"There, there," soothed Racey, "you don't want that gun, Nawsir. Not you. Le's have it, that's a good feller now." So speaking he twisted the sixshooter from the old man's grasp and jammed it into the waistband of his own trousers. The old man burst into frank tears. Incontinently he slid sidewise from the saddle and clasped Racey round the neck. "_I'm wild an' woolly an' full o' fleas I'm hard to curry below the knees_--" Thus he carolled loudly two lines of the justly popular song. "Luke," he bawled, switching from verse to prose, "why didja leave me, Luke?" Strangely enough, he did not stutter. Without the slightest difficulty he leaped that pitfall of the drunken, the letter L. "Luke," repeated Racey Dawson, struck by a sudden thought. "What's this about Luke? You mean Luke Tweezy?" The old man rubbed his shaving-brush adown Racey's neck-muscles. "I mean Luke Tweezy," he said. "Lots o' folks don't like Luke. They say he's mean. But they ain't nothin' mean about Luke. He's frien' o' mine, Luke is." "Mr. Dawson," said Molly Dale at Racey's elbow, "please go, I can get him into the house. You can do no good here." "I can do lots o' good here," declared Racey, who felt sure that he was on the verge of a discovery. "Somebody is a-trying to jump yore ranch, and if you'll lemme talk to him I can find out who it is." "Who--how?" said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright and embarrassment engendered by her father's condition the true significance of Racey's remark was not immediately apparent. "Yore ranch," repeated Racey, sharply. "They're a-tryin' to steal it from you. You lemme talk to him, ma'am. Look out! Grab his bridle!" Miss Dale seized the bridle of her father's horse in time to prevent a runaway. She was not aware that the horse's attempt to run away had been inspired by Racey surreptitiously and severely kicking it on the fetlock. This he had done that Miss Dale's thoughts might be temporarily diverted from her father. Anything to keep her from shooing him away as she so plainly wished to do. Racey began to assist the now-crumpling Mr. Dale toward the house. "What's this about Luke Tweezy?" prodded Racey. "Did you see him to-day?" "Shore I seen him to-day," burbled the drunken one. "He left me at McFluke's after buyin' me the bottle and asked me to stay there till he got back. But I got tired waitin'. So I come along. I--hic--come along." Limply the man's whole weight sagged down against Racey's supporting arm, and he began to snore. "Shucks," muttered Racey, then stooping he picked up the limp body in his arms and carried it to the house. "He's asleep," he called to Miss Dale. "Where'll I put him?" "I'll show you," she said, with a break in her voice. She hastily tied the now-quiet pony to a young cottonwood growing at the corner of the house and preceded Racey into the kitchen. "Here," she said, her eyes meeting his a fleeting instant as she threw open a door giving into an inner room. "On the bed."