“Shore.  Him and Alicran pulled in a hour ago.  Guess he’s in the office—­Lanpher.”

“See anything of Tweezy lately?”

“Luke seems to be living with us lately.”

“I never knowed him and Lanpher was good friends?” Racey cast at a venture.

“I didn’t either—­till lately.”

“Jack Harpe ever come out here?”

“Long-geared feller—­supposed to have capital?  Hangs out in Farewell?  The one that Marie girl tried to down?  Bo, he ain’t been here as I know of, but then he could easy drift in and out and me not know it.”

Racey nodded.  “Marie jump Jack again, do you know?” he asked.

“Damfino.  Don’t guess so, though.  I seen her pass him on Main Street, and she didn’t even look at him.”

“I’ll bet he looked at her.”

“You can gamble he did.  He ain’t trustin’ her, not him.  I wonder what was at the bottom of the fuss between him an’ her?” A sharp glance at Racey accompanied this remark.

“I dunno,” yawned Racey.  “They say Mr. Harpe has had a career both high, wide, and handsome.”

“That’s what I’d call one too many,” grinned Rod Rockwell.

“You can put down a bet the career has been one too many, too.”

“Yeah?” said Rod, wondering what was coming next.

“Yeah,” said Racey, nodding mysteriously, but disappointing his friend by immediately changing the subject.  “Say, Rod, I’d take it as a favour if you and Tile and Bill would sort of freeze round the bunkhouse till after I’m through with Lanpher.”

“Shore,” said Rod.  “Tweezy’s in the office, too, I guess.”

Racey nodded, and started his horse toward the office.

He understood well enough that Rod and the other two punchers would not interfere in any way with him and whatever acts he might be called upon to perform during his conversation with Lanpher.  Loyal to the last cartridge and after whenever it was ranch business, none of the 88 punchers ever felt it incumbent upon him to go out of his way so far as Lanpher personally was concerned.  The manager was not the man either to engender or to foster personal loyalty.

At the open doorway of the office Racey dismounted.  He dropped the reins over his horse’s head and walked to the doorway.  There he stopped and looked in.  He saw Lanpher sitting behind his big homemade desk.  Lanpher was watching him.  At one side of the desk, on a chair tilted back against the wall, sat Luke Tweezy.  Luke was chewing a straw.  His eyes were half closed, but Racey detected their glitter.  Luke Tweezy was not overlooking any bets at that moment.

Racey stepped across the doorsill and halted just within the room.  The thumb of his left hand was hooked in his belt.  His right hand hung at his side.  He was ready for action.

“Lanpher,” said Racey without preliminary, “I want to serve notice on you here and now that if I catch you within one mile of Moccasin Spring you come a-shooting because I will.”