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Updated: June 27, 2025
"They think they're so terrible funny," Racey muttered, mournfully, as he dismounted and tied at the hitching rail in front of the Happy Heart. "Now if I can only find Swing " The latter did not appeal to the bartender to divulge the name of the horse's owner. He had, he believed, furnished the local populace sufficient amusement for one day.
You know what's what, and you know we'll take possession just as soon as the sheriff serves the eviction papers on you." At this Racey Dawson made a noise in his throat. Molly laid cool fingers on his wrist. "Steady, boy, steady," she whispered under her breath. Despite the seriousness of the moment Racey's heart skipped a beat and the pleasantest shiver in the world ran about his body.
Swing Tunstall, slow in the uptake as usual, perceived nothing beyond the fact that Luke Tweezy had suddenly become a careless spendthrift till halfway down the second bottle when Luke said: "Shore is funny how you thought I knowed this Jack Harpe." "Yuh-yeah," assented Racey, and overset a glass in such a way that four fingers of raw liquor splashed into Luke Tweezy's lap.
If he could only crawl off somewhere and pass away quietly. At the moment, by his own valuation, any one buying him for a nickel would have been liberally overcharged. Her horse! "I I took yore hoss," he spoke up, desperately. "I'm Racey Dawson." "So you're the man " she began, and stopped. He nodded miserably, his contrite eyes on the toes of her shoes. Small shoes they were.
It must be a paying occupation for McFluke, Nebraska, or whoever was at the bottom of the business. Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a stick and squinted along its length. "None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?" "About seven thousand." Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars.
While as for me, every doll that appeared dolls of course were my principal toys, and I had quite a lot of them reminded me of some kind thought that perhaps I had not noticed enough at the time. Racey was perfectly silly about his horses he loved them so that he almost provoked Tom and me and we looked at each other as much as to say, "He doesn't understand."
Certainly within three or four minutes after he had cut the bridle Racey began to work his way up the rope to where his patient and well-trained horse stood braced and steady as the proverbial boulder.
Racey Dawson, who had been kneeling on the ground engaged in bandaging a cut from a kick on the near foreleg of the Dale pony when the two men led their horses into the corral, craned his neck past the pony's chest and glanced at Lanpher's tall companion. For the latter's words provoked curiosity. What species of deal was toward?
When you talk to him go off somewheres where no one will see you. I heard he spoke to you on the street. Lampher told me. This must not happen again while we are partners. Don't tell Doc Coffin's outfit more than they need to know. Yours truly, Racey blew out the fourth match and folded the letter with care and replaced it in the envelope.
Saltoun who prided himself on his perspicacity. "Whadda you know?" "I ain't telling it," answered Racey, coolly. "I ain't coming back to the ranch to-day, neither." "Oh, you ain't. Listen to the new owner, Tom." "That's all right," said Racey. "If I'm going to do the world any good I've got to have a free hand." "You can have two of 'em," conceded Mr. Saltoun. "The bridle's off."
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