Luke Tweezy obeyed the command literally.  For, his horse going into the air with great briskness at the impact of Racey’s toe, even as the puncher had intended it should, he, Luke Tweezy, bit his tongue so hard that he wept involuntary tears of keenest anguish.

“You stop that cussin’,” resumed Racey, seizing the bridle short and yanking the bouncing horse to a standstill with a swerve and a jerk that almost unseated its rider.  “You be careful how you talk, you—­hop toad!”

“Leggo that bridle!” yammered Tweezy, almost distraught with anger.  His tongue pained him exquisitely and he was otherwise physically shaken.  “Leggo that bridle!”

“I’ll let it go!” Racey grated through set teeth, and he let it go with a backward flip to the lower branches of the severe curb bit that instantly sent the horse on its hind legs.  If Luke Tweezy had not quickwittedly smacked the animal between the ears with the butt of his quirt it would have continued the motion to a backfall and rolled its rider out.

“Tough luck,” mourned Racey, sorry to observe that Luke had contrived to ward off an accident.  “I was expecting to see that horn dislocate yore latest meal.  If you ain’t quite so set on going to the house you can flit.”

“I wanna see Mrs. Dale,” persisted the lawyer in a strangled voice.  “I come to offer her money.  I wanna do her a favour, can’t you understand?”

“I can’t,” was the frank reply.  “I can’t see you doing anybody a favour or giving away any money.  C’mon, get a-going.”

It was then that the lawyer lifted up his voice and shouted aloud for Mrs. Dale.  Undoubtedly Racey would have done Tweezy a mischief had he been given time.  But unfortunately Molly Dale came to the lawyer’s rescue precisely as she had once come to the rescue of his partner in evil, the bulldozer Lanpher.  As it was Racey had contrived to pull Luke Tweezy partly from the saddle when Molly arrived and forced her defender to release his victim.

Reluctantly Racey dropped the leg he held and allowed Tweezy to come to earth on his hands and knees.

“What do you want?” inquired Molly, regarding Tweezy much as she would have regarded a poisonous reptile.

“I want to see yore mother,” snuffled Tweezy, applying his sleeve to his nose.  He had in the mixup smote his swell fork with the organ in question and it had begun to bleed.

“Why?”

“I want to pay her money to go away quietly,” said Tweezy, switching from his sleeve to his handkerchief.  “I—­”

“Here she is,” interrupted Molly.  “Tell her.”

“How do, ma’am,” said Luke to the wet-eyed widow.  “I guess it ain’t necessary for me to go through a lot of explanations with you.  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.