“We-ell, I dunno.  You see, Racey—­”

“I nun-need the money,” interrupted Racey.  “I’m broke—­bub-broke bad.  Swing’s broke, too.  That’s too bad—­I mean that’s two bub-boke brad—­whistle twice for the crossing—­I mean—­Aw, hell, I know whu-what I mean if-fif you don’t.  You lul-lend me that mum-money, Lul-Luke, like a good feller.”

Luke Tweezy shook a regretful head.  “I’m shore sorry you and Swing are busted, Racey, I’d do anything for you I could in reason.  You know damwell I would, but money’s tight with me just now.  I ain’t really got a cent I can lend.  Got a mortgage comin’ due next month, but that ain’t now, of course.”

“Of course not.  Huh-how could you think it was now?  Huh-how could you, Lul-Luke?  Dud-do you know the child ain’t a year old yet?”

“Child?  What child?” Luke Tweezy began to look alarmed.

“What child?” frowned Racey Dawson, sitting up very straight and throwing a chest.  “That child over there by the doorway—­there in the streak o’ sush-shine.  Aw, the cute li’l feller!  See him playin’ with Windy Taylor’s spurs.  Ain’t he cunnin’?”

“With most of ’em it’s elephants and snakes an’ such,” proffered Luke Tweezy.

“Yeah,” assented Swing Tunstall.  “A kid is something new.”

“Thu-then you can’t lend me that money?” Racey inquired, querulously.

“No, Racey, I can’t.  Honest, I’d like to.  Nothin’ I’d like better.  Only the way I’m fixed just now it’s plain flat impossible.”

“Then I s’puh-s’puh-s’pose I’ll have to touch the Bar S folks or the Cross-in-a-box.  I gotta have money.  Gug-gotta.  They’re my friends.  They’ll give it to mum-me.  Shore they will gimme all I want.  They’re all my friends, I tell you!”

As Racey uttered the word “friends” his toe pressed Swing Tunstall’s instep.

“They’re Swing’s friends, too,” continued Racey.  “Ain’t they, Sus-Swing?” Again the Dawson toe bore down upon the Tunstall foot.

“Shore they are,” chimed in Swing, watching his friend closely—­so closely that he was able to catch the extremely slight nod of approbation given by Racey.

“Thu-there’s Tom Loudon an’ Tim Pup-pup-page of the Bub-bar S,” stuttered Racey, gazing blearily at Luke Tweezy.  “Bub-best fuf-friends I ever had, them tut-two fellers.  An’ Old Man Sus-Saltoun.  There’s a pup-prince for you.  Gug-give you the shirt off his bub-back.”

Which last was stretching it rather.  For Old Man Saltoun, while not precisely stingy, was certainly not the most generous person in the territory.  Nor did it escape Racey Dawson that Luke Tweezy eyed him sharply as he made the remark.  At once Racey began to roll his head from side to side and rock his body to and fro, and laugh crazily.

“The Bub-bub-bar S is the bub-best ranch in the worl’.”  Again Racey took up the thread of his discourse.  “I tell you that outfit is great friends o’ mine.  Juh-juh-just tut-to shuh-show yuh, Lul-luke.  Ol’ Man Sush-Saltoun let three punchers go lul-last week an’ then turned round an’ gives us both jobs.  That’s huh-how we stand with Ol’ Man Sush-Saltoun.”