“Aw, that’s a damn lie,” bluffed Bull.  “A damn lie.  All a mistake.  You heard wrong.”

Racey shook a disapproving head.  “When it’s after the draw,” he said, “and you ain’t got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she’s poor poker to make a bluff.  Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?”

“I dunno what yo’re talkin’ about,” persisted Bull.

“Aw right, let it go at that.  Who put you up to bushwhack me?”

“Nun-nobody,” hesitated Bull.

“Yore own idea, huh?”

Bull spat disgustedly on the grass.  He had seen the trap after it had been sprung.

“You shore can’t play poker,” smiled Racey, his eyes shining with pleasure under the wide brim of his hat.  “I—­The starlight’s pretty bright remember.”

Bull’s sudden movement came to naught.  He settled back, his eyes furtively busy.

“Still, alla same,” pursued Racey, “I wonder was it all yore own idea.”

“Whatell didja kick me for?” snarled Bull.

“‘Kick you for?’” Racey repeated, stupidly.

“Yeah, kick me,” said Bull.  “No damn man can kick me and me not take notice.”

“Dunno as I blame you.  Dunno as I do.  If any damn man kicks you, Bull, you got a right to drill him every time.  And you think I kicked you?”

“I know you did.”

“You know I did, huh?  Did you see me do it?”

“You kicked me after you’d knocked me silly with that bottle.  Kicked me when I was down and couldn’t help myself.”

“So I did all that to you after you were down, huh?  Who told you?”

“Nemmine who told me.  You done it, that’s enough.”

“No, it ain’t enough.  It ain’t enough by a long mile.  I want to know who told you?”

“I ain’t sayin’.”  Sullenly.

“Come to think, she’s hardly necessary.  Doc Coffin and Honey Hoke were the only two gents in the Starlight at the time.  It was either one or both of ’em told you.  Maybe I’ll get a chance to ask ’em about it later.  Now I dunno whether you’ll believe it or not but to tell the truth and be plain with you, Bull, I didn’t kick you.”

“I don’t believe you.”  But Bull’s tone was not confident.

“I wouldn’t expect you to—­under the circumstances.  What I’m tellin’ you is true alla same.  Lookit, you fool, is it likely after takin’ the trouble to knock you down, I’d kick you besides?  Do I look like a sport who’d do a thing like that?  Think it over.”

Bull was silent.  But Racey believed that he had planted the seed of doubt in his mind.

“And another thing,” resumed Racey, “do I look like a sport who’d let another jigger lay for him promiscuous?  You go slow, Bull.  I’m good-natured, a heap good-natured.  But don’t lemme catch you bushwhacking me again.”

“I won’t,” said Bull with a flash of humour.

“Be dead shore of it,” cautioned Racey.  “If I ever get to even thinking that yo’re laying for me, Bull, I’m liable to come a-askin’ questions you can’t answer.  Yo’re a bright young man, Bull, but you want to be careful how you strain yore intellect.  You might need it some day.  And if you want to keep on being mother’s li’l helper, be good, thassall, be good.”