the door giving +into the front room. This door was shut. They paused behind it. + +"He oughta be along pretty soon," complained a fretful voice that +Racey recognized as belonging to Honey Hoke. + +"We don't mind waiting," chimed in Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"It's the best thing we do." This was big Doc Coffin speaking. + +The two behind the door heard a bottle-neck clink against the rim of a +glass. + +"You better not take too much," advised Thompson. + +"Aw, who's takin' too much?" flung back Honey Hoke. + +"Well, you don't see the rest of us touching a single drop, do you? +Speaking personal, I wouldn't drown _my_ insides with liquor when I'm +due to go up against a proposition like Racey Dawson." + +Here was praise indeed. Racey thumbed Rack Slimson in the ribs. Rack +turned his head and saw that Racey was grinning. Rack grew even more +spineless. + +"You see," pointed out Racey in a sardonic whisper. "Yo're up against +the pure quill, feller." + +Which remark at any other time would have been in the worst possible +taste, but license is extended to men in peril of their lives. + +"They're at the table in the corner beside the bar, this end, ain't +they?" resumed Racey. "Ain't it lucky the door opens that way?" + +Then he was silent for a time while he strove to catch the accents of +Peaches Austin. He wanted to know if they were all four at the one +table. But Peaches was either not talking or elsewhere. A moment later +the question was answered for him by Honey Hoke. + +"If he slips by Peaches without Peaches seem' him--" began Honey. + +"Aw, hownell can he?" sneered Doc Coffin. "They's Peaches camped down +in front of the blacksmith shop right where he can see the trail alla +way down Injun Ridge. A dog couldn't get past Peaches without being +seen, let alone a two-legged man on a four-legged hoss." + +"S'pose he goes round the ridge," offered the doubter, unconsciously +hitting the nail on the head. + +"He won't," declared the confident Doc. "He'll come boiling right in +like he owned the place. Don't you lose no sleep over _that_." + +"Maybe Rack couldn't find him," pursued Honey Hoke, and an answering +quiver ran through the frame of Rack Slimson. + +"Rack will find him all right," said Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"He might be suspicious of Rack, alla same," Honey Hoke wavered on. + +"Not the way Rack will tell him. Didn't we fix it up just what Rack +was to say and all before he went? Shore we did. He won't make no +mistake, Rack won't. You'll see." + +"And anyway," broke in Doc Coffin, "they's four of us to take care of +any mistakes." + +At which the three laughed loudly. + +"I hope," Racey whispered in Rack's rather grimy left ear, "I hope you +heard all those fellers said. Proves I was right, don't it? Nemmine +nodding yore head more'n once. Hold still. Yo're doin' fine. Yep, I'm +shore glad we stood here a-listenin' like we have. Makes me feel a +heap easier in my mind about you. Otherwise I might always have had a +doubt I did right. I'd have been shore, y' understand, but I wouldn't +have been _dead_ shore." + +At which the unfortunate Rack came within an eyewink of fainting. As +it was his stomach seemed to roll over and over. He began to feel a +little sick. + +"The bartender now," went on Racey after a moment, "is he likely to +mix into this?" + +"I dunno," breathed Rack. + +"Who is he? I ain't been in yore place for some time." + +Rack told him the name of the bartender, and Racey nodded quite as if +Rack were facing him and could see everything he did. + +"Then that's all right," whispered Racey. "I know that feller. He's a +friend of Mike Flynn's. He won't do anythin' hostyle. Let's go right +in. Open the door. G'on, damn yore soul, or I'll blow you apart!" + +Rack Slimson opened the door and immediately endeavoured to spring to +one side. But he reckoned not on the strength of Racey Dawson. The +latter swung Rack back into place between himself (Racey Dawson) and +the table at which Doc Coffin and his two friends were sitting. + +It was a painfully surprised trio that confronted Racey and his +unwilling barricade. The bartender was likewise surprised. He +immediately fell flat on the floor. Not so the three men at the table. +They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the body +of their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there was +nothing to say. + +"I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes bright +with cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enough +to take care of any mistakes?" + +At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward. Racey drove an +accurate bullet through Doc Coffin's mouth. The bullet ranging upward, +and making its exit through the parietal bone, let in the light on +Doc's hitherto darkened intellect in more ways than one. + +Doc Coffin's forefinger, tightening convulsively on the trigger of its +wearer's sixshooter, sent an unaimed shot downward. But previous to +embedding itself in a floor board, the bullet passed through Honey +Hoke's foot. This disturbed Honey's aim to such an extent that instead +of shooting Racey through the head he shot Rack through the hat. + +Racey, attending strictly to his knitting, bored Honey Hoke with a +bullet that removed the top of the second knuckle of Honey's right +hand, shaved a piece from the wrist bone, and then proceeded to +thoroughly lacerate most of the muscles of the forearm before finally +lodging in the elbow. Thus was Honey Hoke rendered innocuous for the +time being. He was not a two-handed gunfighter. + +As yet Punch-the-breeze Thompson had remained strictly neutral. His +hands were on the table top, and had been from the beginning. + +"It's yore move, Thompson," Racey said with significance. + +"Then I'll be goin'," said Thompson, calmly. "See you later--maybe." + +So saying he rose to his feet, turned his back on Racey, and walked +out of the place. Racey had no illusions as to Thompson, but he +obviously could not shoot him in the back. He let him go. Watching +from a window he saw Thompson go to the hitching-rail in front of the +saloon, untie his horse, mount, and ride away northward. + +And the blacksmith shop in front of which Peaches Austin was supposed +to be on guard lay at the south end of the street. Where, then, was +Thompson going? + +"Where's he goin'?" he demanded of the now wriggling Rack Slimson. + +"Huh? Who? Punch? I dunno." + +"Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dunno." + +"Yo're a liar. Where is he?" + +"I dunno! I dunno! I tell you! Yo're gug-gug-chokin' me!" + +"Yo're lying again. If I was choking you you couldn't talk. Yo're +talkin', ain't you? Where's Jack Harpe?" + +"I dud-dud-dunno," insisted Rack Slimson, his teeth chattering as +Racey shook him. + +"Is he in town?" + +"I dud-dunno." + +"Is Thompson going after him, do you think?" + +"I dud-dunny-dunno!" + +"I guess maybe you don't, after all," Racey said, disgustedly, +flinging the unfortunate saloon-keeper from him with such force that +the fellow skittered quite across the floor and sat down in the +washpan into which the bartender was accustomed to throw the broken +glassware. + +"Ow-wow!" It was a hearty, full-lunged howl that Rack Slimson uttered +as he bounded erect and clutched at his trousers. + +Racey's eyes brightened at the sight. "Y' oughta known better than to +sit down in all that glass. I could 'a' told you you'd get prickles in +you. Why don't you stand still and let yore barkeep pick 'em out for +you? You can get at most of the big pieces with yore fingers," he +added to the bartender, who was gingerly emerging on all fours round +the end of the bar. "And the little ones you can dig out with a +sharp knife. Yep, Rack, old-timer, I'll bet you won't carry any more +messages on horseback for a while." + +There was a sudden crashing thud at the back of the room. Honey Hoke +had fallen out of his chair. Now he lay on the floor, his legs drawn +up and the back of his frowsy head resting against a rung of the chair +in which still sat the dead body of Doc Coffin. + +Racey went to Honey and spread him out in a more comfortable position. + +Calloway and Judge Dolan entered the saloon together. + +"We thought we heard shootin'--" began Galloway, staring in +astonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed the +better to endure the ministrations of the bartender. + +"We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweeping +past Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room. + +"What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of +'em cashed?" + +Racey shook his head. "Doc Coffin passed out," said he in a hard, dry +voice. "But Honey Hoke's heart is beatin' regular enough. Guess he's +only fainted from loss of blood." + +The Judge nodded. "They do that sometimes." Here he looked at Doc +Coffin's body lying humped over the table, an arm hanging free, the +head resting on the table-top. + +"Were they rowin' together?" was the Judge's next question. + +Racey gave him a circumstantial account of the shooting and the +incidents that had led up to it. The Judge heard him through without a +word. + +"They asked for it," said he, when Racey made an end. "'Sfunny Punch +didn't pick up a hand. Tell you what you do, Racey: You come to my +office in about a hour. Nothing to do with this business. I got no +fault to find with what you done. Even break and all that. Something +else I wanna see you about. Huh? What's that, Piggy?" + +The place was beginning to fill up with inquisitive folk from the +vicinity, and Racey decided to withdraw. He went out the back way. +Closing the door, he set his shoulders against it, and remained +motionless a moment. His eyes were on the distant hills, but they +neither saw the hills nor anything that lay between. + +"I had to do it," he muttered, bitterly. "I didn't want to down +him. But I had to. They were gonna down me if they could. And +he--they--they asked for it." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +THE QUARREL + + +"Lo, Peaches, ain't you afraid of gettin' sunburnt?" Peaches Austin, +gambler though he was, flickered his eyelashes. He was startled. He +had not had the slightest warning of Racey Dawson's approach. + +"Didn't hear me, did you?" Racey continued, conversationally. "I +didn't want you to. That's why I kept my spurs off and sifted round +from the back of the blacksmith shop. And you were expecting me to +come scampering down the trail over Injun Ridge, weren't you? Joke's +on you, Peaches, sort of." + +Still Peaches said nothing. He sat and gazed at Racey Dawson. + +"Don't be a hawg," resumed Racey. "Move over and lemme sit down, too. +That's the boy. Now we're both comfortable, Peaches, you mean to sit +there and tell me you didn't hear any shooting up at the Starlight a +while back?" + +Peaches Austin wetted his lips with the tip of a careful tongue. "I +heard shootin'," he admitted, stiff-lipped. + +"And what did you think it was?" + +"I didn't know." + +"Didn't you see Thompson ride away?" + +"Shore." + +"And didn't you think anything about that, either?" + +"Oh, I thought, but--" + +"But you had yore orders to sit here and wait for li'l Willie. And you +always obey orders. That it, Peaches?" + +"What are you drivin' at?" + +"Yo're always asking me that, Peaches. Try something new for a change. +Look." + +Racey extended a long arm past Peaches' nose and pointed up the +street toward the Starlight Saloon. A man was backing out through the +doorway. Another followed, walking forward. Between them they were +carrying a third man. The hat of the third man was over his face. His +arms, which hung down, jerked like the arms of a doll. Even at that +distance Peaches could see that there was no life in the third man. + +"That's Doc Coffin," Racey murmured without rancour. "I wonder where +they're taking him? He used to bach with Nebraska Jones, didn't he? I +guess that's where they're taking him to. Yep, they've gone round the +corner of the stage company's corral." + +"Where's Honey?" queried Peaches in a still, small voice. + +"In the Starlight. He ain't hurt bad. Foot and arm. Lucky, huh?" + +Peaches Austin considered these things a moment. "Doc Coffin was +reckoned a fast man," he said in the tone of one who, after adding +up a column of figures, has found the correct total, "and Honey Hoke +wasn't none slow himself. And you got 'em both." + +"I didn't get 'em both," corrected Racey. "Honey is only wounded." + +"Same thing. You could 'a' got 'him if you wanted to. Yo're lucky, +that's what it is. Yo're lucky. And you been lucky from the beginning. +I ain't superstitious, but--" Here he lied. Like most gamblers Peaches +was sadly superstitious. He looked at Racey, and there was something +much akin to wonder on his countenance. He shook his head and was +silent a long thirty seconds. "Yo're too lucky for me--I quit," he +finished. + +"How much?" + +"Complete. I tell you, I don't buck no such luck as yores no longer. +I'll never have none myself if I do. I'm goin'." + +Peaches Austin got to his feet and walked across the street to the +hotel. Twenty minutes later Racey, sitting on the bench in front of +the blacksmith shop, saw him issue from the hotel, carrying a saddle, +packed saddlebags, and _cantenas_, blanket and bridle, and go to the +hotel corral. + +Within three minutes Peaches Austin rode out from behind the hotel. As +he passed the blacksmith shop he said "So long" to Racey. + +"See you later," nodded that serene young man. + +"I hope not," tossed back Peaches, and rode on down the trail that +leads over Indian Ridge to Marysville and the south. + +Racey watched him out of town. Then he went to Mike Flynn's to see +and, if it were possible, to cheer up his wounded friend, Swing +Tunstall. But he was not allowed to see him. Swing, it appeared, had +been given an opiate by Joy Blythe, who was acting as nurse, and she +refused to awaken her patient for anybody. So there. + +Racey went to the Happy Heart to while away the remainder of the +hour set by Judge Dolan. The bartender greeted him respectfully and +curiously. So did several other men he knew. For that respect and +that curiosity he understood the reason. It lay on a bunk in Nebraska +Jones's shack. + +No one asked him to drink. People are usually a little backward in +social intercourse with a citizen who has just killed his fellowman. +Of course in time the coolness wears off. In this case the time would +be short, Doc Coffin having been one of those that more or less +encumber the face of the earth. But for the moment Racey felt his +ostracism and resented it. + +He set down his drink half drunk and walked out of the Happy Heart. + + * * * * * + +"See anything of Luke Tweezy lately?" asked Judge Dolan when Racey was +sitting across the table from him in the Judge's office. + +"Saw him to-day." + +"Where?" + +"Moccasin Spring." + +Judge Dolan nodded and rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "Luke is +in town now," said he. + +"I ain't lost any Luke Tweezys," observed Racey, looking up at the +ceiling. + +"I wonder how long Luke is figuring on staying in town," went on Judge +Dolan, sticking like a stamp to his original subject. + +"Nothing to me." + +"It might be. It might be. You never can tell about them things, +Racey." + +Racey Dawson's eyes came down from the ceiling. He studied the Judge's +face attentively. What was Dolan driving at? Racey had known the Judge +for several years, and he was aware that the more indirect the Judge +became in his discourse the more important the subject matter was +likely to be. + +"No," said Racey, willing to bite, "you never can tell." + +"We was talking one day about a feller making mistakes." The tangent +was merely apparent. + +"Yep," acquiesced Racey. "We were saying Luke Tweezy made a good +many." + +"Something like that, yeah. You run across any of Luke's mistakes yet, +Racey?" + +Racey shook his head. "No." + +"Did you go to Marysville?" + +"Why for Marysville?" + +"Luke Tweezy lives in Marysville." + +"And you think there's somebody in Marysville would talk?" + +Judge Dolan looked pained. "I didn't say so," he was quick to remark. + +"I know you didn't, but--" + +"I don't guess they's many folks in Marysville _know_ much about +Luke--no, not many. Luke is careful and clever, damn clever. +But they's other things besides folks which might have useful +information." + +"Yeah?" + +"Yeah. A gent, a lawyer anyway, keeps a lot of papers in his safe as +a rule. Sometimes them papers make a heap interesting readin'." The +Judge paused and regarded Racey coolly. + +"They might prove interesting reading, that's a fact," drawled Racey. + +"Now I ain't suggestin' anything," pursued Judge Dolan. "I couldn't on +account of my oath. But it ain't so Gawd-awful far from Farewell to +Marysville." + +"It ain't _too_ far." + +"I got a notion Luke Tweezy will find important business to keep him +here in Farewell the next four or five days." + +"I wonder what kind of a safe Luke has got," murmured Racey. + +"Damfino," said the Judge. "You know anything about dynamite--how it's +handled, huh?" + +"Shore, handle it carefully." + +"I mean how to prepare a fuse and detonator and stick it in the +cartridge. You know how?" + +"I helped a miner man once for a week. Shore I know. You cut the fuse +square-ended. Stick the square end into the cap until it touches the +fulminate, and crimp down the copper shell all round with a dull knife +to hold the fuse. Then you make a hole in the end of the cartridge +and--" + +"I guess you know yore business, Racey," interrupted Judge Dolan. +"You'll find a package on that shelf by the door. Handle it carefully. +I'm glad you dropped in, Racey, Nice weather we're having." + +"But there are some people about due for a cold wave," capped Racey, +stopping on his way out to take the package from the shelf and wink at +Judge Dolan. + +The wink was not returned. But the Judge's tongue may have been in his +cheek. He was a most human person, was Judge Dolan of Farewell. + +Racey, handling the package with care, went back to the draw where +he had left the two horses. In the draw he opened the package. It +contained six sticks of dynamite and the necessary detonators and +fuse. + +"Good old Judge," said Racey, admiringly, and rewrapped the dynamite, +the detonators, and the fuse with even more care than he had employed +in unwrapping them. + +He rolled the package into his slicker and tied down the slicker +behind the cantle of his saddle. Untying the two horses he mounted his +own and, leading the other, rode to the hotel corral. + +Bill Lainey was only too glad to lend him a fresh horse and a bran +sack. + +It was dusk when he dismounted at the Dale corral. There was a lamp +in the kitchen. Its rays shone out through the open door and made a +rectangle of golden light on the dusty earth. Molly was standing at +the kitchen table. She was stirring something in a bowl. She did not +turn her head when he came to the door. + +"Evenin', Molly," said Racey. + +"Good evening." Just that. + +"Uh. Yore ma around?" + +"She's gone to bed." Still the dark head was not raised. + +He misunderstood both her brevity and the following silence. He +left his hat on the washbench outside the door and stepped into the +kitchen. + +"Don't take it so to heart, Molly," he said, awkwardly. + +"It's hard, but--Shucks, lookit, I've got something to tell you." + +In very truth he had something to tell her but he had not meant to +tell her so soon. + +"Lemme take care of you, Molly--dear. You know I love you, and--" + +"Stop!" Molly turned to him an expressionless face. She looked at him +steadily. "You say you love me?" she went on. + +"Shore I say it." He was plainly puzzled at her reception of what he +had said. Girls did not act this way in books. + +"How about that--that other girl? Marie, I think her name is." + +"What about her?" + +"A good deal." + +"What has she got to do with my loving you, I'd like to know?" + +"She loves you." + +"Marie? Loves me? Yo're crazy!" + +"Oh, am I? If she hadn't loved you do you think for one minute she'd +come riding all the way out here to give you a warning?" + +"Marie and I are friends," he admitted. "But there ain't any law +against that." + +"None at all." Molly's eyes dropped. Her head turned back. She resumed +her operations with a spoon in the bowl. + +"Lookit here, Molly--" + +"Don't you call me Molly." Her tone was as lacking in expression as +was her face. + +"But you've got to listen to me!" he insisted, desperately. "I tell +you there ain't anything between Marie and me." + +"Then there ought to be." Thus Molly. Womanlike she yearned to use her +claws. + +"But--" + +"Oh, I've heard all about your carryings on with that--creature; how +you talk to her, and people have seen you walking with her on the +street. I saw you myself. Yesterday when Mis' Jackson drove out here +to buy three hens she told me when the girl was arrested and fined for +trying to murder a man you stepped up and paid her fine. Did you?" + +"I did. But--" + +"There aren't any buts! You've got a nerve, you have, making love to +me after running round with that wretched hussy!" + +"She ain't a hussy!" denied the exasperated Racey, who was always +loyal to absent friends. "She's all right. Just because she happens to +be a lookout in the Happy Heart ain't anything against her. It don't +give you nor anybody else license to insult her." + +This was too much. Not content with confessing his friendship for the +girl, he was standing up for her. Molly whirled upon him. + +"Go!" Tone and business could not have been excelled by Peg Woffington +herself. + +Racey went. + +"What's the matter?" queried a sleepy voice from the doorway giving +into an inner room, as Racey's spurred heels jingled past the +washbench. "What's goin' on? Who was here? What you yelling about, +anyway?" + +"Racey was here, Ma," said Molly. + +"Seems to me you made an uncommon racket about it," grumbled her +mother, plodding into the kitchen in her slippers. + +Her gray hair was all in strings about her face. Her eyes and cheeks +were puffed with sleep. She had pulled a quilt round her shoulders +over her nightdress. Now she gave the quilt a hitch up and sat down in +a chair. + +"Make me a cup o' coffee, will you, Molly?" said Mrs. Dale. "My head +aches sort of. I hope you didn't have a fight with Racey Dawson." + +"Well, we didn't quite agree," admitted Molly, snapping shut the cover +of the coffee-mill and clamping the mill between her knees. "I don't +like him any more, Ma." + +"And after he's helped us so! I was counting on him to fix up this +mortgage business! Whatever's got into you, Molly?" + +"He's been running round with that awful lookout girl at the Happy +Heart." + +"Is that all?" yawned Mrs. Dale, greatly relieved. "I thought it might +have been something serious." + +"It is serious! What right has he to--" + +"Why hasn't he? You ain't engaged to him." + +"I know I'm not, but he--I--you--" Molly began to flounder. + +"Has he ever told you he loved you?" Mrs. Dale inquired, shrewdly. + +"Not in so many words, but--" + +"But you know he does. Well, so do I know he does. I knew it soon as +you did--before, most likely. Don't you fret, Molly, he'll come back." + +"No, he won't. Not now. I don't want him to." + +"Then who's to fix up this mortgage business with Tweezy, I'd like +to know? I declare, I wish I'd taken that lawyer's offer. We'd have +something then, anyhow. Now we'll have to get out without a nickel. +Oh, Molly, what did you quarrel with Racey for?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +BURGLARY + + +Merely because he believed that the well-known all was over between +Molly Dale and himself, Racey did not relinquish his plans for the +future. + +He rode to Marysville as he had intended. That is, he rode to the +vicinity of Marysville. For, arriving at a hill five miles outside of +town in the broad of an afternoon, he stopped in a hollow under the +cedars and waited for night. Daylight was decidedly not appropriate +for the act he contemplated. + +"I wonder," he muttered, as he lay with his back braced against a tree +and stared at the bulge in his slicker, "I wonder if I ought to use +all them sticks at once. I never heard that miner man say how much of +an argument a safe needed. I s'pose I better use 'em all." + +Luke Tweezy was a bachelor. His office was in his four-room house, and +he did not employ a housekeeper. Further than this, Racey Dawson +knew nothing of the lawyer's establishment. But he believed that his +knowledge was sufficient to serve his purpose. + +About midnight Racey Dawson removed himself, his horse, and his +dynamite from the hollow on the hill to where a lone pine grew almost +directly in the rear of and two hundred yards from the residence of +Luke Tweezy. He had selected the tall and lonely pine as the best +place to leave his horse because, should he be forced to run for +it, he would have against the stars a plain landmark to run for. +He thoroughly expected to be forced to run. Six sticks of dynamite +letting go together would arouse a cemetery. And Marysville was a +lively village. + +Racey, taking no chances on the Lainey horse stampeding at the +explosion, rope-tied the animal to the trunk of the pine. After which +he removed his spurs, carefully unwrapped the dynamite and stuck three +sticks in each hip-pocket. The caps, in their little box, he put in +the breast-pocket of his shirt. With the coil of fuse in one hand and +the bran sack given him by Lainey in the other he walked toward the +house of Tweezy. + +The house was of course dark. Nor were there any lights in the +irregular line of houses stretching up and down this side of the +street. The neighbours had apparently all gone to bed. Through an +opening between two houses Racey saw a brightly lighted window in a +house an eighth of a mile away. That would be Judge Allison's house. +The Judge, then, was awake. Two hundred and twenty yards was not a +long distance even for a portly man like Judge Allison to cover at +speed. And Racey had known Judge Allison to move briskly on occasion. + +Racey, moving steadily ahead, slid past someone's barn and opened up +a view of the dance hall. It had previously been concealed from his +sight by the high posts and rails of three corrals. The dance hall was +going full blast. At least all the windows were bright with light. He +was too far away to hear the fiddles. + +The dance hall! He might have known it would still be operating at +midnight. But it was almost twice as far from the Tweezy house to the +dance hall as it was from the Judge's house to Tweezy's. That was +something. Indeed it was a great deal. But he would have to work +fast. All the neighbours would come bouncing out at the crash of the +explosion. + +Racey paused to flatten an ear at the kitchen door. He heard nothing, +and tiptoed along the wall to the window of the room next the kitchen. +The ground plan of the house was almost an exact square. There was a +room in each angle. The office, which Racey knew contained the safe, +was diagonally across from the kitchen. + +Racey, halting at the window of the room next the kitchen, was +somewhat surprised to find it open. He stuck in his head and saw a +faint glow beyond the half-closed door of the office. The glow seemed +to be brighter near the floor. Racey listened intently. He heard a +faint grumble and now and then a squeak. + +He crouched beneath the window and removed his boots. Then he crawled +over the sill and hunkered down on the uncarpeted floor. The floor +boards did not creak. Still crouching, his arms extended in front of +him, he made his way silently across the room, skirting safely in the +process two chairs and a table, and stood upright behind the crack of +the door. + +Looking through the crack he perceived that the glow he had seen from +the window emanated from a tin can pierced with several holes. The +dim, uncertain light revealed the figure of a tall and hatless man +kneeling beside the safe. The man's back was toward the lighted tin +can. One of the tall man's hands was slowly turning the knob of the +combination. The side of the man's head was pressed against the front +of the safe near the combination. Racey could not see the man's face. + +Across the window of the room two blankets had been hung. The door +into the other front room was open. Then suddenly the doorway was no +longer a black void. A man stood there--a fat man with a stomach that +hung out over the waistband of his trousers. There was something very +familiar about the figure of that fat man. + +The fat man leaned against the doorjamb and pushed back his wide black +hat. The light in the tin can illumined his countenance dimly. But +Racey's eyes were becoming accustomed to the half darkness. He was +able to recognize Jacob Pooley--Fat Jakey Pooley, the register of the +district, whose home was in Piegan City. + +"You ain't as fast as you used to be," observed Fat Jakey in a soft +whisper. + +"Shut up!" hissed the kneeling man, and turned his face for an instant +toward Fat Jakey, so that the light shone upon his features. + +It was Jack Harpe. + +"What's biting your ear?" Fat Jakey asked, good-naturedly. + +"I've told you more'n once to let what's past alone," grumbled Jack +Harpe. + +"Hell, there's nobody around." + +"Nemmine whether they is or not. You get out of the habit." + +"Rats," sneered Fat Jakey. + +"What was that?" Jack Harpe's figure tautened in a flash. + +"Rats," repeated Fat Jakey. + +"I thought I heard something," persisted Jack Harpe. + +"You heard rats," chuckled Fat Jakey. "You're nervous, that's what's +the matter, or else you ain't able to open the safe." + +"I can open the safe all right," growled Jack Harpe, bending again to +his work. + +"I wonder what he did hear," Racey said to himself. "I thought I heard +something, too." + +Whatever it was he did not hear it again. + +"There she is," said Jack Harpe, suddenly, and threw open the safe +door. + +It was at this precise juncture that a voice from the darkness behind +Fat Jakey said, "Hands up!" + +Oh, it was then that events began to move with celerity. Fat Jakey +Pooley ducked and leaped. Jack Harpe kicked the tin can, the candle +fell out and rolled guttering in a quarter circle only to be +extinguished by one of Fat Jakey's flying feet. + +There was a slithering sound as the blankets across the window were +ripped down, followed by a scraping and a heaving and a grunting as +two large people endeavoured to make their egress through the same +window at the same time. + +"So that window was open alla time," thought Racey as he prudently +waited for the owner of the voice in the other room to discover +himself. But this the voice's owner did not immediately do. Racey +could not understand why he did not shoot while the two men were +struggling through the window. Lord knows he had plenty of time and +opportunity. + +Even after Jack Harpe and Fat Jakey had reached the outer air and +presumably gone elsewhere swiftly, there was no sound from the other +room. Racey, his gun ready, waited. + +At first his impulse had been incontinently to flee the premises as +Jack and Jake had done. But a saving second thought held him where +he was. It was more than possible that the mysterious fourth man had +designs on the contents of the safe. In which event-- + +Racey stood pat. + +He heard no sound for at least a minute after Jack and Jake had left, +then he heard a soft swish, and a few stars which had been visible +through the upper half of the window were blotted out. The blankets +were being readjusted. + +A match was struck and a figure stooped for the candle that had been +dashed out by the foot of Fat Jakey Pooley. A table shielded the +figure from Racey. Then the figure straightened and set the flaring +match to the candle end. And the face that bent above the light was +the face of one he knew. + +"Molly!" he whispered, and slipped from his ambush. + +At which Molly dropped candle and match and squeaked in affright. But +her scare did not prevent her from drawing a sixshooter. He heard the +click of the hammer, and whispered desperately, "Molly! Molly! It's +me! Racey!" + +He struck a match and retrieved the candle and lit it quickly. By its +light he saw her staring at him uncertainly. Her eyes were bright with +conflicting emotions. Her sixshooter still pointed in his general +direction. + +"Put yore gun away," he advised her. "We've got no time to lose. Hold +the candle for me! Put it in the can first!" + +Automatically she obeyed the several commands. + +He knelt before the open safe and, beginning at the top shelf, he +stuffed into his bran sack every piece of paper the safe contained. +Besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. These he did +not take. + +When the safe was clean of papers Racey tied the mouth of the bran +sack, took Molly by the hand, and blew out the candle. + +"C'mon," he said, shortly. "We'll be leavin' here now." + +Towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. +Holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window. No +blow or shot followed the action. He clapped the hat on his head, and +looked out cautiously. He satisfied himself that the coast was clear +and flung a leg over the sill. + +When he had helped out Molly he gave her the sack to hold and pulled +on his boots. + +"Where's yore hoss?" he whispered. + +"I tied him at the corner of the nearest corral," was the answer. + +"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand. + +They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him. + +"Whatsa matter?" + +"Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm--I'm all right. I +just stepped on a sharp stone." + +"Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't +you say something? Here." + +So saying he scooped her up in his arms, settled her in place with due +regard for the box of caps in his breast-pocket, and plowed on through +the night. Her arms went round his neck and her head went down on his +shoulder. She sighed a gentle little sigh. For a sigh like that Racey +would cheerfully have shot a sheriff's posse to pieces. + +"I left my shoes in my saddle pocket," she said, apologetically. "I--I +thought it would be safer." + +There was a sudden yell somewhere on Main Street. It sounded as if it +came from uncomfortably close to the Tweezy house. Then a sixshooter +cracked once, twice, and again. At the third shot Racey was running as +tight as he could set foot to the ground. + +Encumbered as he was with a double armful of girl and a fairly heavy +sackful of papers he yet made good time to the corner of the nearest +corral. The increasing riot in Main Street undoubtedly was a most +potent spur. + +"Which way's the hoss?" he gasped when the dark rail of the corral +fretted the sky before them. + +"You're heading straight," she replied, calmly. "Thirty feet more and +you'll run into him. Better set me down." + +He did--literally. He turned his foot on a tin can and went down +ker-flop. Forced to guard his box of caps with one hand he could not +save Molly Dale a smashing fall. + +"Ah-ugh!" guggled Molly, squirming on the ground, for she had struck +the pit of her stomach on a round rock the size of a football and the +wind was knocked out of her. + +Racey scrambled to his feet, and knowing that if Molly was able to +wriggle and groan she could not be badly hurt, picked up the sack and +scouted up Molly's horse. He found it without difficulty, and tied the +sack with the saddle strings in front of the horn. He loosed the horse +and led it to where Molly still lay on the ground. The poor girl was +sitting up, clutching her stomach and rocking back and forth and +fighting for her breath with gasps and crows. + +But there was not time to wait till she should regain the full use of +her lungs--not in the face of the shouts and yells in Main Street. +Lord, the whole town was up. Lights were flashing in every house. +Racey stooped, seized Molly under the armpits, and heaved her bodily +into the saddle. + +"Hang onto the horn," he ordered, "and for Gosh sake don't make so +much noise!" + +Molly obeyed as best she could. He mounted behind her, and of course +had to fight the horse, which harboured no intention of carrying +double if it could help itself. Racey, however, was a rider, and he +jerked Molly's quirt from where it hung on the horn. Not more than +sixty seconds were wasted before they were travelling toward the lone +pine as tight as the horse could jump. + +At the pine Racey slipped to the ground and ran to untie his horse. + +"Can you hang on all right at a trot if I lead yore hoss?" he queried, +sharply, his fingers busy with the knot of the rope. + +"I cue-can and gug-guide him, too," she stuttered, picking up her +reins and making a successful effort to sit up straight. "Lul-look! At +Tut-Tweezy's huh-house!" + +He looked. There were certainly three lanterns bobbing about in the +open behind the house of Luke Tweezy. He knew too well what those +lights meant. The Marysville citizens were hunting for a hot trail. + +He swung up with a rush. + +"Stick right alongside me," he told her. "We'll trot at first till +we get behind the li'l hill out yonder. After that we can hit the +landscape lively." + +She spoke no word till they had rounded the little hill and were +galloping south. Then she said in her normal voice, "This isn't the +way home." + +"I know it ain't. We've got to lose whoever follows us before we skip +for home." + +"Of course," she told him, humbly. "I might have known. You always +think of the right thing, Racey." + +All of which was balm to a hitherto tortured soul. + +"That's all right," he said, modestly. + +"And how strong you are--carrying me and that heavy sack all that +distance." Both admiration and appreciation were in her tone. Any +man would have been made happy thereby. Racey was overjoyed. And the +daughter of Eve at his side knew that he was overjoyed and was made +glad herself. She did not realize that Eve invariably employed the +same method with our grandfather Adam. + +He reached across and patted her arm. + +"Yo're all right," he told her. "When we get out of this yo're going +to marry me." + +Her free hand turned under his and clasped his fingers. S6 they rode +for a space hand-in-hand. And Racey's heart was full. And so was hers. +If they forgot for the moment what dread possibilities the future held +who can blame them? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +THE LETTERS + + +"But what was yore idea in coming to Marysville a-tall?" + +"To get that release Father signed--I thought it might be in his +safe." + +"Anybody give you the idea it might be?" + +She shook her head. "Nobody." + +"You've got more brains than I have, for a fact. But how were you +figuring on getting into the safe?" + +"Oh, I brought a bunch of keys along. What are you laughing at? I +thought one might fit." + +"Keys for a safe! Say, don't you know you don't open safes with keys? +They've got combinations, safes have." + +"I didn't know it. How could I? I never saw a safe in my life till +I saw this one to-night. I thought they had locks like any other +ordinary--Oh, I think you're horrid to laugh!" + +"I'm not laughing. Lean over, and I'll show you.... There, I ain't +laughing, am I?" + +"Not now, but you were.... Not another one, Racey. Sit back where you +belong, will you? You can hold my hand if you like. But I wasn't such +a fool as you seem to think, Racey. I brought an extra key along in +case the others didn't fit." + +"Extra key?" + +"Surely--seven sticks of dynamite, caps, and fuse. Chuck had a lot he +was using for blowing stumps, so I borrowed some from his barn. He +didn't know I took it." + +"I should hope not," Racey declared, fervently. "You leave dynamite +alone, do you hear? Where is it now?" + +"Oh, I left it on the floor in Tweezy's house when I found I didn't +need it any longer." + +"Thank God!" breathed Racey, whose hair had begun to rise at the bare +idea of the explosives still being somewhere on her person. "What was +yore motive in hold in' up Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley?" + +"Was that who they were? I couldn't see their faces. Well, when I had +broken the lock and opened the back window and crawled through, I went +into the front room where I thought likely the safe would be, and I +was just going to strike a match when I heard a snap at the front +window as the lock broke. Maybe I wasn't good and scared. I paddled +into the other front room by mistake. Got turned around in the dark, I +suppose. And before I could open a window and get out I heard two men +in the front room I'd just left. I didn't dare open a window then. +They'd have heard me surely, so I just knelt down behind a bed. And +after a while, when one man was busy at the safe, the fat man came +into my room and sat down on a chair inside the door. Lordy, I hardly +dared breathe. It's a wonder my hair didn't turn white. Once I thought +they must have heard me--the time the fat man said 'rats'. Honestly, I +was so scared I was almost sick." + +"But you have nerve enough to try and hold them up." + +"I had to. When I found out they were going to rob the safe, I had to +do something. Why, they might have taken the very paper I wanted, and +somehow later Tweezy might have gotten it back. I couldn't allow that. +I knew that I must get at what was inside the safe before they did. I +just had to, so when the fat man got up from his chair and stood in +the doorway with his back to me, I just gritted my teeth and stood up +and said 'Hands up.'" + +"My Gawd, girl, you might 'a' been shot!" + +"I had a sixshooter," she said, tranquilly. "But I wouldn't have shot +first," she added, reflectively. + +Willy-nilly then he took her in his arms and held her tightly. + +"But I don't see why," he said after an interval, "you had to go off +on a wild-goose chase thisaway. Didn't I tell you I was going to fix +it up for you? Couldn't you 'a' trusted me enough to lemme do it my +own way?" + +"We had that--that quarrel in the kitchen, and I thought you didn't +like me any more, and--and wouldn't have any more to do with me and +that it was my job to do something to help out the family.... Please! +Racey! I can't breathe!" + +Another interval, and she resolutely pushed his arms down and held him +away from her with both hands on his shoulders. + +"Tell me," said she, her blue eyes plumbing the very depths of his +soul, "tell me you don't love anybody else." + +He told her. + +Later. "There was a time once when I thought you liked Luke Tweezy," +he observed, lazily. + +"How horrible," she murmured with a slight shudder as she snuggled +closer. + +And that was that. + +"I think, dearest," said Molly, raising her head from his shoulder +some twenty minutes later, "that it's light enough now to see what's +in the sack." + +So, in the brightness of a splendid dawn, snugly hidden on the +tree-covered flank of one of the Frying Pan Mountains, they opened the +bran sack and went through every paper it contained. + +There were deeds, mortgages, legal documents of every description. +They found the Dale mortgage, but they did not find the release +alleged to have been signed by Dale immediately prior to his death. + +"Of course that mortgage is recorded," said Racey, dolefully, staring +at the pile of papers, "so destroyin' that won't help us any. The +release he's carrying with him, and I don't see anything--" + +"Here's one we missed," said Molly Dale in a hopeless tone, picking up +a slip of paper from where it had fallen behind a saddle. The slip +of paper was folded several times. She opened it and spread it out +against her knee. "Why, how queer," she muttered. + +"Huh?" In an instant Racey was looking over her shoulder. + +When both had thoroughly digested the meaning of the writing on that +piece of paper they sat back and regarded each other with wide eyes. + +"This ought to fix things," breathed Molly. + +"Fix things!" cried Racey. "Cinch! We've got him like that." + +He snapped his fingers joyfully. + +Molly reached for the bran sack. "You only shook it out," she said. +"I'm going to turn it inside out. Maybe we'll find something else." + +They did find something else. They found a document caught in the end +seam. They read it with care and great interest. + +"Well," said Racey, when he came to the signatures, "no wonder Jack +Harpe and Jakey Pooley wanted to get into the safe. No wonder. If we +don't get the whole gang now we're no good." + +"And to think we never thought of such a thing." + +"I was took in. I never thought anything else. And it does lie just +right for a cow ranch." + +"Of course it does. You couldn't help being fooled. None of us had any +idea--" + +"I'd oughta worked it out," he grumbled. "There ain't any excuse for +my swallowing what Jack Harpe told me. Lordy, I was easy." + +"What do you care now? Everything's all right, and you've got me, +haven't you?" And here she leaned across the bran sack to kiss him. + +She could not understand why his return kiss lacked warmth. + + * * * * * + +"Sun's been up two hours," he announced. "And the hosses have had a +good rest. We'd better be goin'." + +"What are you climbing the tree for, then?" she demanded. + +"I want to look over our back trail," he told her, clambering into the +branches of a tall cedar. "I know we covered a whole heap of ground +last night, but you never can tell." + +Apparently you never could tell. For, when he arrived near the top of +the cedar and looked out across a sea of treetops to the flat at the +base of the mountain, he saw that which made him catch his breath and +slide earthward in a hurry. + +"What is it?" asked Molly in alarm at his expression. + +"They picked up our trail somehow," he answered, whipping up a blanket +and saddle and throwing both on her horse. "They're about three miles +back on the flat just a-burnin' the ground." + +"Saddle your own horse," she cried, running to his side. "I'll attend +to mine." + +"You stuff all the papers back in the sack. That's yore job. Hustle, +now. I'll get you out of this. Don't worry." + +"I'm not worrying--not a worry," she said, cheerfully, both hands busy +with Luke Tweezy's papers. "I'd like to know how they picked up the +trail after our riding up that creek for six miles." + +"I dunno," said he, his head under an upflung saddle-fender. "I shore +thought we'd lost 'em." + +She stopped tying the sack and looked at him. "How silly we are!" +she cried. "All we have to do is show these two letters to the posse +an'--" + +"S'pose now the posse is led by Jack Harpe and Jakey Pooley," said he, +not ceasing to pass the cinch strap. + +Her face fell. "I never thought of that," she admitted. "But there +must be some honest men in the bunch." + +"It takes a whole lot to convince an honest man when he's part of a +posse," Racey declared, reaching for the bran sack. "They don't stop +to reason, a posse don't, and this lot of Marysville gents wouldn't +give us time to explain these two letters, and before they got us back +to town, the two letters would disappear, and then where would we be? +We'd be in jail, and like to stay awhile." + +"Let's get out of here," exclaimed Molly, crawling her horse even +quicker than Racey did his. + +Racey led the way along the mountain side for three or four miles. +Most of the time they rode at a gallop and all the time they took care +to keep under cover of the trees. This necessitated frequent zigzags, +for the trees grew sparsely in spots. + +"There's a slide ahead a ways," Racey shouted to the girl. "She's +nearly a quarter-mile wide, and over two miles long, so we'll have to +take a chance and cross it." + +Molly nodded her wind-whipped head and Racey snatched a wistful glance +at the face he loved. Renunciation was in his eyes, for that second +letter found caught in the bran sack's seam had changed things. He +could not marry her. No, not now. And yet he loved her more than ever. +She looked at him and smiled, and he smiled back--crookedly. + +"What's the matter?" she cried above the drum of the flying hoofs. + +"Nothing," he shouted back. + +He hoped she believed him. And bitter almonds were not as bitter as +that hope. + +Then the wide expanse of the slide was before them. Now some slides +have trails across their unstable backs, and some have not. Some are +utterly unsafe to cross and others can be crossed with small risk. +There was no trail across this particular slide, and it did not +present a dangerous appearance. Neither does quicksand--till you step +on it. + +Racey dismounted at the edge and started across, leading his horse. +Twenty yards in the rear Molly Dale followed in like manner. At every +step the footing gave a little. Once a rounded rock dislodged by the +forefoot of Racey's horse bounded away down the long slope. + +The slither of a started rock behind him made him turn his head with a +jerk. Molly's horse was down on its knees. + +"Easy, boy, easy," soothed Molly, coaxingly, keeping the bridle reins +taut. + +The horse scrambled up and plunged forward, and almost overran Molly. +She seized it short by the rein-chains. The horse pawed nervously and +tried to rear. More rocks skidded downward under the shove of the hind +hoofs. To Racey's imagination the whole slide seemed to tremble. + +Molly's face when the horse finally quieted and she turned around was +pale and drawn. Which was not surprising. + +"It's all right, it's all right, it's all right," Racey found himself +repeating with stiff lips. + +"Of course it is," nodded Molly, bravely. "There's no danger!" + +"No," said Racey. "Better not hold him so short. Don't wind that rein +round yore wrist! S'pose he goes down you'd go, too. Here, you lemme +take him. I'll manage him all right." + +"I'll manage him all right myself!" snapped Molly, up in arms +immediately at this slur upon her horsemanship. "You go on." + +Racey turned and went on. It was not more than a hundred yards to +where the grass grew on firm ground. Racey and his horse reached solid +earth without incident. Then--a scramble, a scraping, and a clattering +followed in a breath by the indescribable sound of a mass of rocks in +motion. + +Racey had wasted no time in looking to see what had happened. He knew. +At the first sound of disaster he had snapped his rope strap, freed +his rope and taken two half hitches round the horn. Then he leaped +toward the slide, shaking out his rope as he went. + +Twenty feet out and below him Molly Dale and her struggling horse were +sliding downward. If the horse had remained quiet--but the horse was +not remaining quiet and Molly's wrist was tangled in the bridle reins. + +In the beginning the movement was slow, but as Racey reached the edge +of the slide an extra strong plunge of the horse drove both girl and +animal downward two yards in a breath. Molly turned a white face +upward. + +"So long, Racey," she called, bravely, and waved her free hand. + +But Racey was going down to her with his rope in one hand. With the +other hand and his teeth he was opening his pocket-knife. The loose +stones skittered round his ankles and turned under his boot soles. He +took tremendous steps and, with that white face below him, lived an +age between each step. + +"Grab the rope above my hand!" he yelled, although by now she was not +a yard from him. + +Racey was closer to the end of his rope than he realized. At the +instant that her free hand clutched at the rope it tightened with a +jerk as the cow pony at the other end, feeling the strain and knowing +his business, braced his legs and swayed backward. Molly's fingers +brushed the back of Racey's hand and swept down his arm. Well it was +for him that he had taken two turns round his wrist, for her forearm +went round his neck and almost the whole downward pull of girl and +horse exerted itself against the strength of Racey Dawson's arm and +shoulder muscles. + +Molly's face and chin were pressed tightly against Racey's neck. Small +blame to her if her eyes were closed. The arm held fast by the bridle +was cruelly stretched and twisted. And where the rein was tight across +the back of her wrist, for he could reach no lower, Racey set the +blade of his pocket-knife and sawed desperately. It was not a sharp +knife and the leather was tough. The steel did not bite well. Racey +sawed all the harder. His left arm felt as if it were being wrenched +out of its socket. The sweat was pouring down his face. His hat jumped +from his head. He did not even wonder why. He must cut that bridle +rein in two. He must--he must. + +Snap! Three parts cut, the leather parted, Molly's left arm and +Racey's right fell limply. Molly's horse went down the slide alone. +Neither of them saw it go. Molly had fainted, and Racey was too spent +to do more than catch her round the waist and hold her to him in time +to prevent her following the horse. + +Smack! something small and hot sprinkled Racey's cheek. He looked +to the left. On a rock face close by was a splash of lead. Smack! +Zung-g-g diminuendo, as a bullet struck the side of a rock and buzzed +off at an angle. + +Racey turned his head abruptly. At a place where trees grew thinly on +the opposite side of the slide and at a considerably lower altitude +than the spot where he and Molly hung at the end of their rope shreds +of gray smoke were dissolving into the atmosphere. The range was +possibly seven hundred yards. The hidden marksman was a good shot to +drive his bullets as close as he had at that distance. + +Straight out from the place of gray smoke four men and four horses +were making their way across the slide. They were halfway across. But +they had stopped. The down rush of Molly's horse had apparently given +them pause. Now two men started ahead, one stood irresolute and +one started to retrace his steps. It is a true saying that he who +hesitates is lost. Straight over the irresolute man and his horse +rolled the dust cloud whose centre was Molly's horse. When the dust +cloud passed on it was much larger, and both the man and his horse had +disappeared. + +The man who had started to retreat continued to retreat, and more +rapidly. The two who had held on did not cease to advance, but they +proceeded very slowly. + +"If that feller with the Winchester don't get us we're all right for a +spell," Racey muttered. + +He knew that on their side of the slide for a distance of several +hundred yards up and down the side of the mountain and for several +miles athwart it the underbrush was impenetrable for horses and wicked +travelling for men. There had been a forest fire four years before, +and everyone knows what happens after that. + +In but one place, where a ridge of rock reared through the soil, was +it possible to cross the stretch of burned-over ground. Naturally +Racey had picked this one spot. Whether the posse had not known of +this rock ridge, or whether they had simply miscalculated its position +it is impossible to say. + +"Those two will shore be out of luck when they get in among the +stubs," he thought to himself, as he waited for his strength to come +back. + +But youth recovers quickly and Racey was young. It may be that +the lead that was being sent at him and Molly Dale was a potent +revivifier. + +Certainly within three or four minutes after he had cut the bridle +Racey began to work his way up the rope to where his patient and +well-trained horse stood braced and steady as the proverbial boulder. + +Monotonously the man behind the Winchester whipped bullet after bullet +into the rocky face of the slide in the immediate vicinity of Racey +Dawson and the senseless burden in the crook of his left arm. +Nevertheless, Racey took the time to work to the right and recover the +hat that a bullet had flicked from his head. + +Then he resumed his slow journey upward. + +Ages passed before he felt the good firm ground under his feet and +laid the still unconscious Molly on the grass behind a gray and +barkless windfall that had once been a hundred-foot fir. + +Then he removed his horse farther back among the stubs where it could +not be seen, took his Winchester from the scabbard under the left +fender and went back to the edge of the slide to start a return +argument with the individual who had for the last ten minutes been +endeavouring to kill him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +HUE AND CRY + + +"Did you hit him?" + +"I don't think so," replied Racey without turning his head. "Keep +down." + +"I am down." + +"How you feel?" + +"Pretty good--considering." + +"Close squeak--considerin'." + +"Yes," said she in a small voice, "it was a close squeak. You--you +saved my life, Racey." + +"Shucks," he said, much embarrassed, "that wasn't anythin'--I +mean--you--you know what I mean." + +"Surely, I know what you mean. All the same, you saved my life. Tell +me, was that man shooting at us all the time after I fainted until you +got me under cover?" + +"Not all the time, no." + +"But most of the time. Oh, you can make small of it, but you were very +brave. It isn't everybody would have stuck the way you did." + +Smack! Tchuck! A bullet struck a rock two feet below where Racey lay +on his stomach, his rifle-barrel poked out between two shrubs of +smooth sumac--another bored the hole of a gray stub at his back. + +He fired quickly at the first puff of smoke, then sent two bullets a +little to the left of the centre of the second puff. + +"Not much chance of hittin' the first feller," he said to Molly. "He's +behind a log, but that second sport is behind a bush same as me.... +Huh? Oh, I'm all right. I got the ground in front of me. He +hasn't. Alla same, we ain't stayin' here any longer. I think I saw +half-a-dozen gents cuttin' across the end of the slide. Give 'em time +and they'll cut in behind us, which ain't part of my plans a-tall. +Let's go." + +He crawfished backward on his hands and knees. Molly followed his +example. When they were sufficiently far back to be able to stand +upright with safety they scrambled to their feet and hurried to the +horse. + +"I'll lead him for a while," said Racey, giving Molly a leg up, for +the horse was a tall one. "He won't have to carry double just yet." + +So, with Racey walking ahead, they resumed their retreat. + +The ridge of rock cutting across the burned-over area could not +properly be called rimrock. It was a different formation. Set at an +angle it climbed steadily upward to the very top of the mountain. +In places weatherworn to a slippery smoothness; in others jagged, +fragment-strewn; where the rain had washed an earth-covering upon the +rock the cheerful kinnikinick spread its mantle of shining green. + +The man and the girl and the horse made good time. Racey's feet began +to hurt before he had gone a mile, but he knew that something besides +a pair of feet would be irreparably damaged if he did not keep going. +If they caught him he would be lynched, that's what he would be. If he +weren't shot first. And the girl--well, she would get at the least ten +years at Piegan City, _if_ they were caught. But "if" is the longest +and tallest word in the dictionary. It is indeed a mighty barrier +before the Lord. + +"Did you ever stop to think they may come up through this brush?" said +Molly, on whom the silence and the sad gray stubs on either hand were +beginning to tell. + +"No," he answered, "I didn't, because they can't. The farther down you +go the worse it gets. They'd never get through. Not with hosses. We're +all right." + +"Are we?" She stood up in her stirrups, and looked down through a +vista between the stubs. + +They had reached the top of the mountain. It was a saddle-backed +mountain, and they were at the outer edge of the eastern hump. Far +below was a narrow valley running north and south. It was a valley +without trees or stream and through it a string of dots were slipping +to the north. + +"Are we all right?" she persisted. "Look down there." + +At this he turned his head and craned his neck. + +"I guess," he said, stepping out, "we'd better boil this kettle a li'l +faster." + +She made no comment, but always she looked down the mountain side and +watched, when the stubs gave her the opportunity, that ominous string +of dots. She had never been hunted before. + +They crossed the top of the mountain, keeping to the ridge of rock, +and started down the northern slope. Here they passed out of the +burned-over area of underbrush and stubs and scuffed through brushless +groves of fir and spruce where no grass grew and not a ray of sunshine +struck the ground and the wind soughed always mournfully. + +But here and there were comparatively open spaces, grassy, drenched +with sunshine, and sparsely sprinkled with lovely mountain maples and +solitary yellow pines. In the wider open spaces they could see over +the tops of the trees below them and catch glimpses of the way they +must go. + +A deep notch, almost a canon, grown up in spruce divided the mountain +they were descending from the next one to the north. This next one +thrust a rocky shoulder easterly. The valley where the horsemen rode +bent round this shoulder in a curve measured in miles. They could not +see the riders now. + +"There's a trail just over the hill," said Racey, nodding toward the +mountain across the notch. "It ain't been regularly used since the +Daisy petered out in '73, but I guess the bridge is all right." + +"And suppose it ain't all right?" + +"We'll have to grow wings in a hurry," he said, soberly, thinking +of the deep cleft spanned by the bridge. "Does this trail lead to +Farewell?" + +"Same thing--it'll take us to the Farewell trail if we wanted to go +there, but we don't. We ain't got time. We'll stick to this trail till +we get out of the Frying-Pans and then we'll head northeast for the +Cross-in-a-box. That's the nearest place where I got friends. And I +don't mind saying we'll be needing friends bad, me and you both." + +"Suppose that posse reaches the trail and the bridge before we do?" + +"Oh, I guess they won't. They have to go alla way round and we go +straight mostly. Don't you worry. We'll make the riffle yet." + +His voice was more confident than his brain. It was touch and go +whether they would reach the trail and the bridge first. The posse in +the valley--that was what would stack the cards against them. And if +they should pass the bridge first, what then? It was at least thirty +miles from the bridge to the Cross-in-a-box ranch-house. And there was +only one horse. Indeed, the close squeak was still squeaking. + +"Racey, you're limping!" + +"Not me," he lied. "Stubbed my toe, thassall." + +"Nothing of the kind. It's those tight boots. Here, you ride, and let +me walk." So saying, she slipped to the ground. + +As was natural the horse stopped with a jerk. So did Racey. + +"You get into that saddle," he directed, sternly. "We ain't got time +for any foolishness." + +Foolishness! And she was only trying to be thoughtful. Foolishness! +She turned and climbed back into the saddle, and sat up straight, her +backbone as stiff as a ramrod, and looked over his head and far away. +For the moment she was so hopping mad she forgot the danger they were +in. They made their way down into the heavy growth of Engelmann spruce +that filled the notch, crossed the floor of the notch, and began again +to climb. + +An hour later they crossed the top of the second mountain and saw far +below them a long saddle back split in the middle by a narrow cleft. +At that distance it looked very narrow. In reality, it was forty feet +wide. Racey stopped and swept with squinting eyes the place where he +knew the bridge to be. + +"See," he said, suddenly, pointing for Molly's benefit. "There's the +Daisy trail. I can see her plain--to the left of that arrowhead bunch +of trees. And the bridge is behind the trees." + +"But I don't see any trail." + +"Grown up in grass. That's why. It's behind the trees mostly, anyhow. +But she's there, the trail is. You can bet on it." + +"I don't want to bet on it." Shortly. She was still mad at him. He had +saved her life, he had succeeded in saving the family ranch, he had +put her under eternal obligations, but he had called her thought for +him foolishness. It was too much. + +Yet all the time she was ashamed of herself. She knew that she was +small and mean and narrow and deserved a spanking if any girl did. She +wanted to cuff Racey, cuff him till his ears turned red and his head +rang. For that is the way a woman feels when she loves a man and he +has hurt her feelings. But she feels almost precisely the same way +when she hates one who has. Truth it is that Love and Hate are close +akin. + +Down, down they dropped two thousand feet, and when they came out upon +the fairly level top of the saddle back Racey mounted behind Molly. + +"He'll have to carry double now," he explained. "She's two mile to the +bridge, and my wind ain't good enough to run me two mile." + +It was not his wind that was weak, it was his feet--his tortured, +blistered feet that were two flaming aches. Later they would become +numb. He wished they were numb now, and cursed silently the man who +first invented cowboy boots. Every jog of the trotting horse whose +back he bestrode was a twitching torture. + +"We'll be at the bridge in another mile," he told her. + +"Thank Heaven!" + +Silent and grass-grown lay the Daisy trail when they came out upon it +winding through a meagre plantation of cedars. + +"No one's come along yet," vouchsafed Racey, turning into the trail +after a swift glance at its trackless, undisturbed surface. + +He tickled the horse with both spurs and stirred him into a gallop. +There was not much spring in that gallop. Racey weighed fully one +hundred and seventy pounds without his clothes, Molly a hundred and +twenty with all of hers, and the saddle, blanket, sack, rifle, and +cartridges weighed a good sixty. On top of this weight pile many weary +miles the horse had travelled since its last meal and you have what it +was carrying. No wonder the gallop lacked spring. + +"Bridge is just beyond those trees," said Racey in Molly's ear. + +"The horse is nearly run out," was her comment. + +"He ain't dead yet." + +They rocked around the arrowhead grove of trees and saw the bridge +before them--one stringer. There had been two stringers and adequate +flooring when Racey had seen it last. The snows of the previous winter +must have been heavy in the Frying-Pan Mountains. + +Molly shivered at the sight of that lone stringer. + +"The horse is done, and so are we," she muttered. + +"Nothing like that," he told her, cheerfully. "There's one stringer +left. Good enough for a squirrel, let alone two white folks." + +"I--I couldn't," shuddered Molly. + +They had stopped at the bridge head, Racey had dismounted, and she, +was looking down into the dark mouth of the cleft with frightened +eyes. + +"It must be five hundred feet to the bottom," she whispered, her chin +wobbling. + +"Not more than four hundred," he said, reassuringly. "And that log +is a good strong four-foot log, and she's been shaved off with the +broadaxe for layin' the flooring so we got a nice smooth path almost +two feet wide." + +In reality, that smooth path retained not a few of the spikes that had +once held the flooring and it was no more than eighteen inches wide. +Racey gabbled on regardless. If chatter would do it, he'd get her mind +off that four-hundred-foot drop. + +"I cue-can't!" breathed Molly. "I cue-can't walk across on that +lul-log! I'd fall off! I know I would!" + +"You ain't gonna walk across the log," he told her with a broad grin. +"I'll carry you pickaback. C'mon, Molly, slide off. That's right. Now +when I stoop put yore arms round my neck. I'll stick my arms under +yore legs. See, like this. Now yo're all right. Don't worry. I won't +drop you. Close yore eyes and sit still, and you'll never know what's +happening. Close 'em now while I walk round with you a li'l bit so's +to get the hang of carryin' you." + +She closed her eyes, and he began to walk about carrying her. At least +she thought he was walking about. But when he stopped and she opened +her eyes, she discovered that the horse was standing on the other side +of the cleft. At first she did not understand. + +"How on earth did the horse get over?" she asked in wonder. + +"He didn't," Racey said, quietly, setting her down, "but we did. I +carried you across while you had yore eyes shut. I told you you'd +never know what was happenin'." + +She sat down limply on the ground. Racey started back across the +stringer to get the horse. He hurried, too. That posse they had seen +in the valley! There was no telling where it was. It might be four +miles away, or four hundred yards. + +"C'mon, feller," said Racey, picking up the reins of the tired horse. +"And for Gawd's sake pick up yore feet! If you don't that dynamite is +gonna make one awful mess at the bottom of the canon." + +Dynamite! Mess! There was an idea. Although in order to spare Molly +an extra worry for the time being, he had told her they would push on +together, it had been his intention to hold the bridge with his rifle +while Molly rode alone to the Cross-in-a-box for help. But those +six sticks of dynamite would simplify the complex situation without +difficulty. + +He did not hurry the horse. He merely walked in front holding the +bridle slackly. The horse followed him as good as gold--and picked up +his feet at nearly every spike. Once or twice a hind hoof grazed a +spike-head with a rasping sound that sent Racey's heart bouncing up +into his throat. Lord, so much depended on a safe passage! + +For the first time in his eventful life Racey Dawson realized that he +possessed a full and working set of nerves. + +When they reached firm ground Racey flung the reins to Molly. + +"Unpack the dynamite," he cried. "It's in the slicker." + +With his bowie he began furiously to dig under the end of the stringer +where it lay embedded in the earth. Within ten minutes he had a hole +large enough and long enough to thrust in the whole of his arm. He +made it a little longer and a little wider, and at the end he drove an +offset. This last that there might be no risk of the charge blowing +out through the hole. + +When the hole was to his liking, he sat back on his haunches and +grabbed the dynamite sticks Molly held out to him. With strings cut +from his saddle, he tied the sticks into a bundle. Then he prepared +his fuse and cap. In one of the sticks he made a hole. In this hole he +firmly inserted the copper cap. Above the cap he tied the fuse to the +bundle with several lappings of a saddle-string. + +"There!" he exclaimed. "I guess that cap will stay put. You and the +hoss get out of here, Molly. Go along the trail a couple of hundred +yards or so. G'on. Get a move on. I'll be with you in a minute. Better +leave my rifle." + +Molly laid the Winchester on the grass beside him, mounted the horse, +and departed reluctantly. She did not like to leave Racey now. She +had burned out her "mad". She rode away chin on shoulder. The cedars +swallowed her up. + +Racey with careful caution stuffed the dynamite down the hole and into +the offset. Then he shovelled in the earth with his hands and tamped +it down with a rock. + +Was that the clack of a hoof on stone? Faint and far away another +hoof clacked. He reached up to his hatband for a match. There were +no matches in his hatband. Feverishly he searched his pockets. Not a +match--not a match anywhere! + +He whipped out his sixshooter, held the muzzle close to the end of the +fuse and fired. He had to fire three times before the fuse began to +sparkle and spit. + +Clearly it came to his ears, the unmistakable thudding of galloping +hoofs on turf. The posse was riding for the bridge full tilt. He +picked up his rifle and dodged in among the trees along the trail. +Forty yards from the mined stringer he met Molly riding back with a +scared face. + +"What is it?" she cried to him. "I heard shots! Oh, what is it?" + +"Go back! Go back!" he bawled. "I only cut that fuse for three +minutes." + +Molly wheeled the horse and fled. Racey ran to where a windfall lay +near the edge of the cleft and some forty yards from the stringer. +Behind the windfall he lay down, levered a cartridge into the chamber, +and trained his rifle on the bridge head. + +The galloping horsemen were not a hundred paces from the stringer when +the dynamite let go with a soul-satisfying roar. Rocks, earth, chunks +and splinters of wood flew up in advance of a rolling cloud of smoke +that obscured the cleft from rim to rim. + +A crash at the bottom of the narrow canon told Racey what had happened +to that part of the stringer the dynamite had not destroyed. + +Racey lowered the hammer of his rifle to the safety notch just as +the posse began to approach the spot where the bridge had been. It +approached on foot by ones and twos and from tree to tree. Racey could +not see any one, but he could see the tree branches move here and +there. + +"I guess," muttered Racey, as he crawfished away from the windfall, "I +guess that settles the cat-hop." + + * * * * * + +The sun was near its rising the following day when Racey and Molly, +their one horse staggering with fatigue, reached the Cross-in-a-box. +Racey had walked all the distance he was humanly able to walk, but +even so the horse had carried double the better part of twenty miles. +It had earned a rest. + +So had Racey's feet. + + * * * * * + +"My Gawd, what a relief!" Racey muttered, and sat back and gingerly +wiggled his toes. + +"Damn shame you had to cut 'em up thataway," said Jack Richie, +glancing at Racey's slit boots. "They look like new boots." + +"It is and they are, but I couldn't get 'em off any other way, and +I'll bet I won't be able to get another pair on inside a month. Lordy, +man, did you ever think natural-born feet would swell like that?" + +"You better soak them awhile," said Jack Richie. "C'mon out to the +kitchen." + +"Shore feels good," said Racey, when his swelled feet were immersed in +a dishpan half full of tepid water. "Lookit, Jack, let Miss Dale have +her sleep out, and to-morrow sometime send a couple of boys with her +over to Moccasin Spring." + +"Whatsa matter with you and one of the boys doing it?" + +"Because I have to go to Piegan City." + +"Huh?" + +"Yep--Piegan City. I'm coming back, though, so you needn't worry about +losing the hoss yo're gonna lend me." + +"That's good. But--" + +"And if any gents on hossback _should_ drop in on you and ask +questions just remember that what they dunno won't hurt 'em." + +Jack Richie nodded understandingly. "Trust me," he said. "As I see it, +Miss Dale and you come in from the north, and--" + +"Only me--you ain't seen any Miss Dale--and I only stopped long enough +to borrow a fresh hoss and then rode away south." + +"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie. + +"In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll +know more than that. And so will a good many other folks." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +THE REGISTER + + +"Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside +the register's desk, "where is McFluke?" + +Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, +wide-set eyes did not flicker. He placed the tips of his fingers +together, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Racey between the +eyebrows. + +"McFluke?" he repeated. "I don't know the name." + +"I mean the murderer Jack Harpe sent to you to be taken care of," +explained Racey. + +Mr. Pooley continued to stare. For a long moment he made no comment. +Then he said, "Still, I don't know the name." + +"If you will lean back a li'l more," Racey told him, "you can look out +of the window and see two chairs in front of the Kearney House. On the +right we have Bill Riley, a Wells Fargo detective from Omaha, on the +left Tom Seemly from the Pinkerton Agency in San Francisco. They know +something but not everything. Suppose I should spin 'em _all_ my +_li'l_ tale of grief--what then, Mr. Pooley?" + +"Still--I wouldn't know the name McFluke," maintained Mr. Pooley. + +"I'm sorry, Mr. Pooley," said Racey, rising to his feet. "I shore am." + +"Don't strain yoreself," advised Mr. Pooley, making a brave rustle +among the papers on his desk. + +"I won't," Racey said, turning at the door to bestow a last! grin upon +Mr. Pooley. "So long. Glad I called." + +Mr. Pooley laughed outright. "G'by," he called after Racey as the door +closed. + +Mr. Pooley leaned far back in his chair. He saw Racey Dawson stop on +the sidewalk in front of the two detectives. The three conversed a +moment, then Racey entered the Kearney House. The two detectives +remained where they were. + +Mr. Pooley arose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +"You gotta get out of here!" It was Mr. Pooley speaking with great +asperity. + +"Why for?" countered our old friend McFluke, one-time proprietor of a +saloon on the bank of the Lazy. + +"Because they're after you, that's why." + +"Who's they?" + +"Racey Dawson for one." + +McFluke sat upright in the bunk. "Him! That ----!" + +"Yes, him," sneered Pooley. "Scares you, don't it? And he's got two +detectives with him, so get a move on. I don't want you anywhere on my +property if they do come sniffin' round." + +"I'm right comfortable here," declared McFluke, and lay down upon the +bunk. + +"You'd better go," said Mr. Pooley, softly. + +"Not unless I get some money first." + +"So that's the game, is it? Think I'll pay you to drift, huh? How +much?" + +"Oh, about ten thousand." + +"Is that all?" + +"Well, say fifteen--and not a check, neither." + +"No," said Mr. Pooley, "it won't be a check. It won't be anything, +you--worm." + +So saying Mr. Pooley laid violent hands on McFluke, yanked him out of +the bunk, and flung him sprawling on the floor. + +"Not one cent do you get from me," declared Mr. Pooley. "I never paid +blackmail yet and I ain't beginning now. I always told Harpe you'd +upset the applecart with yo're bullheaded ways. You stinking murderer, +it wasn't necessary to kill Old Man Dale! Suppose he did hit you, what +of it? You could have knocked him out with a bungstarter. But no, you +had to kill him, and get everybody suspicious, didn't you? Why--you, +you make me feel like cutting your throat, to have you upset my plans +this way!" + +McFluke raised himself on an arm. "I didn't upset yore plans none," he +denied, sulkily. "Everythin's comin' out all right. Hell, he wouldn't +play that day, anyway! Said he'd never touch a card or look at a +wheel again as long as he lived, and when I laughed at him he hit me. +Whatell else could I do? I hadda shoot him. I--" + +"Shut up, you and your 'I's' and 'He wouldn't' and 'I hadda!' If +you've told me that tale once since you came here you've told me forty +times. Get up and get out! Yore horse is tied at the corral gate. I +roped him on my way in. C'mon! Get up! or will I have to crawl yore +hump again?" + +But McFluke did not get up. Instead he scrabbled sidewise to the wall +and shrank against it. His eyes were wide, staring. They were fixed on +the doorway behind Mr. Pooley. + +"I didn't do it, gents!" cried McFluke, thrusting out his hands before +his face as though to ward off a blow. "I didn't kill him! I didn't! +It's all a lie! I didn't kill him!" + +Fat Jacob Pooley whirled to face three guns. His right hand fell away +reluctantly from the butt of his sixshooter. Slowly his arms went +above his head. Racey Dawson and his two companions entered the +room. The eldest of these companions was one of the Piegan City +town marshals. He was a friend of Jacob Pooley's. But there was no +friendliness in his face as he approached the register, removed his +gun, and searched his person for other weapons. Jacob Pooley said +nothing. His face was a dark red. The marshal produced a pair of +handcuffs. The register recoiled. + +"Not those!" he protested. "Don't put handcuffs on me!" + +"Put yore hands down," ordered the marshal. + +"Look here, I'll go quietly. I'll--" + +"Put yore hands _down_!" repeated the inexorable marshal. + +Jacob Pooley put his hands down. + +Racey and the other man were handcuffing McFluke, who was keeping up +an incessant wail of, "I didn't do it! I didn't, gents, I didn't!" + +"Oh, shut up!" ordered Racey, jerking the prisoner to his feet. "You +talk too much." + +"Where's yore Wells Fargo and Pinkerton detectives?" demanded Mr. +Pooley. + +"This gent is the Wells Fargo detective," replied Racey, indicating +the man who had helped him handcuff McFluke. "There ain't any +Pinkerton within five hundred miles so far as I know.... Huh? Them? +Oh, they were just drummers from Chicago I happened to speak to +because I figured you'd be expectin' me to after I'd told you who they +were. The real Wells Fargo, Mr. Johnson here, was a-watchin' yore +corral alla time, so when you got a friend of yores to pull them two +drummers into a poker game and then saddled yore hoss and went bustin' +off in the direction of yore claim we got the marshal and trailed +you." + +"You can't prove anything!" bluffed Mr. Pooley. + +"We were here beside the door listenin' from the time McFluke said he +was too comfortable to move out of here." Thus the marshal wearily. + +Mr. Pooley considered a moment. "Who snitched where Mac was?" he +asked, finally. + +"Nobody," replied Racey, promptly. + +"Somebody must have. Who was it?" + +"Nobody, I tell you. McFluke had to go somewhere, didn't he? He +couldn't hang around Farewell. Too dangerous. But the chances were +he wouldn't leave the country complete till he got his share. And as +nothing had come off it wasn't any likely he'd got his share. So he'd +want to keep in touch with his friends till the deal was put through. +It was only natural he'd drift to you. And when I come here to Piegan +City and heard you had hired a man to live on yore claim and then got +a look at him without him knowing it the rest was easy." + +"But what," inquired Mr. Pooley, perplexedly, "has Wells Fargo to do +with this business?" + +"Anybody that knows Bill Smith alias Jack Harpe as well as you do," +spoke up Mr. Johnson, grimly, "is bound to be of interest to Wells +Fargo." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +THE LAST TRICK + + +"I'd take it kindly if you gents would stick yore guns on the +mantel-piece," said Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe and Luke Tweezy looked at each other. + +"I ain't wearing a gun," said Luke Tweezy, crossing one skinny knee +over the other. + +"But Mr. Harpe is," pointed out Judge Dolan. + +Jack Harpe jackknifed his long body out of his chair, which was placed +directly in front of an open doorway giving into an inner room, +crossed the floor, and placed his sixshooter on the mantel-piece. + +"What is this," he demanded, returning to his place "a trial?" + +"Not a-tall," the Judge made haste to assure him. "Just a li'l +friendly talk, thassall. I'm a-lookin' for information, and I've an +idea you and Luke can give it to me." + +"I'd like a li'l information my own self," grumbled Luke Tweezy. "When +are you gonna make the Dales vacate?" + +"All in good time," the Judge replied with a wintry smile. "I'll be +getting to that in short order. Here comes Kansas and Jake Rule now." + +"What you want with the sheriff?" Luke queried, uneasily. + +"He's gonna help us in our li'l talk," explained the Judge, smoothly. + +"I think I'll get my gun," observed Jack Harpe. + +He made as if to rise but sank back immediately for Racey Dawson had +suddenly appeared in the open doorway behind him and run the chill +muzzle of a sixshooter into the back of his neck. + +"Never sit with yore back to a doorway," advised Racey Dawson. "If +you'll clamp yore hands behind yore head, Jack, we'll all be the +happier. Luke, fish out the knife you wear under yore left armpit, lay +it on the floor and kick it into the corner." + +Luke Tweezy's knife tinkled against the wall at the moment that the +sheriff, his deputy, and two other men entered from the street. The +third man was Mr. Johnson, the Wells Fargo detective. The fourth man +wore his left arm in a sling and hobbled on a cane. The fourth man was +Swing Tunstall. + +"What kind of hell's trick is this?" demanded Jack Harpe, glaring at +the Wells Fargo detective. + +"It's the last trick, Bill," said Mr. Johnson. + +At the mention of which name Jack Harpe appeared to shrink inwardly. +He looked suddenly very old. + +"Take chairs, gents," invited Judge Dolan, looking about him in the +manner of a minstrel show's interlocutor. "If everybody's comfortable, +we'll proceed to business." + +"I thought you said this wasn't a trial," objected Luke Tweezy. + +"And so it ain't a trial," the Judge rapped out smartly. "The trial +will come later." + +Luke Tweezy subsided. His furtive eyes became more furtive than ever. + +"Go ahead, Racey," said Judge Dolan. + +Racey, still holding his sixshooter, leaned hipshot against the +doorjamb. + +"It was this way," he began, and told what had transpired that day in +the hotel corral when he had been bandaging his horse's leg and had +overheard the conversation between Lanpher and Jack Harpe and later, +Punch-the-breeze Thompson. + +"They's nothing in that," declared Jack Harpe with contempt, twisting +his neck to glower up at Racey. "Suppose I did wanna get hold of the +Dale ranch. What of it?" + +"Shore," put in Luke Tweezy. "What of it? Perfectly legitimate +business proposition. Legal, and all that." + +"Not quite," denied Racey. "Not the way you went about it. Nawsir. +Well, gents," he resumed, "what I heard in that corral showed plain +enough there was something up. Dale wouldn't sell, and they were bound +to get his land away from him. So they figured to have Nebraska Jones +turn the trick by playin' poker with the old man. When Nebraska--They +switched from Nebraska to Peaches Austin, plannin' to go through with +the deal at McFluke's from the beginning. And that was where Tweezy +come in. He was to get the old man to McFluke's, and with the help of +Peaches Austin cheat Dale out of the ranch." + +"That's a damn lie!" cried Tweezy. + +"I suppose you'll deny," said Racey, "that the day I saw you ride in +here to Farewell--I mean the day Jack Harpe spoke to you in front of +the Happy Heart, and you didn't answer him--that day you come in from +Marysville on purpose to tell Jack an' Lanpher about the mortgage +having to be renewed and that now was their chance. I suppose you'll +deny all that, huh?" + +"Yo're--yo're lyin'," sputtered Luke Tweezy. + +"Am I? We'll see. When playin' cards with old Dale didn't work they +caught the old man at McFluke's one day and after he'd got in a fight +with McFluke and McFluke downed him, they saw their chance to produce +a forged release from Dale." + +"Who did the forging?" broke in the Judge. + +"I dunno for shore. This here was found in Tweezy's safe." He held out +a letter to the Judge. + +Judge Dolan took the letter and read it carefully. Then he looked +across at Luke Tweezy. + +"This here," said he, tapping the letter with stiffened forefinger, +"is a signed letter from Dale to you. It seems to be a reply in the +negative to a letter of yores askin' him to sell his ranch." + +The Judge paused and glanced round the room. Then his cold eyes +returned to the face of Luke Tweezy who was beginning to look +extremely wretched. + +"Underneath the signature of Dale," continued the Judge, "somebody has +copied that signature some fifty or sixty times. I wonder why." + +"I dunno anything about it," Luke Tweezy denied, feebly. + +"We'll come back to that," the Judge observed, softly. "G'on, Racey." + +"I figure," said Racey, "that they'd hatched that forgery some while +before Dale was killed. The killing made it easier to put it on +record." + +"Looks that way," nodded the Judge. + +"Lookit here," boomed Jack Harpe, "you ain't got any right to judge us +thisaway. We ain't on trial." + +"Shore you ain't," asserted the Judge. "I always said you wasn't. This +here is just a talk, a friendly talk. No trial about it." + +"Here's another letter, Judge," said Racey Dawson. + +The Judge read the other letter, and again fixed Luke Tweezy with his +eye. + +"This ain't a letter exactly," said Judge Dolan. "It's a quadruplicate +copy of an agreement between Lanpher of the 88 ranch, Jacob Pooley of +Piegan City, and Luke Tweezy of Marysville, parties of the first part, +and Jack Harpe, party of the second part, to buy or otherwise obtain +possession of the ranch of William Dale, in the northeast corner of +which property is located an abandoned mine tunnel in which Jack +Harpe, the party of the second part, has discovered a gold-bearing +lode." + +"A mine!" muttered Swing Tunstall. "A gold mine! And I thought they +wanted it for a ranch." + +"So did I," Racey nodded. + +"I know that mine," said Jake Rule. "Silvertip Ransom and Long Oscar +drove the tunnel, done the necessary labour, got their patent, and +sold out when they couldn't get day wages to old Dale for one pony +and a jack. But Dale never worked it. A payin' lode! Hell! Who'd 'a' +thought it?" + +"Old Salt an' Tom Loudon got a couple o' claims on the other side of +the ridge from Dale's mine," put in Kansas Casey. "They bought 'em off +of Slippery Wilson and his wife. Them claims oughta be right valuable +now." + +"They are," nodded Judge Dolan. "The agreement goes on to say that +Jack Harpe found gold-bearing lodes in both of Slippery's old tunnels, +that these claims will be properly relocated and registered--I guess +that's where Jakey Pooley come in--and all three mines will be worked +by a company made up of these four men, each man to receive one +quarter of the profits. This agreement is signed by Jack Harpe, Simon +Lanpher, and Jacob Pooley." + +"And after Pooley was arrested," contributed Racey Dawson, "the Piegan +City marshal went through his safe and found the original of this +agreement signed by Tweezy, Lanpher, and Harpe." + +Luke Tweezy held up his hand. "One moment," said he. "Where was the +agreement signed by Harpe, Pooley, and Lanpher found?" + +"In yore safe," replied Racey Dawson. + +"Did you find it there?" + +"Yep." + +"What were you doing at my safe?" + +"Now don't get excited, Luke. I happened to be in the neighbourhood of +yore house in Marysville about a month ago when I noticed one of yore +back windows open. I snooped in and there was Jack Harpe working on +yore combination with Jakey Pooley watchin' him. Jack Harpe was the +boy who opened the safe.... Huh? Shore, I know him and Jakey Pooley +sicked posses on my trail. Why not? They hadda cover their own tracks, +didn't they? But that ain't the point. What I can't help wondering is +why Harpe and Pooley was fussin' with the safe in the first place. +What do you guess, Luke?" + +Evidently Tweezy knew the answer. With a yelp of "Tried to cross me, +you--!" he flung himself bodily upon Jack Harpe. + +In a moment the two were rolling on the floor. It required four men +and seven minutes to pry them apart. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +THE END OF THE TRAIL + + +Molly Dale looked at Racey with adoring eyes. "How on earth did +you guess that the Bill Smith who robbed the Wells Fargo safe at +Keeleyville and killed the agent was Jack Harpe?" + +"Oh, that was nothing. You see, I'd heard somebody say--I disremember +exactly who now--that Jack Harpe's real name was Bill Smith, that he'd +shaved off his beard and part of his eyebrows to make himself look +different, and that he'd done something against the law to some +company in some town. I didn't know what company nor what town, but I +had somethin' to start with when McFluke was let loose. I figured out +by this, that, and the other that Jack Harpe had let McFluke loose. Aw +right, that showed Jack Harpe was a expert lock picker. He showed us +at Marysville that he was a expert on safe combinations. Now there +can't be many men like that. So I took what I knew about him to the +detective chiefs of three railroads. He'd done somethin' against +a company, do you see, and of course I went to three different +_railroad_ companies before I woke up and went to the Wells Fargo an' +found out that such a man as Jack Harpe named Bill Smith was wanted +for the Keeleyville job. So you see there wasn't much to it. It was +all there waitin' for somebody to find it." + +"But it lacked the somebody till you came along," she told him with +shining eyes. + +"Shucks." + +"No shucks about it. That we have our ranch to-day with a sure-enough +producing gold mine in one corner of it is all due to you." + +"Shucks, suppose now those handwritin' experts Judge Dolan got from +Chicago hadn't been able to prove at the time that the forgery and +the fifty or sixty copies of yore dad's name were written by the same +hand, ink, and pen? Suppose now they hadn't? What then? Where'd you +be, I'd like to know? Nawsir, you give them the credit. They deserve +it. Well, I'm shore glad yo're all gonna be rich, Molly. It's fine. +That's what it is--fine--great. Well, I've got to be driftin' along. +I'm going to meet Swing in town. We're riding south Arizona way +to-morrow." + +"Arizona!" + +"Yeah, we're going to give the mining game a whirl." + +"Why--why not give it a whirl up here in this country?" + +"Because there ain't another mine like yores in the territory. No, +we'll go south. Swing wants to go--been wanting to go for some time." + +"Bub-but I thought you were going to stay up here," persisted Molly, +her cheeks a little white. + +"Not--not now," Racey said, hastily. "So long, take care of yoreself." + +He reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze, then picked up his +hat and walked out of the house without another word or a backward +look. + + * * * * * + +"What makes me sick is not a cent out of Old Salt," said Racey, +wrathfully, as he and Swing Tunstall walked their horses south along +the Marysville trail. + +"What else could you expect?" said the philosopher Swing. "We +specified in the agreement that it was cows them jiggers was gonna run +on the range. We didn't say nothin' about a mine." + +"'We?'" repeated Racey. "'We?' You didn't have a thing to do with that +agreement. I made it. It was my fool fault we worked all those months +for nothing." + +"What's the dif?" Swing said, comfortably. "We're partners. Deal +yoreself a new hand and forget it. Tough luck we couldn't 'a' made a +clean sweep of that bunch, huh?" + +"Oh, I dunno. Suppose Peaches, Nebraska, and Thompson did get away. We +did pretty good, considerin'. You can't expect everything." + +"Alla same they'd oughta been a reward--for Jack Harpe, anyway. Wells +Fargo is shore getting mighty close-fisted." + +"Jack did better than I thought he would. He never opened his yap +about Marie being in that Keeleyville gang." + +"Maybe he didn't know for shore or else knowed better. Bull was in +that gang, too, and Bull got his throat cut. If Jack had done any +blattin' about Marie and Keeleyville he might 'a' had to stand trial +for murder right here in this county instead of going down to New +Mexico to be tried for a murder committed ten years ago with all that +means--evidence gone rusty with age and witnesses dead or in jail +themselves most like. Oh, he'll be convicted, but it won't be first +degree, you can stick a pin in that." + +"I wonder if he did kill Bull." + +"I wonder, too. Didja know who Bull really was, Swing?... Marie's +brother. Yep, she told me about it yesterday." + +"Her own brother, huh? That's a odd number. Alla same I'll bet she +don't miss him much." + +"Nor Nebraska, neither. _He'll_ never come back to bother her again, +that's a cinch. Who's that ahead?" + +"That" was Molly waiting for them at a turn in the trail. When they +came up to her she nodded to both men, but her smile was all for Racey +Dawson. He felt his pulse begin to beat a trifle faster. How handsome +she was with her dark hair and blue eyes. And at the moment those blue +eyes that were looking into his were deep enough to drown a man. + +"Can I see you a minute, Racey?" said she. + +Swing immediately turned his horse on a dime and loped along the back +trail. Left alone with Racey she moved her horse closer to his. Their +ankles touched. His hands were clasped on the saddle-horn. She laid +her cool hand on top of them. + +"Racey," she said, her wonderful eyes holding him, "why are you going +away?" + +This was almost too much for Racey. He could hardly think straight. "I +told you," he said, hoarsely. "We're goin' to Arizona--minin'." + +She flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. "You used to +like me, Racey," she told him. + +He nodded miserably. + +"Don't you like me any more?" she persisted. + +He did not nod. Nor did he speak. He stared down at the back of the +hand lying on top of his. + +"Look at me, boy," she directed. + +He looked. The fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his +fingers. + +"Look me in the eye," said she, "and tell me you don't love me." + +"I cuc-can't," he muttered in a panic. + +"Then why are you going away?" Her voice was gentle--gentle and +wistful. + +"Because yo're rich now, that's why," he replied, thickly, the words +wrung out in a rush. "You've lots o' money, and I ain't got a thing +but my hoss and what I stand up in. How can I love you, Molly?" + +"Lean over here, and I'll show you how," said Molly Dale. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Heart of the Range, by William Patterson White + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HEART OF THE RANGE *** + +***** This file should be named 10473.txt or 10473.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/4/7/10473/ + +Produced by Kevin Handy, Dave Maddock, Josephine Paolucci and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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