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Updated: May 7, 2025
He didn't know I took it." "I should hope not," Racey declared, fervently. "You leave dynamite alone, do you hear? Where is it now?" "Oh, I left it on the floor in Tweezy's house when I found I didn't need it any longer." "Thank God!" breathed Racey, whose hair had begun to rise at the bare idea of the explosives still being somewhere on her person.
He knelt down again and swiftly completed the bandaging of the cut on the pony's near fore. As he rode round the corner of the hotel to reach Main Street he saw Luke Tweezy single-footing into town from the south. The powdery dust of the trail filled in and overlaid the lines and creases of Luke Tweezy's foxy-nosed and leathery visage.
From the sparse and sandy strands of the Tweezy hair to the long and varied lines of the Tweezy business there was nothing about Mr. Tweezy that he did like. For Luke Tweezy's business was ready money and its possibilities. He drove hard bargains with his neighbours and harder ones with strangers.
"If I'd wanted to kill him I wouldn't 'a' plugged him in the arm, would I? That wouldn't 'a' been sensible." "You provoked this fraycas!" snarled Luke, disregarding Racey's point in a true lawyer-like way. "You " "Why, no, Luke, yo're wrong, all wrong," interrupted Swing Tunstall, leaning over the windowsill at Tweezy's back.
"Hell I can't," snapped Racey, brushing industriously. "They never seen me." "But Luke Tweezy did," chuckled Swing. "What's Luke got to do with it?" Racey inquired without looking up. "If you'd slant yore eyes out through the door you'd see what Luke Tweezy's gotta do with it." Racey Dawson looked up and immediately sat down on the hay and spoke in a low tone. Swing nodded with delight.
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