"Whadda you want?" demanded Racey, halting a scant yard from Luke
Tweezy's left leg.
"I come to see Mrs. Dale," replied Tweezy, his leathery features wrinkling in a grimace intended to pass for a propitiating smile.
Racey's stare was venomous. "Tweezy," he drawled, "I done told you something about admiring to see you put these women off this ranch, didn't I?"
"Oh, you was just a li'l hasty. I understand. That's all right. I've done forgot all about it."
"So I see. So I see. I'm reminding you of it. After this, Luke, I'd hobble my memory if I was you, then it won't go straying off thisaway and get you into trouble."
"Trouble?"
Racey did not deign to repeat. He nodded simply.
"I ain't got no gun," explained the lawyer.
"Alla more easy for me, then. You can't shoot back."
Luke Tweezy choked. Choked and spat. "—— ——" he began in a violent tone of voice.