Midway across the garden Lanpher's horse halted--halted because a flying figure in chaps had appeared from nowhere and seized it by the rein. But the horse did more than halt. In obedience to a powerful jerk administered by the man in chaps the horse pivoted on its forelegs and slid its rider out of the saddle and deposited him a-sprawl and face downward among the flowers. Lanpher arose, snarling, to face a levelled sixshooter. It did not signify that Racey had not drawn the weapon. He was perfectly capable of shooting through the bottom of his holster and Lanpher knew it. And Racey knew that he knew it. "Get out of this garden!" ordered Racey. "Take yore friend with you," he added, tossing the horse's bridle to Lanpher. "And if I were you I'd walk a heap careful between the rows. I just wouldn't go a-busting any more of these posies." Lanpher went. He went carefully. He was followed quite as carefully by Racey Dawson. When Lanpher was free of the neat rows he looked up venomously into the face of Alicran Skeel who had meticulously ridden round the garden. "I was wondering where you was," Lanpher remarked with deep meaning. "I ain't rooting up nobody's gyarden," Alicran returned, cheerfully. "And don't wonder too hard. Might strain yore intellect or something. I'll always be where I aim to be--always. You done scratched yore face, Lanpher." Lanpher turned from Alicran Skeel and spat upon the ground. "Alicran," said Racey, holding his alert attitude, "the first false move you make Lanpher gets it." "I ain't makin' a move," said Alicran, thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest. "I got plenty to do minding my own business." "Huh?" Thus the sceptical Racey, who did not trust Mr. Skeel as far as he could throw a horse by the tail. "Shucks," said Alicran, out of deference to the lady, "you don't believe me." "Shore I do," asserted Racey, "Shore, you bet you. I--_Careful, Lanpher_! I can talk to somebody else and watch you at the same time!" "If Alicran was worth a--" began Lanpher, furiously, and stopped. "You was gonna say--what?" queried Alicran, softly. "Nothing," said Lanpher, sulkily. "Put yore gun away," he continued to Racey. "I ain't gonna hurt you." "Now that's what I call downright generous of you, Lanpher," Racey declared, warmly. "I'd shore hate to be hurt. I shore would. But if it's alla same to you, I'll keep my gun right where she is--if it's alla same to you." "That'll do, Racey. Stop this rowing. I won't have it." It was Molly Dale pushing past Racey and standing with arms akimbo directly in front of his gun-muzzle. Racey let his gun and holster fall up-and-down, but he did not remove his hand from the gunbutt. "Who do you want here?" Molly inquired of Lanpher. Lanpher's rat-like features cracked into an ugly smile. "Is yore paw home?" he asked. "Father's gone to Marysville." "When'll he be back?" "Day after to-morrow, I guess."