“Not me,” denied Rack Slimson.  “I was just passing 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 shore 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?”

“I didn’t know it was necessary.”

“Which is true more ways than one.  Lookit here, Slimson, where might you happen to be going when you run into me so providential here at Moccasin Spring?”

“I might be going most anywhere,” Rack Slimson replied with a flash of temper.

“No call to get het, Rack, no call to get het.  What I’m asking is a fair question:  Where might you be going to-day.”

“Marysville.”

“Ain’t you off the trail some?”

“Shore I am, some.  I remembered something I gotta see about at the 88 before I go to Marysville.  That’s how I’m going west instead of south.”

“When did you first remember this here something of yores?”

“When I stopped at the Bar S for a drink of water.”

“And after you’d just happened to remember this something, I s’pose you just happened to ask where I was and they told you Moccasin Spring.  Is that the how of it?”

“Yo’re a good guesser,” replied Rack Slimson with sarcasm.

“Sometimes I do make a centre shot,” Racey admitted, modestly.

It was then that Marie, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, rode forth from the cottonwood grove.  At sight of her Rack Slimson’s eyes opened wide, then they narrowed.

“Hell,” he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey.

“What you hellin’ about?” Racey inquired, pleasantly.

“You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time,” complained Rack Slimson.

“What makes you think so?” Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack.

“She told you.”  Thus Rack, bluntly.

“‘She?’ What she you mean?”

“Aw, her.”  Rack Slimson jerked his head toward the approaching girl.

“He’s got ’em again,” said Racey to Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon.  “I don’t see any ‘her’ anywhere.  Do you?”

“Not me,” chorussed both men.

“You see how yo’re mistaken, Rack,” pointed out Racey.  “Yore eyes are deceivin’ you.  Don’t you trust ’em.  You don’t see any girls round here, exceptin’ maybe Miss Dale over at the house.  You might ‘a’ seen her according to whether she came to the kitchen door or not.  But you ain’t seen any other girl here.  And you better be shore you ain’t.”

“Why had I?” blustered Rack Slimson, without, however, making any hostile motion with his hands.