"They said at the Bar S you was here," panted the lookout, pulling up in front of Racey Dawson. "So I borrowed a fresh hoss and kep' on. Somethin's happened in Farewell, Racey. Swing Tunstall's shot." "Downed?" Racey did not usually jump at conclusions, but Swing Tunstall was his friend. Marie shook her tousled head. "Nicked--shoulder and leg. But it ain't their fault he wasn't rubbed out." "Who's responsible?" demanded Racey. "Doc Coffin." "You said 'their'." "Honey Hoke bumped into Swing just as he went after his gun, so Swing couldn't get his gun out a-tall. Swing said Honey grabbed his wrist, but Peaches Austin and Punch-the-breeze Thompson was on the other side in the way so none of the boys seen what happened to Swing exactly till after it had." "Austin, Thompson, Hoke, and Coffin," said Racey. "What began the fuss?" "Doc Coffin upset a glass of whiskey over Swing's arm, and then cussed him for getting his arm in the way." "And Swing called him a liar, huh?" "And a ---- one, too," elaborated Marie. "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.