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"It's a long way to Arizona," offered Racey Dawson, casually too casually. Swing Tunstall's bristle-haired head jerked round. Swing bent two suspicious eyes upon his friend. "You just find it out?" he queried. "No, oh, no," denied Racey. "I've been thinking about it some time." "Thinking!" sneered Swing. "That's a new one for you." "Nemmine," countered Racey. "It ain't catchin' to you."
They'll give it to mum-me. Shore they will gimme all I want. They're all my friends, I tell you!" As Racey uttered the word "friends" his toe pressed Swing Tunstall's instep. "They're Swing's friends, too," continued Racey. "Ain't they, Sus-Swing?" Again the Dawson toe bore down upon the Tunstall foot.
Dick Brewer, Tunstall's foreman, was now leader of the McSween fighting men. McSween, of course, supplied him with color of "legal" authority. He was appointed "special constable." Neither party had difficulty in obtaining all the legal papers required. Each party was presently to have a sheriff of its own.
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