Part 56 (1/2)

And as she spoke her eyes were very bright, and her figure was stiffer than the proverbial poker. Which was odd. And at the tail of her words she gave a stiff nod and hurried into the house. Which was odder. The species of nod and the hurry--both.

But Racey was in no mood to speculate on the idiosyncrasies of woman.

Even _the_ woman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon and Mr. Saltoun. They regarded him silently.

”I guess,” said Racey, whirling an empty tobacco-bag by it's draw-string, ”I'll borrow some of yore smokin', Tom. I'm plumb afoot for tobacco at the present writing.”

Tom Loudon handed over his pouch without a word. But Mr. Saltoun was fidgety. Unlike his son-in-law, he felt that he must speak.

”Lookit here, Racey,” he said, hurriedly, ”you ain't going to Farewell alone, are you?”

”Why, no, certainly not,” Racey replied, solemnly. ”I'm going to send word to Yardly for the troops. h.e.l.l's bells, there's only four of them, man!”

”Yes, well--Who's this? One of our boys?”

But it was not one of ”our” boys. It was Rack Slimson, the proprietor of the Starlight Saloon. But he was riding in from the direction of the Bar S.

He rode soberly, as one bound on a journey of length. Even as Marie had done he glimpsed the three men and turned his horse toward them.

Ten feet from the flank of Racey Dawson's mount he pulled in and nodded. There was spite--spite and something else--in the gaze he fixed on Racey Dawson.

”Yore friend's hurt,” said he. ”Got in a fight.”

”Hurt bad?” asked Racey.

”Not _too_ bad. I've seen worse.”

”Where's he hurt?”

Rack Slimson merely corroborated what Marie had said. So far he seemed to be telling the truth. And it was natural that there should be spite in his eyes. He had no cause to feel affection for either man. But there was the ”something else” besides the spite in those eyes. That was what interested Racey.

”You come here special to tell me this?” said Racey, staring.

”Not me,” denied Rack Slimson. ”I was just pa.s.sing by, and I thought I'd let you know.”

”Just bein' neighbourly, huh?”

”I dunno as I'd go so far as to say that.”

”Well, I'm obliged to you, Slimson. I'm sh.o.r.e a heap obliged to you.

Is Swing Tunstall being taken care of all right?”

”He's in Mike Flynn's house. Joy Blythe is a-nursin' him.”

”Then I ain't needed in Farewell right now.” Racey's tone was casual.

Rack Slimson rose to the bait immediately. ”He's asking for you alla time,” said he.

”He is, is he? Why didn't you say so at first?”