ood boy."

So saying Kansas Casey turned his back and retreated rapidly in the
direction of the Starlight Saloon.

Racey Dawson glared vindictively after the departing deputy. Then he
switched his angry blue eyes to the blacksmith's smiling countenance.

"You can all," said Racey Dawson, distinctly, "go plumb to hell."

He turned the purloined pony on a dime and loped up the street,
followed by the ribald laughter of Piney Jackson.

"They think they're so terrible funny," Racey muttered, mournfully,
as he dismounted and tied at the hitching rail in front of the Happy
Heart. "Now if I can only find Swing--"

But Swing Tunstall, it appeared on consulting the bartender, had gone
off hunting him (Racey). The latter did not appeal to the bartender to
divulge the name of the horse's owner. He had, he believed, furnished
the local populace sufficient amusement for one day. He had a small
drink, for he felt that he needed a bracer, and with the liquor he
imbibed inspiration.

Miss Blythe, Mike Flynn's partner in the Blue Pigeon Store! She would
know whose horse it was, for certainly the horse's owner had bought
the undershirt and the stockings at the Blue Pigeon. Furthermore,
Miss Blythe looked like a right-minded individual. She would take no
pleasure in devilling a man. Not she.

Racey Dawson set down his glass and hurried to the Blue Pigeon Store.
Miss Blythe, at his entrance, ceased checking tomato cans and came
forward.

"Ma'am," said Racey, "will you come to the door a minute? No, no,
don't be scared!" he added as the lady drew back a step. "I'm kind
of in trouble, an' I want you to help me out. I'm--my name's Racey
Dawson, an' I used to ride for the Cross-in-a-box before I got a job
up at the Bend. Jack Richie knows me. I ain't crazy--honest."

For Miss Blythe continued to look doubtful. "I--" she began.

"Lookit," he interrupted, "yesterday I got a heap drunk an' I rode off
on somebody's hoss without meaning to--I mean I thought it was my hoss
and it wasn't. An' I thought maybe you'd tell me who the hoss belongs
to so's I can return him and get mine back. She took mine, they tell
me. Not that I blame her a mite," he added, hastily.

Pretty Miss Blythe smiled suddenly. "I did hear something about a
switch in horses yesterday afternoon," she admitted. "But I thought
Mr. Flynn said Tom Dowling was the man's name. Certainly I remember
you now, Mr. Dawson, although at first your--your beard--"

"Yeah, I know,