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Updated: June 13, 2025
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.
"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 "
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.
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
"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.
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