ie.

"Put-up job." Gruffly Mr. Saltoun gave his opinion.

"Shore." Tom Loudon nodded gravely.

"Where are those four men now?" Racey asked, quietly, looking at
Marie.

"They were in the Starlight when I left town--and _they weren't
drinkin_'."

"No, they wouldn't be."

"And the sheriff and Kansas went to Dogville this morning, and the
marshal is sick. I thought you ought to know. My Gawd, I thought you'd
hear the news from somebody else before I got here and go bustin' in
regardless, and--"

"I guess I'll go in all right," he told her with a slight smile, "but
it won't be regardless."

With that he turned on a spurred heel and crossed springily to where
his horse stood.

"Aw, the devil!" exclaimed Marie, looking helplessly at Tom Loudon and
Mr. Saltoun. "And he'll do it, too."

Then she "kissed" to her horse and rode into the cottonwood grove for
a drink at the spring.

Racey, sticking foot in stirrup, found Molly Dale at his elbow. She
was looking at him the way women do when they either don't understand
or think they understand only too well.

"Who is that woman?" asked Molly Dale.

"Huh?" Thus Racey, stupidly. He was thinking of his friend lying
wounded in Farewell. "What woman you mean?... Oh, her, that's Marie,
she's--she's lookout in the Happy Heart."

"Oh, yes, Marie. I--I've seen you with her--one evening when you and
she were crossing the street and I drove past. I--I, yes, indeed."

And as she spoke her eyes were very bright, and her figure was stiffer
than the proverbial poker. Which was odd. And at the tail of her words
she gave a stiff nod and hurried into the house. Which was odder. The
species of nod and the hurry--both.

But Racey was in no mood to speculate on the idiosyncrasies of woman.
Even _the_ woman. So he topped his mount and rejoined Tom Loudon and
Mr. Saltoun. They regarded him silently.

"I guess," said Racey, whirling an empty tobacco-bag by it's
draw-string, "I'll borrow some of yore smokin', Tom. I'm plumb afoot
for tobacco at the present writing."

Tom Loudon handed over his pouch without a word. But Mr. Saltoun was
fidgety. Unlike his son-in-law, he felt that he must speak.

"Lookit here, Racey," he said, hurriedly, "you ain't going to Farewell
alone, are you?"

"Why, no, certainly not," Racey replied, solemnly. "I'm going to send
word to Yardly for the troops. Hell's bells, there's only four of
them, man!"

"Yes, well--Who's this? One of our boys?"

But it