“It ain’t only Luke Tweezy who’s gotta win out, and you know it.  And they’s an ‘if’ the size of Pike’s Peak between us and winning out.  I tell you, I don’t like it.  It’s too damn dangerous.”

“Shore, it’s dangerous,” assented Racey, slowly revolving his glass between his thumb and fingers, and wondering how far he dared go with this McFluke person.  “But a gent has to live.”

“He don’t have to get himself killed doin’ it,” snarled McFluke, swabbing down the bar.  “Who’s that a-comin’?”

He went to the doorway to see for himself who it was that rode so briskly on the Marysville trail.  “Peaches Austin!” he sneered.  “He’s only about three hours late.”

It was now or never.  Racey risked all on a single cast.

“What did the boss say when him and Lanpher got here and found old Dale gone?” he asked, carelessly.

“He raised hell,” replied McFluke.  “But Lanpher wasn’t with him.  Yuh know old Dale hates Lanpher like poison.  Well, I told Jack, like I tell you, that if anything slips up account o’ this, Peaches Austin can take the blame.”

Racey nodded indifferently and slouched sidewise so that he could watch the doorway without dislocating his neck.  McFluke, his back turned, still stood in the doorway.  Racey lowered a cautious hand and loosened his sixshooter in its holster.  He wished that he had taken the precaution to tie it down.  It was impossible to foresee what the next few minutes might bring forth.  Certainly the coming of Peaches Austin was most inopportune.

Peaches Austin galloped up.  He dismounted.  He tied his horse.  He greeted cheerily the glowering McFluke.  The latter did not reply in kind.

“This is a fine time for you to get here,” he growled.  “A fi-ine time.”

“Shut up, you fool!” cautioned Peaches in a low voice.  “Ain’t you got no better sense, with the old man—­”

“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.  He stared non-committally at Racey Dawson.  It was evident that Peaches Austin was taking no one on trust.  He nodded briefly to Racey, and strode to the bar.  McFluke went behind the bar.

“Ain’t I seen you in Farewell, stranger?” Peaches Austin asked, shortly.

“You might have,” returned Racey.  “I’m mighty careless where I travel.”

“Known Jack long?” Peaches was becoming nothing if not personal.

“Long enough,” smiled Racey.

“Lookit here, who are you?”

“That’s what’s worryin’ McFluke,” dodged Racey, wishing that he could see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands.