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Updated: May 20, 2025
The features did not balance. Racey Dawson was not a student of physiognomy, but he recognized a weak chin when he saw it. If this man were indeed McFluke, then he, Racey Dawson, was in luck. Without a word the man turned from the doorway. Racey heard him walking across the floor. And for so heavy a man his step was amazingly light. Racey went into the house. The room he entered was a large one.
I figured out by this, that, and the other that Jack Harpe had let McFluke loose. Aw right, that showed Jack Harpe was a expert lock picker. He showed us at Marysville that he was a expert on safe combinations. Now there can't be many men like that. So I took what I knew about him to the detective chiefs of three railroads.
Of course it would be better to trip him up on this case, but if you can get hold of something else Luke has done that can be proved anyways shady it would be four aces and the joker. Luke would have to pull in his horns about this mortgage. And if I know Luke, he'd do it. He's got nerve, but it ain't cold enough nor witless enough to go up against the shore thing." "If only McFluke would talk.
Why didn't you hold Old Man Dale?" "I He got away on me," knuckled down McFluke. "I was in the kitchen gettin' me some coffee, and when I come back he had dragged it." "Luke Tweezy will be tickled to death with you," said Racey Dawson. "What do you s'pose he went to all that trouble for?"
"Don't put handcuffs on me!" "Put yore hands down," ordered the marshal. "Look here, I'll go quietly. I'll " "Put yore hands down!" repeated the inexorable marshal. Jacob Pooley put his hands down. Racey and the other man were handcuffing McFluke, who was keeping up an incessant wail of, "I didn't do it! I didn't, gents, I didn't!" "Oh, shut up!" ordered Racey, jerking the prisoner to his feet.
It must be a paying occupation for McFluke, Nebraska, or whoever was at the bottom of the business. Racey nodded again and squatted down on his heels. He picked up a stick and squinted along its length. "None of my business, of course," he said, casually, "but would you mind telling me how much you lost to McFluke?" "About seven thousand." Racey looked up at the sky. Seven thousand dollars.
"He don't have to get himself killed doin' it," snarled McFluke, swabbing down the bar. "Who's that a-comin'?" He went to the doorway to see for himself who it was that rode so briskly on the Marysville trail. "Peaches Austin!" he sneered. "He's only about three hours late." It was now or never. Racey risked all on a single cast.
He saw the defiant expression depart from the McFluke countenance, and a look of unmistakable relief take its place. Racey dropped his head. The sheriff was speaking. "Mac," he was saying, "yo're lyin'. Yo're lyin' as fast as a hoss can trot. You never got yore black eye on this door. I dunno why yo're sayin' you did, but I'm gonna find out. Till "
"We was about satisfied that a plain 'killin' by a person unknown, was as good as any, but I expect now we'll change it to murder with the recommendation that McFluke be arrested on suspicion. Whadda you say, boys?" "Shore," chorussed the "boys," and hiccuped like so many bullfrogs.
You stinking murderer, it wasn't necessary to kill Old Man Dale! Suppose he did hit you, what of it? You could have knocked him out with a bungstarter. But no, you had to kill him, and get everybody suspicious, didn't you? Why you, you make me feel like cutting your throat, to have you upset my plans this way!" McFluke raised himself on an arm. "I didn't upset yore plans none," he denied, sulkily.
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