CHAPTER X
THE BACK PORCH
Racey's gaze casually and uninterestedly followed Swing's pointingfinger. Immediately his eye brightened and he sat up with a jerk.
"I'll shove the door a li'l farther open," said Swing, making as if torise.
"Sit still," hissed Racey, pulling down his friend with one hand andendeavouring to smooth his own hair with the other. "Yo're all right,and the door's all right. I'm going over there in a minute and ifyo're good I'll take you with me."
"Over there" was the back porch of the Blue Pigeon Store. Swing'sexclamations and laudable desire to see better were called forth bythe sudden appearance on the back porch of two girls. One was MissBlythe. The other was Miss Molly Dale.
There were two barrel chairs on the porch. Miss Blythe picked up apiece of embroidery on a frame from the seat of one of the chairs andsat down. Molly Dale seated herself in the other chair, crossed herknees, and swung a slim, booted leg. From the breast pocket of herboy's gray flannel shirt she produced a long, narrow strip of white towhich appeared to be fastened a small dark object. She held the stripof white in her left hand. Her right hand held the dark object andwith it began to make a succession of quick, wavy, hooky dabs at oneend of the strip of white.
"First time I ever seen anybody trying to knit without needles," saidthe perplexed Swing.
"That ain't knitting," said the superior Racey. "That's tatting."
"Tatting?"
"Tatting."
"What's it for?"
"Lingery." Racey pronounced the word to rhyme with "clingery."
"Lingery?"
"Lingery."
"What's lingery?"
"Lingery is clo'es."
"Clo'es, huh. Helluva funny name for clo'es. Why don't you say clo'esthen instead of this here now lingery?"
"Because lingery is a certain _kind_ of clo'es, you ignorant Jack.Petticoats, and the like o' that. Don't you know nothin'?"
"I know yo're lying, that's what I know. Yo're bluffing, you hear mewhistlin'. You dunno no more about it than I do. You can't tell mepetticoats is made out of a strip of white stuff less'n a half-inchwide. I've seen too many washin's hangin' on the lines, I have. Yeah.And done too many. When I was a young one my ma would tie an apronround my neck, slap me down beside a tubful of clo'es, and tell me tofly to it. Petticoats! Petticoats, feller, is made of yards and yardsand yards like a balloon."
"Who said they wasn't, you witless Jake? They don't _make_ petticoatsof this tatting stuff. They use it for trimming like."
"Trimming on the petticoats?"
"_And_ the lingery."
"But you just now said petticoats and lingery was the same thing."
"Oh, my Gawd! They are! They are the same thing. Don't y' understand?Petticoats is always lingery, but lingery ain't always petticoats.See?"
"I don't. I don't see a-tall. I think yo're goin' crazy. That's what Ithink. Nemmine. Nemmine. If you say _lingery_ at me again I won't letyou introduce me to yore girl."
"She ain't my girl," denied Racey, reddening.
"But you'd like her to be, huh? Shore. What does she think about it?Which one of 'em is she?"
"I didn't say neither of 'em was. You always did take too much forgranted, Swing."
"I ain't taking too much for granted with you blushing thataway. Whichone? Tell a feller. C'mon, stingy."
"Shucks," said Racey, "I should think you could tell. The best-lookingone, of course."
"But they's two of 'em, feller, and they both look mighty fine to me.Take that one with the white shirt and the slick brown hair. She's aspretty as a li'l red wagon. A reg'lar doll baby, you bet you."
"Doll baby! Ain't you got any eyes? That brown-haired girl--and I wantto say right here I never did like brown hair--is Joy Blythe, BillDerr's girl. Of course, Bill's a good feller and all that, and if helikes that style of beauty it ain't anything against him. But thatother girl now. Swing, you purblind bat, when it comes to looks, shelays all over Joy Blythe like four aces over a bobtailed flush."
"She does, huh? You got it bad. Here's hoping it ain't catchin'. I'veliked girls now and then my own self, but I never like one so hardI couldn't see nothing good in another one. Now, humanly speaking,either of them two on the porch would suit me."
"And neither of 'em ain't gonna suit you, and you can gamble on that,Swing Tunstall."
"Oh, ain't they? We'll see about that. You act like I never seen agirl before. Lemme tell you I know how to act all right in company. Iain't any hilltop Reuben."
"If you ain't, then pin up yore shirt where I tore the buttons off.You look like the wrath o' Gawd."
"You ain't something to write home about yore own self. I can buttonup my vest and look respectable, but they's hayseeds and shuttlin'sall over you, and besides I got a necktie, and _yore_ handkerchief isso sloshed up you can't tie it round yore neck. Yo're a fine-lookin'specimen to go a-visitin'. A fi-ine-lookin' specimen. And anyway yo'redrunk. You can't go."
"Hell I can't," snapped Racey, brushing industriously. "They neverseen me."
"But Luke Tweezy did," chuckled Swing.
"What's Luke got to do with it?" Racey inquired without looking up.
"If you'd slant yore eyes out through the door you'd see what LukeTweezy's gotta do with it."
Racey Dawson looked up and immediately sat down on the hay and spokein a low tone.
Swing nodded with delight. "You'll cuss worse'n that when I go overand make Luke introduce me," he said. "He's been out there on theporch with 'em the last five minutes, and you was so busy argufyin'with me you never looked up to see him. And you talk of going over anddoing the polite. Yah, you make me laugh. This is shore one on you,Racey. Don't you wish now you hadn't made out to be so drunk? Lookit,Luke. He's a-offerin' 'em something in a paper poke. They're a-eatin'it. He musta bought some candy. I'll bet they's all of a dime's worthin that bag. The spendthrift. How he must like them girls. It's yoregirl he's shining up to special, Racey. Ain't he the lady-killer? Lookout, Racey. You won't have a chance alongside of Luke Tweezy."
"Swing," said Racey, in a voice ominously calm and level, "if youdon't shut yore trap I'll shore wrastle you down and tromp on yorestummick."
So saying he reached for Swing Tunstall. But the latter, watchfulperson that he was, eluded the clutching hands and hurried through thedoorway.
Racey, seething with rage, could only sit and hug his knees whileSwing went up on the porch and was introduced to the two girls. It wassome balm to his tortured soul to see how ill Luke Tweezy took Swing'sadvent. Did Luke really like Molly Dale? The old goat! Why, the manwas old enough to be her father.
And did she like him? Lordy man alive, how could she? But Luke Tweezyhad money. Girls liked money, Racey knew that. He had known a girl tomarry a more undesirable human being than Luke Tweezy simply becausethe man was rich. Personally, he, Racey Dawson, were he a girl, wouldprefer the well-known honest heart to all the wealth in the territory.But girls were queer, and sometimes did queer things. Molly, wasshe queer? He didn't know. She looked sensible, yet why was she soinfernally polite to Luke Tweezy? She didn't have to smile at him whenhe spoke to her. It wasn't necessary. Racey's spirit groaned withinhim. Finally, the spectacle of the chattering group on the back porchof the Blue Pigeon proved more than Racey could stand. He retreatedinto a dark corner of the barn and lay down on the hay. But he did notgo to sleep. Far from it. Later he removed his boots, stuffed themfull of hay, and hunkered down behind a dismounted wagon-seat overwhich a wagon-cover had been flung. With a short length of rope andseveral handfuls of hay he propped the boots in such a position thatthey stuck out beyond the wagon-box ten or twelve inches and gaveevery evidence of human occupation.
Boosting up with a bushel basket the stiff canvas at the end oppositethe boots he made the wagon-cover stretch long enough and high enoughto conceal the important fact that there were no legs or body attachedto the boots.
Which being done Racey took up a strategic position behind an upendedcrate near t
he doorway.
He proceeded to wait. He waited quite a while. The afternoon drainedaway. The sun set. In the dusk of the evening Racey heard footsteps.Swing Tunstall. He'd know his step anywhere. The individual making thefootsteps came to the doorway of the barn, halted an instant, thenwalked in. Almost at once he stumbled over the boots. Then Raceysprang upon his back with a joyous shout and slammed him headforemostover the wagon-seat into the pile of hay.
The man swore--and the voice was not that of Swing Tunstall. On theheels of this unwelcome discovery Racey made another. The man haddragged out a knife from under his armpit, and was squirminglyendeavouring to make play with it. Racey's intended practical joke onSwing Tunstall was in a fair way to become a tragedy on himself.
There was no time to make explanations, even had Racey been soinclined. The man was strong and the knife was long--and presumablysharp. Racey, pinioning his opponent's knife arm with one hand and histeeth, flashed out his gun and smartly clipped the man over the headwith the barrel.
Instantly, so far as an active participation in the affair of themoment, the man ceased to function. He lay limp as a sodden moccasin,and breathed stertorously. Racey knelt at his side and laid his handon the top of the man's head. The palm came away warmly wet. Raceyreplaced his gun in its holster and pulled the senseless one out onthe barn floor near the doorway where he could see him better.
The man was Luke Tweezy.
Racey sat down and began to pull on his boots. There was nothing to begained by remaining in the barn. Tweezy was not badly hurt. The blowon the head had resulted, so far as Racey could discover (later he wasto learn that his diagnosis had been correct), in a mere scalp wound.
Racey, when his boots were on, picked up his hat. At least he thoughtit was his hat. When he put it on, however, it proved a poor fit. Hehad taken Tweezy's hat by mistake. He dropped it on the floor andturned to pick up his own where it lay behind the wagon-seat.
But, as we wheeled, a flicker of white showed inside the crown ofTweezy's hat where it lay on the floor. Racey swung back, stoopeddown, and turned out the leather sweatband of Tweezy's hat, at theedge of which had been revealed the bit of white.
The latter proved to be one corner of a folded letter. Without theleast compunction Racey tucked this letter into the breast pocket ofhis flannel shirt. Then he set about searching Tweezy's clothing withthoroughness. But other than the odds and odds usually to be found ina man's pockets there was nothing to interest the searcher.
Racey carefully turned back the sweatband of the hat, placed theheadpiece on top of the wagon-seat, and departed. He went as far asthe Happy Heart corral. Behind the corral he sat down on his heels,and took out the letter he had purloined from Luke Tweezy. He openedthe envelope and read the finger-marked enclosure by the light ofmatches shielded behind his hat. The letter ran:
DEAR FRIEND LUKE:
I don't think much of your plan. Too dangerous. The Land Office isgetting stricter every day. This thing must be absolutely legal inevery way. You can't bull ahead and trust to luck there aren't anyholes. There mustn't be any holes, not a damn hole. Try my plan, theone I discussed so thoroughly with you last week. It will take longer,perhaps, but it is absolutely safe. You must learn to be more carefulwith the law from now on, Luke. I know what I'm talking about.
I tell you plainly if you don't accept my scheme and work to itreligiously I'm out of the deal absolutely. I'm not going to risk myliberty because of other people's foolhardiness.
Show this letter to Jack Harpe, and let me know your decision.
Another thing, impress upon Jack the necessity of you two keepingpublicly apart until after the deal is sprung. When you talk to him gooff somewheres where no one will see you. I heard he spoke to you onthe street. Lampher told me. This must not happen again while we arepartners. Don't tell Doc Coffin's outfit more than they need to know.
Yours truly,
JACOB POOLEY.
Racey blew out the fourth match and folded the letter with care andreplaced it in the envelope. He sat back on his heels and looked upinto the darkening sky. Jacob Pooley. Well, well, _well_. If Fat JakeyPooley, the register of the district, was mixed up in the business,the opposition would have its work cut out in advance. Yes, indeedy.For no man could walk more convincingly the tight rope of the law thanFat Jakey. Racey Dawson did not know Fat Jakey, except by sight, buthe had heard most of the tales told of the gentleman. And they were_tales_. Many of them were accepted by the countryside as gospeltruth. Perhaps half of them were true. A good-natured, cunning,dishonest, and indefatigable featherer of a lucrative politicalnest--that was Fat Jakey.
Racey Dawson sat and thought hard through two cigarettes. Then hethumbed out the butt, got to his feet, and started to return to thehotel. For it had suddenly come upon him that he was hungry.
But halfway round the corral an idea impinged upon his consciousnesswith the force of a bullet. "Gawdamighty," he muttered, "I am a Jack!"
He turned and retraced his steps to the corner of the corral. Here hestopped and removed his spurs. He stuffed a spur into each hip pocket,and moved cautiously and on tiptoe toward Tom Kane's barn.
It was almost full night by now. But in the west still glowed thefaintly red streak of the dying embers of the day. Racey suddenlybethought him that the red streak was at his back, therefore hedropped on all fours and proceeded catwise.
He was too late. Before he reached the back of the barn he heard thefeet of two people crunching the hard ground in front of it. The soundof the footsteps died out on the grass between the barn and the housesfronting on Main Street.
Racey, hurrying after and still on all fours, suddenly saw the darkshape of a tall man loom in front of him. He halted perforce. Hisown special brand of bull luck was with him. The dark shape, walkingalmost without a sound, shaved his body so closely as it passed thathe felt the stir of the air against his face.
When the men had gone on a few yards Racey looked over his shoulder.Silhouetted against the streak of dying red was the upper half of JackHarpe's torso. There was no mistaking the set of that head and thoseshoulders. Both it and them were unmistakable. Jack Harpe. Racey sworebehind his teeth. If only he could have reached the barn in time tohear what the two men had said to each other.
After a decent interval Racey went on. The Happy Heart was the nearestsaloon. He felt reasonably certain that Luke Tweezy would go there tohave his cut head dressed. He had. Racey, his back against the bar,looked on with interest at the bandaging of Luke Tweezy by theproprietor.
"Yep," said Luke, sitting sidewise in the chair, "stubbed my toeagainst a cordwood stick in front of Tom Kane's barn and hit my headon a rock. Knocked me silly."
"Sh'd think it might," grunted the proprietor, attending to his jobwith difficulty because Luke _would_ squirm. "Hold still, will you,Luke?"
"Yo're taking twice as many stitches as necessary," grumbled Luke.
"I ain't," denied the proprietor. "And I got two more to take. HOLDSTILL!"
"Don't need to deafen me!" squalled Luke, indignantly.
"Shut up!" ordered the proprietor, who, for that he did not owe anymoney to Luke, was not prepared to pay much attention to his fussing."If you think I'm enjoying this, you got another guess coming. And ifyou don't like the way I'm doing it, you can do it yoreself."
Luke stood up at last, a white bandage encircling his head, said thathe was much obliged, and would like to borrow a lantern for a fewmoments.
"Aw, you don't need any lantern," objected the proprietor. "I forgotto fill mine to-day, anyway. Can't you find yore way to the hotel inthe dark? That crack on the topknot didn't blind you, did it?"
"I lost something," explained Luke Tweezy. "When I fell down most allmy money slipped out of my pocket."
"I'll get you a lantern then," grumbled the proprietor.
Ten minutes later Luke Tweezy, frantically quartering the floor of TomKane's barn, heard a slight sound and looked up to see Racey Dawsonand Swing Tunstall standing in the doorway.
"I didn't know you fell down _inside_ the barn," Racey observed.
"There's lots you dunno," said Luke, ungraciously.
"So there is," assented Racey. "But don't rub it in, Luke. Rubbing itin hurts my feelings. And my feelings are tender to-day--most awfultender, Luke. Don't you go for to lacerate 'em. I ain't owing you adime, you know."
To this Luke Tweezy made no comment. But he resumed his squatteringabout the floor and his poking and delving in the piles of hay. Heraised a dust that flew up in clouds. He coughed and snorted andsnuffed. Racey and Swing Tunstall laughed.
"Makes you think of a hay-tedder, don't he?" grinned Racey. "How muchdid you lose, Luke--two bits?"
At this Luke looked up sharply. "Seems to me you got over yore drunkpretty quick," said he.
"Oh, my liquor never stays by me a great while," Racey told himeasily. "That's the beauty of being young. When you get old andtoothless an' deecrepit like some people, not to mention no names ofcourse, why then she's a cat with another tail entirely."
"What'ell's goin' on in here?" It was Red Kane speaking. Red was TomKane's brother.
Racey and Swing moved apart to let him through. Red Kane entered,stared at the spectacle of Luke Tweezy and his bobbing lantern, staredand stared again.
"What you doing, Luke?" he demanded.
"Luke's lost a nickel, Red." Racey answered for the lawyer. "And anickel, you know yoreself, is worth all of five cents."
"I lost some money," grumbled Luke.
"But you _said_ you lost it when you tripped and fell," said Racey."And you fell outside."
"I lost it here," Luke said, shortly.
"I don't giveadamn where you lost it or what you lost," declared RedKane. "You can't go flirtin' round with any lantern in Tom's barn.First thing you know you'll set it afire. C'mon, Luke, pull yorefreight."
"But lookit here," protested Luke, "I lost something valuable, Red. Igotta find it."
"It wasn't money then?" put in Racey.
"Of course it was money," averred Luke.
"You said 'it' this time, Luke."
"It don't matter what I said. I lost some money, and I want to findit."
"You can want all you like," said Red Kane, "but not in this barn.C'mon back to-morrow morning, and you can hunt the barn to pieces, butyou can't do any more skirmishing round in here to-night. I'll lockthe barn door so's nobody else will go fussbudgettin' round in here.C'mon, Luke, get a move on you."
So Luke was driven out much against his will, and Racey and Swingroamed around to the dance hall. Here at a table in the ell where thebar stretched its length they could sit and talk--unheard under coverof the music.
"But how come you had yore boots off?" Swing desired to know when atable, a bottle and two glasses were between them. "Don't try to tellme you stuck 'em behind that wagon-seat on purpose to trip him. Younever knowed he was comin'."
"Well, no, I didn't exactly," admitted Racey, with a sly smile. "Thoseboots were laid out all special for you."
"For me?"
"For you."
"But why for me?" Perplexedly.
"Because, Swing, old settler, I didn't like you this afternoon. Themore I saw you over there on that porch the less I liked you. So Itook off my boots and hid 'em careful like behind the wagon-seat sothey'd stick out some, and you'd see 'em and think I was there asleep,and naturally you'd go for to wake me up and wouldn't think of lookingbehind the crate where I was laying for you all ready to hop on yoreneck the second you stooped over the wagon-seat and give you the Dutchrub for glommin' all the fun this afternoon."
"And what didja think I'd be doin' alla time?" grinned Swing Tunstall.
"You wouldn't 'a' tried to knife me, anyway."
"G'on. He didn't."
"Oh, didn't he? You better believe he did. If I hadn't got a holt ofhis wrist and whanged him over the head with my Colt for all I wasworth he'd 'a' had me laid out cold. Yep, li'l Mr. Luke Tweezyhimself. The rat that don't care nothing about fighting with anythingbut a law book."
"A rat will fight when it's cornered," said Swing.
Racey nodded. "I've seen 'em. It's something to know Luke carries aknife and where."
"Where?"
"Under his left arm. Fill up, and shove the bottle over."
Swing filled abstractedly and slopped the table. He pushed the bottletoward Racey. The latter caught it just in time to prevent a smash onthe floor.
"Say, look what yo're doing!" cried Racey. "Y' almost wasted a wholebottle of redeye. I ain't got money to throw away if you have."
"I was just wonderin' what Fat Jakey's plan is," said Swing,scratching his head.
"No use wonderin'," Racey told him. "It's their move."
The Heart of the Range Page 10