The sheriff stooped and regarded the wooden wedge under the door that jammed it fast. Racey drew a finger across the top of the wedge. He held up the finger-tip for the sheriff's inspection. The tip was black with the dust of weeks. "That door has been wedged back all this hot weather," said Racey, gently. "Look at the dust under the door on both sides of the wedge, too. Bet that wedge ain't been out of place for a month." Softly as he spoke McFluke heard him. "---- you! I tell you that door was opened this mornin'! I hit my head on it! Ask 'em all! Ask anybody! Jack, lookit here--" "I didn't see you hit yore head on the door," interrupted Jack Harpe. "Maybe you did, I dunno." Racey raised a quick head as Jack Harpe spoke. Quite plainly he saw Jack Harpe accompany his words with a slight lowering of his left eyelid. Racey glanced at McFluke. He saw the defiant expression depart from the McFluke countenance, and a look of unmistakable relief take its place. Racey dropped his head. The sheriff was speaking. "Mac," he was saying, "yo're lyin'. Yo're lyin' as fast as a hoss can trot. You never got yore black eye on this door. I dunno why yo're sayin' you did, but I'm gonna find out. Till--" "You won't have far to go to find out," struck in Racey Dawson. "I know how he got his black eye." "How?" demanded the sheriff, his grizzled eyebrows drawing together. "Dale gave it to him," was the answer pat and pithy. "He did not!" The saloon-keeper began to roar instantly, and had to be quieted by Kansas Casey. When order was restored Racey explained his deductions. The sheriff listened in silence. Then he went to the body of the dead man, and examined the bruised and broken right hand. "I'm tellin' you," declared Racey with finality, "he hit somebody when he broke that hand." "He might 'a' broke it when he fell after being shot," put in Luke Tweezy. The sheriff shook his head. "He couldn't fall hard enough to break them bones as bad as that. It's like Racey says. Question is, who did he hit? McFluke's eye and McFluke's lies are a good enough answer for me." "You'll have to prove it!" snapped Luke Tweezy. "I expect we'll do that, Luke," the sheriff said, calmly. "Have you agreed on a verdict, Judge?" "We had," replied Dolan. "We was about satisfied that a plain 'killin' by a person unknown,' was as good as any, but I expect now we'll change it to murder _with_ the recommendation that McFluke be arrested on suspicion. Whadda you say, boys?" "Shore," chorussed the "boys," and hiccuped like so many bullfrogs. "Whu-why not lul-let the shush-shpicion shlide," suggested one bright spirit, "an' cue-convict him right now an' lul-lynch him after shupper whu-when it's cool?" "No," vetoed Dolan, "it can't be done. He's gotta be indicted and held for the Grand Jury at Piegan City. I ain't allowed to try murder cases." "Tut-too bad," mourned the bright spirit, and refused to be comforted.