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Updated: June 9, 2025
"Jake," said Racey, "s'pose now you ask Punch Thompson what the stranger was doing when he cut down on him." The sheriff regarded Racey with his keen gray gaze. Then he faced about and singled out Thompson from a conversational group across the room. "Punch," he called, and then put Racey's question in his own words. "What was he doin'?" said Thompson, heedless of McFluke's agonized expression.
"You was going with me anyway sort of," Chuck told him. "Yo're the only man round here so far's I can see, and I ain't taking any chances on you, not a chance. Yo're going down the trail a spell with me. Later you can come back. Keep yore hands where they are." Quickly Chuck shoved McFluke to one side, rushed forward, and possessed himself of Racey's gun. "Crawl yore hoss," he commanded.
"Don't let the old man worry you," yapped McFluke. "The old man has done flitted. And Jack's been here and he's done flitted." "Whose hoss is that?" demanded Peaches, evidently referring to Racey's mount. "One of the boys," replied McFluke. "One o' Jack's friends. C'mon in." Entered then Peaches Austin, a lithe, muscular person with pale eyes and a face the colour of a dead fish's belly.
Now it seemed that at least one of the Currycomb boys, and that one the most notorious character of the lot, had scattered as far as Farewell and obtruded his personality upon that of Racey Dawson. Nebraska Jones! A cold smile stretched the corners of Racey's mouth as he thought on what he had done. He had beaten to the draw the foreman of the Currycomb.
"Who how?" said Miss Dale, stupidly, for, what with the fright and embarrassment engendered by her father's condition the true significance of Racey's remark was not immediately apparent. "Yore ranch," repeated Racey, sharply. "They're a-tryin' to steal it from you. You lemme talk to him, ma'am. Look out! Grab his bridle!"
While in some ways the murder might be considered sufficiently safe, the method of it and the act itself did not smack of Pooley's handiwork. It was much more probable that the killing was the climax of Luke Tweezy's original plan adhered to by the attorney and his friends against the advice and wishes of Jacob Pooley. "Guess we'd better go on to McFluke's," was Racey's suggestion. They went.
"What I said," replied Racey, calmly. "I never mean more'n I say ever." Thompson continued to regard Racey fixedly. Mr. Saltoun was glad that he himself was two yards to the right, and he would not have objected to double the distance. Racey's hands were folded on the horn of his saddle. Thompson's right hand hung at his side. Racey had told the truth when he spoke of Thompson as a good snap shot.
"You can ask, of course," replied Racey, shrugging his wide shoulders and spreading his hands after the fashion of Telescope Laguerre. "But that ain't sayin' he'll tell you," put in Jimmie. "Bet you he's gonna go see that new hasher of Bill Lainey's." "No," denied the Kid, judicially, "not that lady. Even Racey's arms ain't long enough to reach round her. I Say, one of these pies is a raisin pie!"
If I only heard he'd been hanging round there it would be enough." "Meaning you'll drill him on suspicion?" "Meaning I'll do just that." "Now yo're threatenin' me again." Thus Lanpher. "Takes you a long time to wake up, don't it?" The nervousness had vanished from Racey's voice. "Lanpher, you lousy skunk! Why don't you pull? There's a gun in that open drawer not six inches from your hand.
I tied on Racey's comforter and hat, and Tom put on his own. Then we were all ready but, oh dear, how could we get the big front door open without noise? I quite trembled as I stood up on tip-toe to turn the lock handle. But after all it was a very well-behaved door. It opened at once without the least creak or squeak, and in another moment the boys and I stood on the steps outside.
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