“And a damn good way, too,” nipped in Mr. Saltoun, hurriedly, inwardly cursing Racey for not letting well enough alone.  “What was the fight about, Thompson?”

“Cards,” said Thompson, laconically, switching his eyes briefly to Mr. Saltoun’s face.

“And the stranger cold-decked him?” inquired Racey.

“Something like that, but I can’t say for shore.  I wasn’t playing with him.  Doc Coffin was, and so was Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin.  Peaches said he kind of had an idea the stranger dealt himself a card from the bottom just before old Dale started to crawl his hump.  But Peaches ain’t shore about it.  Seemin’ly old Dale is the only one was shore, and he’s dead.”

“And yo’re going for the coroner, huh?” asked Racey.

“I said so.”

“But you didn’t say if anybody was chasing the stranger now.  Are they?”

“Shore,” was the prompt reply.  “They all took out after him—­all except McFluke, that is.”

Racey nodded.  “I expect McFluke would want to stay with Dale,” he said, gently, “just as you’d want to go to Farewell after the coroner.  Yo’re shore it is the coroner, Thompson?”

“Say, how many times do you want me to tell you?” demanded the badgered Thompson.  “Of course it’s the coroner.  In a case like this the coroner’s gotta be notified.”

“I expect,” assented Racey.  “I expect.  But if yo’re really goin’ for the coroner, Thompson, what made you tell us when you first met us you were going for the sheriff?”

“Why,” said Thompson without a quiver, “I’m a-goin’ for him, too.  I must ‘a’ forgot to say so at first.”

“Yeah, I guess you did.”  Thus Racey, annoyed that Thompson had contrived to crawl through the fence.  He had hoped that Thompson might be tempted to a demonstration, for which potentiality he, Racey, had prepared by removing his right hand from the saddle horn.

“It don’t always pay to forget, Thompson,” suggested Mr. Saltoun, coldly.

“It don’t,” Thompson assented readily.  “And I don’t—­most always.”

“Don’t stay here any longer on our account, Thompson,” said Racey.  “You’ve told us about enough.”

“Try and remember it,” Thompson bade him, and lifted his reins.

“We will, and, on the other hand, don’t you forget yore sheriff and yore coroner.”

“I won’t,” grinned Thompson and rode past and away.

“He ain’t goin’ for the sheriff and the coroner any more’n I am,” declared Mr. Saltoun, disgustedly, turning in the saddle to gaze after the vanishing horseman.

“Of course he ain’t!” almost barked Racey.  “In this country fellers like Thompson don’t ride hellbent just to tell the sheriff and the coroner a feller has been killed.  Murder ain’t any such e-vent as all that.  Unless,” he added, thoughtfully, “Thompson is the stranger.”

“You mean Thompson might ‘a’ killed him?”

“I don’t think it would spoil his appetite any.  You remember how fast he was pelting along down in the wash, and how he slowed up after seeing us?  A murderer would act just thataway.”