"I guess there's nothing much the matter with me," answered Matt coolly, "but you're a good deal of a cur, Dace Perry." "What do you mean by butting in here like that?" fumed Perry, anything but logical now that anger had got the whip-hand of him. "That's the way I was raised," answered Matt. "I reckon the way you was raised gave somebody a lot of trouble," sneered Perry. "Well, you can bet I'm going to give somebody a lot of trouble if Susie is bothered any more." "You're swaggering around with a chip on your shoulder all the time, ain't you?" "Not so you can notice it," laughed Matt, "but you'll always find a chip on my shoulder when a fellow acts like you were doing just now." "Oh, punk!" Dace Perry changed his mind about wanting to fight and backed off down the road. "This isn't the end of our little ruction, Matt King. I'll give you the double-cross yet, see if I don't!" "So-long!" answered Matt. Perry shook his fist, looked northward along the road in the evident hope of locating some of his team, then turned disappointedly and sprinted for the bridge. "I was never so glad of anything in my life, Matt," breathed Susie, "as to have you get here just when you did." "I'm a little bit tickled myself, Susie," laughed Matt, picking up his wheel and standing it alongside the fence, "but I guess Perry won't trouble you any more." "I hate him!" cried Susie, stamping her foot. "He's never been a friend of Mark's, nor of yours, either, Matt." "I guess Mark won't lose any sleep over that, and I know I won't." "All the same, Matt, you'd better look out for him. A coward who fights you behind your back is more to be feared than a braver enemy who faces you in the open." "That's a cinch. But let's forget Dace Perry for a while and think of something more pleasant. Where's Chub, Susie?" Before the girl could answer, a husky voice was wafted toward the two from along the road. "Oh, a bold, bad man was this desperado, An' he blowed inter town like an ole tornado-- Ta-rooral--ooral--ay!" Susie and Matt looked in the direction from which this burst of melody--if such it could be called--proceeded. An old man with a wooden leg was approaching, keeping the tempo of his song with jabs of the pin that took the place of his right foot. "Here's Welcome Perkins," said Matt, with a broad smile, leaning back against the gate-post and fixing his eyes on the old man. "He's been to town after something for Mark," returned Susie.