Lanpher’s hand remained motionless on the desktop.  Then the man picked up a pencil and began to tap it on the wood.  He licked his lips cat-fashion.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” he asked.

“You can take it she’s both,” Racey told him.

“You hear that, Luke?” Lanpher turned to Luke Tweezy.  “Threatenin’ my life, huh?”

“Shore,” nodded Luke Tweezy.  “Actionable, that is.  Mustn’t threaten a man’s life, Racey.  Against the law, you know.”

Racey moved to one side and leaned his back comfortably against the wall.  “Against the law, huh, Luke?” he said nervously.  “Then I can be arrested?”

“You can,” Luke Tweezy declared with evident relish.  “That is, you can if Lanpher wants to make a complaint.”

“You hear, Lanpher?” asked Racey, still more nervously.  “You wanna make a complaint, huh?”

Lanpher had not failed to note the nervousness of Racey’s tone.  Now he licked his lips again.  He felt quite cheerful of a sudden.  It gave him a warm and pleasant feeling to think that Racey Dawson was to a certain degree in his power.  Having licked his lips several times he rubbed his chin judicially and coughed, likewise judicially.

“Well, I dunno as I wanna make a complaint exactly,” he said, slowly.  “But you wanna walk a chalkline round here, Racey.  You got too much to say for a fact.”

“What do you think, Luke?” queried Racey.  “Have I got too much to say?”

“You heard what Lanpher said,” replied the cautious Luke.

“Yep, I heard all right.  I just wanted to get yore opinion, because I ain’t through yet—­through talking, I mean.  What I was going to say is that I wouldn’t be particular about catching Lanpher round Moccasin Spring.  If I only heard he’d been hanging round there it would be enough.”

“Meaning you’ll drill him on suspicion?”

“Meaning I’ll do just that.”

“Now yo’re threatenin’ me again.”  Thus Lanpher.

“Takes you a long time to wake up, don’t it?” The nervousness had vanished from Racey’s voice.  “Lanpher, you lousy skunk!  Why don’t you pull?  There’s a gun in that open drawer not six inches from your hand.  Go after it, you hound-dog!”

Lanpher was not inordinately brave.  He would go out of his way to avoid an appeal to lethal weapons.  But Racey’s words were more than he could stand.  His hand jerked sidewise and down toward the sixshooter in the open drawer.

Bang!  Shooting from the hip Racey drove an accurate bullet through the manager’s right forearm.  Lanpher grunted and gurgled with pain.  But he made no attempt to seize his weapon with his left hand.

Luke Tweezy picked himself up from the floor where he had thrown himself a split second before the shot.  Luke Tweezy’s leathery face was mottled yellow with rage.

“I’ll get you ten years for this!” he squalled, pointing a long arm at Racey.  “You started this fight!  You tried to murder him!”