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"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.
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.
"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.
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.
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