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Updated: May 20, 2025
"I tell you I couldn't help his getting the whiskey," McFluke was whining. "It ain't my fault if somebody gives it to him, is it?" "Of course not," chimed in Racey, briskly. "Mac means all right. He didn't know there was any law against providing old Dale with whiskey." "They is a law," insisted Chuck Morgan, belligerently, his gun trained unswervingly on McFluke's broad stomach. "They is a law.
It was McFluke trying to retreat through the doorway into the back room, and being prevented from accomplishing his purpose by Racey Dawson who, at the innkeeper's first panic-stricken movement, had vaulted the bar and grabbed him by the neck.
"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie. "In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll know more than that. And so will a good many other folks." "Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside the register's desk, "where is McFluke?" Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, wide-set eyes did not flicker.
"If McFluke was the only one it would be a mighty short hoss to curry." "Then there are others?" "Plenty." Rod Rockwell gave a short, hard laugh. "All of Nebraska's bunch, huh?" "All but Nebraska." "How long has this been going on this talking, I mean?" "Doc Coffin started it about a week ago. He told Windy Taylor of the Double Diamond A he was gonna ventilate yore good health some fine day.
"Why for?" countered our old friend McFluke, one-time proprietor of a saloon on the bank of the Lazy. "Because they're after you, that's why." "Who's they?" "Racey Dawson for one." McFluke sat upright in the bunk. "Him! That !" "Yes, him," sneered Pooley. "Scares you, don't it? And he's got two detectives with him, so get a move on.
"I ain't done nothing! You can't prove I done nothing! You " "Shut up!" interrupted Kansas Casey, giving the handcuffs an expert twitch that wrenched a groan out of McFluke. "Proving anything takes time. We got time. You got time. What more do you want?" The efficient deputy towed the saloon-keeper round the bar and out into the barroom. He faced him about in front of Jake Rule.
"Long enough," smiled Racey. "Lookit here, who are you?" "That's what's worryin' McFluke," dodged Racey, wishing that he could see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands. But McFluke was employing his hands in nothing more dangerous than the fetching of a bottle from some recess under and behind the bar. Now he laughed. "He ain't tellin' all he knows," he said to Peaches Austin.
A log chain ain't made of wire an' them cuffs is all special steel." "They didn't file neither the chain nor the cuffs," explained Kansas, wearily. "They unlocked the cuffs." "Unlocked 'em, huh? Where'd they get the key? Lose one of yores, did yuh?" "Ours is all safe. They must 'a' had a key. Anyway, there's the handcuffs wide open when I found McFluke gone this mornin'."
Racey obeyed without a word. Chuck climbed into his own saddle without losing the magic of the drop and without losing sight for an instant of McFluke and Peaches Austin. "Take the trail south," said Chuck Morgan, and backed his horse in a wide half-circle. Racey did as he was ordered. Three minutes later he was joined by his friend.
The full amount of the mortgage and two thousand more. And McFluke had it all. "You see," said Mr. Dale, dolefully. "I began to make money after I'd been here awhile and my health come back. Yeah, I made money all right, all right." He pushed back his hat and scratched a grizzled head. "I had luck," he added. "But you wasn't round here then. You'd gone to the Bend."
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