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.