“Mr. Dawson,” said Molly Dale at Racey’s elbow, “please go, I can get him into the house.  You can do no good here.”

“I can do lots o’ good here,” declared Racey, who felt sure that he was on the verge of a discovery.  “Somebody is a-trying to jump yore ranch, and if you’ll lemme talk to him I can find out who it is.”

“Who—­how?” said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright and embarrassment engendered by her father’s condition the true significance of Racey’s remark was not immediately apparent.

“Yore ranch,” repeated Racey, sharply.  “They’re a-tryin’ to steal it from you.  You lemme talk to him, ma’am.  Look out!  Grab his bridle!”

Miss Dale seized the bridle of her father’s horse in time to prevent a runaway.  She was not aware that the horse’s attempt to run away had been inspired by Racey surreptitiously and severely kicking it on the fetlock.  This he had done that Miss Dale’s thoughts might be temporarily diverted from her father.  Anything to keep her from shooing him away as she so plainly wished to do.

Racey began to assist the now-crumpling Mr. Dale toward the house.  “What’s this about Luke Tweezy?” prodded Racey.  “Did you see him to-day?”

“Shore I seen him to-day,” burbled the drunken one.  “He left me at McFluke’s after buyin’ me the bottle and asked me to stay there till he got back.  But I got tired waitin’.  So I come along.  I—­hic—­come along.”

Limply the man’s whole weight sagged down against Racey’s supporting arm, and he began to snore.

“Shucks,” muttered Racey, then stooping he picked up the limp body in his arms and carried it to the house.

“He’s asleep,” he called to Miss Dale.  “Where’ll I put him?”

“I’ll show you,” she said, with a break in her voice.

She hastily tied the now-quiet pony to a young cottonwood growing at the corner of the house and preceded Racey into the kitchen.

“Here,” she said, her eyes meeting his a fleeting instant as she threw open a door giving into an inner room.  “On the bed.”

She turned back the counterpane and Racey laid her snoring parent on the blanket.  Expertly he pulled off the man’s boots and stood them side by side against the wall.

“Had to take ’em off now, or his feet would swell so after you’d never get ’em off,” he said in justification of his conduct.

She held the door open for him to leave the room.  She did not look at him.  Nor did she speak.

“I’m going now,” he said, standing in the middle of the kitchen.  “But I wish you wouldn’t shut that door just yet.”

“I—­Oh, can’t you see you’re not wanted here?” Her voice was shaking.  The door was open but a crack.  He could not see her.

“I know,” he said, gently.  “But you don’t understand how serious this business is.  I had good reason for believing that somebody is trying to steal yore ranch.  From several things yore dad said I’m shorer than ever.  If I could only talk to you a li’l while.”