face of Racey Dawson.

"Whatsa matter, Peaches?" inquired Racey. "You don't look glad to see
me."

"I ain't," Peaches said, frankly. "I don't give a damn about seein'
you."

"I'm sorry," grieved Racey, edging closer to the gambler. "Peaches,
yo're breaking my heart with them cruel words."

At this the bartender removed hastily to the other end of the bar. He
sensed he knew not what, and he felt instead of curiosity a lively
fear. Racey Dawson was the most unexpected sport.

Peaches looked nervously at Racey. A desperate resolve began to
formulate itself in the brain of Peaches Austin. His right arm tensed.
Slowly his hand slid toward the edge of the bar.

"Why, no," said Racey, who had never been more wide-awake than at that
moment, "I wouldn't do anything we'd all be sorry for, Peaches. That
is, all of us but you yoreself. You might not be sorry--or anythin'
else."

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,