"Anything? Gimme a match and I'll tell you."
CHAPTER VI
CHANGE OF PLAN
"It's a long way to Arizona," offered Racey Dawson, casually—too casually.
Swing Tunstall's bristle-haired head jerked round. Swing bent two suspicious eyes upon his friend. "You just find it out?" he queried.
"No, oh, no," denied Racey. "I've been thinking about it some time."
"Thinking!" sneered Swing. "That's a new one—for you."
"Nemmine," countered Racey. "It ain't catchin'—to you."
"Is that so?" yammered Swing, now over his head as far as repartee was concerned. "Is that so? What you gassing about Arizona for thisaway? You gonna renig on the trip?"
"I'll bet there's plenty of good jobs we can find right here in Farewell," dodged Racey. "And vicinity," he amended. "Yep, Swing, old-timer, I'll bet the Bar S or the Cross-in-a-box would hire us just too quick. Shore they would. It ain't every day they get a chance at a jo-darter of a buster like—"