Part 6 (1/2)
”Huh?” Perplexedly.
”Yeah. If they're a-honing to bushwhack me for what I did to Nebraska, it ain't fair for me to go sifting off thisaway and not give 'em some kind of a run for their alley. Look at it close. You can see it ain't.”
”I don't see nothing--”
”Sh.o.r.e you do. It would give 'em too much of a chance to talk. They might even get to saying they ran me out o' town. And the more I think of it the more I'm sh.o.r.e they'll be saying just that.”
”But you said you was going away. You said you had business in Arizona.”
”Sh.o.r.e I have, and sh.o.r.e I'm going. But first I gotta give Nebraska's friends a chance to draw cards. A chance, y' understand.”
”You'll be killed,” she told him, white-lipped.
”Why, no,” said he. ”Not never a-tall. Drawing cards is one thing and playing the hand out is a cat with another kind of tail. I got hopes they won't get too rough with me.”
”Well, of all the stubborn d.a.m.n fools I ever saw--” began the girl, angrily.
At which Racey Dawson laughed aloud.
”That's all right,” she snapped. ”You can laugh. Might 'a' knowed you would. A man is such a plumb idjit. A feller does all she can to show him the right trail out, and does he take it? He does not. He laughs.
That's what he does. He laughs. He thinks it's funny. You gimme a pain, you do!”
On the instant she jerked her pony round, whirled her quirt cross-handed, and tore down the back-trail at full gallop.
”Aw, h.e.l.l,” said Racey, looking after the fleeing damsel regretfully.
”I clean forgot to ask her about the rest of Nebraska's friends.”
CHAPTER IV
THE OLD LADY
”Hope Old Man Dale is home,” said Racey to himself when he saw ahead of him the grove of cottonwoods marking the location of Moccasin Spring.
”But he won't be,” he added, lugubriously. ”I never did have any luck.”
He pa.s.sed the grove of trees and opened up the prospect of house and stable and corral with cottonwood and willow-bordered Soogan Creek in the background.
”Changed some since I was here last,” he muttered in wonder. For nesters as a rule do not go in for flowers and shrubs. And here, besides a small truck garden, were both--all giving evidence of much care and attention.
Racey dismounted at the corral and approached the kitchen door. A fresh young voice in the kitchen was singing a song to the brave accompaniment of a tw.a.n.ging banjo:
”_When I was a-goin' down the road With a tired team an' a heavy load, I cracked my whip an' the leader sprung, An' he almost busted the wagon tongue.
Turkey in the straw, ha! ha! ha!
Turkey in_--”
The singing stopped in the middle of a line. The banjo went silent in the middle of a bar. Racey looked in at the kitchen door and saw, sitting on a corner of the kitchen table, a very pretty girl. One knee was crossed over the other, in her lap was the mute banjo, and she was looking straight at him.
Racey, heartily and internally cursing himself for having neglected to shave, pulled off his hat and achieved a head-hob.