"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 andTweezy?"
"And what good would wiping out either or both of them do? BeyondLanpher 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."
"Offtheirranch 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. "Aftereviction 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.Afterthe 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 asyo'rea 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," saidKansas, as he led Dolan and Racey up the street to the rear of theDolan warehouse, "but yore foundation logs ain't sunk more'n sixinches, 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 makesomenoise 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 dosomething. 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.
"'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 withRacey.
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 knowMac'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 itwasJack 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."
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 LukeTweezy'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 TomLoudon rode in on lathered horses. They were, it seemed, journeyinghomeward from the 88 whither they had gone in an endeavour to persuadeLanpher 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 goodI'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 wantLanpher 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 SwingTunstall 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 atMarie.
"They were in the Starlight when I left town—andthey 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 andMr. 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.Eventhewoman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon andMr. 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.
"Nottoobad. 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 thoughtI'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?" protestedRack 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 toFarewell—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 ofFarewell. 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."
"Thatwillsave 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 withyou?"
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 shorewillthink 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."