The Heart of the Range | Page 3

"You blasted idjit!" cried the worried Racey. "Whose hoss is this?"
"I kind o' guessed maybe something disgraceful like this here would
happen when I seen you and yore friend sashay into the Happy Heart.
And the barkeep said you had two snifters and a glass o' milk, too.
Honest, Racey, you'd oughta be more careful how you mix yore
drinks."
"Don't try to be a bigger jack than you are," Racey adjured him in a
tone that he strove to make contemptuous. "You think yo're awful
funny--just too awful funny, don't you? I'm askin' you, you fish-faced
ape, whose hoss this is I got here?"
"Don't you know?" grinned Piney, elevating both eyebrows. "Lordy, I
wouldn't be in yore shoes for something. Nawsir. She'll snatch you
baldheaded, she will. The old lady was wild when she come out an'
found her good hoss missing. And she shore said what she thought of
you some more when she seen she had to ride home on that old crow's
dinner of a moth-eaten accordeen you left behind."
Racey Dawson was too reduced in spirit to properly take umbrage at
this insult to his horse. He could only repeat his request that Piney
make not of himself a bigger fool than usual. And when Piney did
nothing but laugh immoderately, Racey grinned foolishly.
"If my head didn't ache so hard," he assured the chortling blacksmith,

"I'd shore talk to you, but--Say, lookit here, Piney, quit yore foolin',
will you? Who owns this hoss, anyway?"
"Here comes Kansas," said Piney. "Betcha five even he arrests you for
a hoss thief."
"Gimme odds an' I'll go you," Racey returned, promptly.
"Even," stuck out Piney.
"Naw, he might do it. You Farewell jiggers hang together too hard for
me to take any chances. 'Lo, Kansas."
"Howdy, Racey," nodded Kansas Casey, the deputy sheriff. "How long
you been rustlin' hosses?"
"A damsight longer'n I like," Racey replied, frankly. "Who does own
this hoss?"
"Y' oughta asked that question yesterday," said Kansas, severely, but
with a twinkle in his black eyes that belied his tone. "This here would
be mighty serious business for you if the Sheriff was in town. Jake's so
particular about being legal an' all. Yessir, Racey, old-timer, I expect
you'd spend some time in the calaboose--if you wasn't lynched
previous."
"Don't scare the poor feller," pleaded Piney in a tone of deepest
compassion. "He'll be cryin' in a minute."
"In a minute I'll be doing somethin' besides cry if you fellers don't stop
yore funning. This here is past a joke, this is, and--"
"Shore it's past a joke," Kansas concurred, warmly, "an' I ain't funning,
not for a minute. You go give that hoss back, Racey, or you'll be sorry."
"Well, for Gawd's sake tell me who to give it back to!" bawled Racey,
and immediately batted his eyes and gingerly patted the back of his
head.

"Head ache?" queried Kansas. "I expect it might after last night. You
go give that hoss back like a good boy."
So saying Kansas Casey turned his back and retreated rapidly in the
direction of the Starlight Saloon.
Racey Dawson glared vindictively after the departing deputy. Then he
switched his angry blue eyes to the blacksmith's smiling countenance.
"You can all," said Racey Dawson, distinctly, "go plumb to hell."
He turned the purloined pony on a dime and loped up the street,
followed by the ribald laughter of Piney Jackson.
"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--"
But Swing Tunstall, it appeared on consulting the bartender, had gone
off hunting him (Racey). 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. He had a small
drink, for he felt that he needed a bracer, and with the liquor he
imbibed inspiration.
Miss Blythe, Mike Flynn's partner in the Blue Pigeon Store! She would
know whose horse it was, for certainly the horse's owner had bought
the undershirt and the stockings at the Blue Pigeon. Furthermore, Miss
Blythe looked like a right-minded individual. She would take no
pleasure in devilling a man. Not she.
Racey Dawson set down his glass and hurried to the Blue Pigeon Store.
Miss Blythe, at his entrance, ceased checking tomato cans and came
forward.
"Ma'am," said Racey, "will you come to the door a minute? No, no,
don't be scared!" he added as the lady drew back a step. "I'm kind of in
trouble, an' I want you to help me out. I'm--my name's Racey Dawson,

an' I used to ride for the Cross-in-a-box before I got a job up