This was threatening language, plain and simple.  But it was no bluff.  Peaches knew that Racey meant every word he said.  Peaches’ right hand moved no farther.

“Peaches,” said Racey, “le’s go where we can have a li’l private talk.”

“All right,” Peaches acquiesced, shortly, and left the saloon with Racey.

On the sidewalk they were joined by Swing Tunstall.  The latter fell into step on the other side of Peaches Austin.

“Is he coming, too?” queried the gambler, with a marked absence of cordiality in expression and tone.

“He is,” answered Racey.

“I thought this talk was gonna be private.”

“It is—­only the three of us.  We wouldn’t think of letting anybody else horn in.  You can rest easy, Peaches.  We’ll take care of you.”

The gambler didn’t doubt it.  His wicked heart sank accordingly.  He knew that he had been a bad, bad boy, and he conceived the notion that Nemesis was rolling up her sleeves, all to his ultimate prejudice.

He perceived in front of the dance hall Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke, and plucked up heart at once.  But Racey saw the pair at the same time, and said, twitching Peaches by the sleeve, “We’ll turn off here, I guess.”

Peaches turned perforce and accompanied Racey and Swing into the narrow space between the express office and a log house.  When they came out into the open Racey obliqued to the left and piloted his companion to a large log that lay among empty tin cans, almost directly in the rear of and about fifty yards away from Dolan’s warehouse.

“Here’s a good place,” said Racey, indicating the log.  “Good seats, plenty of fresh air, and nobody round to bother us.  Sidown, Peaches.”

Peaches sat as requested.  The two friends seated themselves one on his either hand.  Racey laughed gently.

“Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us,” he remarked with enjoyment, “didn’t they, Peaches?”

“I didn’t notice,” lied Peaches.

“It don’t matter,” nodded Racey.  “See that pile of dirt over against the back wall of Dolan’s warehouse, Peaches?”

“I ain’t blind.”

“No, then maybe you’ve heard how and why it come to be dug and all?”

“I ain’t deaf, neither.”

Racey smiled his approval.  “I always said you had all yore senses except the common variety, Peaches.”

“Hop ahead with yore private talk,” grunted the badgered gambler.

“Gimme time, gimme time.  It don’t cost anything.  Whadda you think of that hole, Peaches?”

“Good big hole,” replied Peaches, conservatively.

“Too big—­that is, too big for just McFluke, or for any other feller the size of McFluke.”

“What of it?”

“Don’t be in a hurry, Peaches, and you’ll last longer.  Did you know Mac’s handcuffs were picked open?”

“How—­picked open?”

“Whoever opened ’em didn’t use a key,” Racey explained.  “They were picked open with a piece of bale-wire and a collar-needle.”