Jack Harpe followed this flight of fancy with an uncertain smile.  “Alla same,” he said, “I wish you’d lemme give you that month’s wages.  I’d feel better about it.  Like I was paying my bets sort of.”

“’Tsall right,” nodded Racey Dawson.  “We still don’t want any money.  We’re satisfied if you are.  Yep, we’re a heap satisfied—­now. But I ain’t contented—­much.”

“That’s tough,” commiserated Jack Harpe, and dropped at his side the arm he had braced against the wall of the hotel.  Also he straightened his crossed leg.  His air and manner, even to the most casual of eyes, took on a sudden brisk watchfulness.  “That’s tough,” repeated Jack Harpe, and added a headshake for good measure.

“Ain’t it?” Racey Dawson said, brightly.  “But maybe you can help me out.  Lookit, I ain’t trying to pry, y’ understand.  I’m the least prying feller in four states, but this here ranch of yores which ain’t got anything to do with the 88 and won’t cut any corners off the Bar S might it by any chance overlap on Mr. Dale’s li’l ranch?”

“Overlap the Dale ranch!  What you talkin’ about?”

“I dunno,” Racey replied, simply.  “I’m trying to find out.”

Jack Harpe laughed his soundless laugh.  “I dunno what it is to you,” he said, “but if my ranch don’t come near the Bar S how can it hit the Dale place?”

“Stranger things than that have happened.  But still, alla same, I’d shore not admire to see any hardship come to old Chin Whisker—­Dale, I mean.”

If Racey had hoped to gain any effect by mentioning “Chin Whisker” he was disappointed.  Jack Harpe was wearing his poker face at the moment.

“I wouldn’t like that any myself,” concurred Jack Harpe.  “Old Dale seems like a good feller, sort of shackles along a mite too shiftless maybe, but his daughter takes the curse off, don’t she?”

“We weren’t talking about the daughter,” Racey pointed out.

Swing Tunstall immediately stepped to one side.  There was a something in Racey’s tone.

But Jack Harpe did not press the point.  He smiled widely instead.

“We weren’t talking about her, for a fact,” he assented.  “Coming right down to cases, we’d oughta be about done talking, oughtn’t we?”

“Depends,” said Racey.  “It all depends.  I’d just like folks to know that I’d take it a heap personal if any tough luck came to old Dale and his ranch.”

“Meanin’?”

“What I said.  No more.  No less.”

“What you said can be took more ways than one.”

“What do you care?” flashed Racey.  “What I said concerns only the gent or gents who are fixing to colddeck old Dale.  Nobody else a-tall.  So what do you care?”

“I don’t.  Not a care, not a care.  Only—­only one thing.  Mister Man, if you’re aiming to drynurse old Dale you’re gonna have yore paws most awful full of man’s size work.  Leastaways, that’s the way she looks to a man up a tree.  Me, I’m a great hand for mindin’ my own business, but—­”