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"You did fine at the last," Racey said, admiringly, as he bolstered his weapon. "But what did you jump McFluke for thataway at first? That come almighty near kicking the kettle over, that play did." "I know," said Chuck, shamefacedly, "and when I rode up to the shack I hadn't intended anything like that.
There was no answering smile on Rod's features as he looked up at Racey Dawson. "Racey," said he, laying a hand on the horse's mane, "have you been to McFluke's lately?" "I ain't," replied Racey, his smile fading out. "Then keep on stayin' away." "As bad as that?" "As bad as that." "McFluke been talking?" was Racey's next question.
Alla same unless you feel like telling me exactly what all yore hurry was for, we'll have to hold you for a while. Yo're shore it didn't have nothing to do with yore saying the stranger run out the door and Thompson saying he jumped through the window?" "Why, shore I am," grunted McFluke. "Glad to hear that. But how is it you and Thompson seen the same thing different ways?
"Through the window, like I said," Thompson declared, defiantly. "Ask anybody. They all seen him. Mac's drunk or crazy." "Yo're a liar!" snarled McFluke. "I tell you he run out the door." "Aw, close yore trap!" requested Thompson with contempt. "You ain't packin' no gun." "Lanpher," said the sheriff, "how did the murderer get away." "Through the window," was the prompt reply of the 88 manager.
"You talk too much." "Where's yore Wells Fargo and Pinkerton detectives?" demanded Mr. Pooley. "This gent is the Wells Fargo detective," replied Racey, indicating the man who had helped him handcuff McFluke. "There ain't any Pinkerton within five hundred miles so far as I know.... Huh? Them?
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