"They ain't going to foreclose, that's a cinch," said Racey when the ponies were fox-trotting toward Soogan Creek and the Bar S range five minutes later. "Luke's telling me they were proves they ain't." "Shore," acquiesced Swing, "but what are they gonna do?" "I ain't figured that out yet." "You mean you dunno. That's the size of it," "How'd you happen to be at that window so providential this mornin'?" Racey queried, hurriedly. "How'd you s'pose? Don't you guess I'd know they was something up from the nice, kind way you said so-long to me back there at the Dales'? Huh? 'Course I did--I ain't no fool. You'd oughta had sense enough to take me along in the first place instead of makin' me trail you miles an' miles. And where would you 'a' been if I hadn't come siftin' along, I'd like to know? Might know you'd need a witness. Them two jiggers put together could easy make you lots of trouble. What was you thinking of, anyhow, Racey?" "How could I tell they were _both_ gonna be together? Besides, three of the 88 boys were over in the bunkhouse. I was counting on them." "Over in the bunkhouse, huh? A lot of good they'd done you there. A lot of good. Oh, yo're bright, Racey. I'd tell a man that, I would." CHAPTER XVIII THE SHOWDOWN Racey, walking suddenly round the corner of the Dale stable, came upon Mr. Dale tilting a bottle toward the sky. The business end of the bottle was inserted between Mr. Dale's lips. His Adam's apple slid gravely up and down. He did not see Racey Dawson. "Howdy," said the puncher. Mr. Dale removed the bottle, whirled, and thrust the bottle behind him. "Oh, it's you," he said, blinking, and slowly producing the bottle. "Huh-have one on me." "Not to-day," refused Racey, shaking his head. "I got a misery in my stummick. Doctor won't lemme drink any." "Yeah?" Thus Mr. Dale with interest. Then, again proffering the liquor, he said: "This here's fine for the misery. Better have a snooter." "No, I guess not." "Well, I will," averred Mr. Dale and downed three swallows rapidly. "Yeah," he continued, driving in the cork with the heel of his hand, "a feller needs a drink now and then." "Helps him stand off trouble, don't it?" Racey hazarded, sympathetically, perceiving an opening. "Shore does," answered Mr. Dale. "I should say so. Dunno who'd oughta know that better'n I do. Trouble, Racey--well, say, I'm just made of trouble I am." "Aw, it ain't as bad as that," encouraged Racey. "Yes, it is, too," contradicted the other. "I got more trouble on my hands than a rat-tailed hoss tied short in fly-time. Trouble--nothing but." "Nothing is as bad as it looks." "Heaps of times she's worse." "I'm yore friend. You know me. If I can help you--" "Nobody can help me. I dunno what to do, Racey." "Well, you know best, I expect, but I've always found if I talk over with somebody else anythin' that bothers me it don't seem to stick up half so big."