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"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."
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.
"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.
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.
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."
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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.
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