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Updated: June 9, 2025
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.
"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.
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."
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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