"Oh, I ain't gonna play any tricks on you," protested Racey Dawson. "You bet you ain't," Jimmie concurred, warmly. "Not by severial jugfuls. I--" He broke off, cocking a listening ear. "Yeah," grinned Racey, "you hear a noise in the cook-shack, huh? I _thought_ I saw the Kid slide past in the lookin'-glass while you were standing in the doorway." "And you never told me!" squalled Jimmie, speeding toward his beloved place of business. He reached it rather late. When he entered by the doorway the Kid, a pie in each hand, was disappearing through a back window. "Did you ever get left!" tossed back the Kid as the flung frying-pan buzzed past his ear.--"Now see what you done," he continued, skipping safely out of range; "dented yore nice new frypan all up. You oughtn'ta done that, Jimmie. Fry-pans cost money. Some day, if you ain't careful, you'll break something, you and yore temper." "Them's the Old Man's pies," declared Jimmie, leaning over the window-sill and shaking an indignant fist at the Kid. "You bring 'em back, you hear?" "They ain't, and I won't, and I do," was the brisk answer. "Yo're making a big mistake, Jimmie boy, if you think they're _his_ pies. Don't you s'pose I know he's gone to Piegan City, and he won't be back for a coupla weeks? And don't you s'pose I know them pies would be too stale for him to eat by the time he got back? You must take me for a fool, Jimmie. And you lied to me, Jimmie, you lied. Just for that I'll keep these pies, I'll keep 'em and eat 'em no matter how big a pain I get, and let this be a lesson to you. Hey, Racey, Jimmie gimme a coupla pies! C'mon out and we'll eat 'em where Jimmie can watch us." "If I catch you--" began the angry Jimmie. "But you ain't gonna catch me," tantalized the Kid. "C'mon, Racey, hurry up." Racey came slowly and with dignity. The Kid stared. "Well, I bedam! Where are you goin'?" "Ride, just a li'l ride," was the vague reply. "Is that all? I thought it was a funeral or a wedding or something, an' I was wonderin'. Just a li'l ride, huh? And where might you be a-going to ride to, if I may make so bold as to ask?" "You can ask, of course," replied Racey, shrugging his wide shoulders and spreading his hands after the fashion of Telescope Laguerre. "But that ain't sayin' he'll tell you," put in Jimmie. "Bet you he's gonna go see that new hasher of Bill Lainey's." "No," denied the Kid, judicially, "not that lady. Even Racey's arms ain't long enough to reach round her. I--_Say_, one of these pies is a _raisin_ pie!" "You can gimme that one," suggested Racey Dawson, glad of an opportunity to change the subject. The Kid, his teeth sunk in the raisin pie, shook a decisive head and mumbled unintelligibly. He thrust the other pie toward his friend.