Racey stared.  “I bite.  What’s the answer?”

The saloon-keeper cleared his throat.  “Old Dale’s been killed.”

“Has, huh?  Who killed him?” Racey allowed his eyes casually to skim the expressionless faces of the men backed against the walls.

“A stranger killed him,” replied McFluke, heavily.

Racey removed his eyes from the slack-chinned countenance of the saloon-keeper to thin-faced, foxy-nosed Luke Tweezy.  Luke’s little eyes met his.

“You saw this stranger, Luke?” he asked.

Luke Tweezy nodded.  “We all saw him.”

“He was playing draw with Honey Hoke and Peaches Austin and me,” Doc Coffin offered, oilily.

“And the stranger?” amended Racey.

“And the stranger,” Doc Coffin accepted the amendment.

“What was the trouble?” pursued Racey.

“Well, we kind of thought”—­Doc Coffin’s eyes slid round to cross an instant the shifty gaze of Peaches Austin—­“we thought maybe this stranger dealt a card from the bottom.  We ain’t none shore.”

“Dale said he did, anyhow,” said Peaches Austin.

“He said so twice,” put in Lanpher.

Racey turned deliberately.  “You here,” said he, softly.  “I didn’t see you at first.  I must be getting nearsighted.  You saw the whole thing, did you, Lanpher?”

“Yeah,” replied Lanpher.

“Who pulled first?”

“The stranger.”  The answer came patly from at least five different men.

Racey looked grimly upon those present.  “Most everybody seems shore the stranger’s to blame,” he observed.  “Besides saying the stranger was dealing from the bottom did Dale use any other fighting words?”

“He called him a—­tinhorn,” burst simultaneously from the lips of McFluke and Peaches Austin.

“Only two this time,” said Racey, shooting a swift glance at Jack Harpe and overjoyed to find the latter dividing a glare of disgust between McFluke and Austin.  “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

Mr. Saltoun shivered inwardly.  He was a man of courage, but not of foolhardy courage, the species of courage that dares death unnecessarily.  He was getting on in years, and hoped, when it came his time to die, to pass out peacefully in his nightshirt.  And here was that fool of a Racey practically telling Harpe and the other rascals that he was on to their game.  No wonder Mr. Saltoun shivered.  He expected matters to come to push of pike in a split second.  So, being what he was, a fairly brave man in a tight corner, he put on a hard, confident expression and hooked his thumbs in his belt.