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, plenty of fresh air, and nobody round to bother us. Sidown, Peaches." Peaches sat as requested. The two friends seated themselves one on his either hand. Racey laughed gently. "Doc Coffin and Honey looked kind of surprised to see you with us," he remarked with enjoyment, "didn't they, Peaches?" "I didn't notice," lied Peaches. "It don't matter," nodded Racey. "See that pile of dirt over against the back wall of Dolan's warehouse, Peaches?" "I ain't blind." "No, then maybe you've heard how and why it come to be dug and all?" "I ain't deaf, neither." Racey smiled his approval. "I always said you had all yore senses except the common variety, Peaches." "Hop ahead with yore private talk," grunted the badgered gambler. "Gimme time, gimme time. It don't cost anything. Whadda you think of that hole, Peaches?" "Good big hole," replied Peaches, conservatively. "Too big--that is, too big for just McFluke, or for any other feller the size of McFluke." "What of it?" "Don't be in a hurry, Peaches, and you'll last longer. Did you know Mac's handcuffs were picked open?" "How--picked open?" "Whoever opened 'em didn't use a key," Racey explained. "They were picked open with a piece of bale-wire and a collar-needle." "I heard that." "I thought maybe so. But did you ever think that a feller has got to have a good and clever pair of hands to pick a lock with only a collar-needle and bale-wire?" "All that stands to reason," admitted Peaches. "There can't be a great many fellers like that. No, not many--not around here, anyway. You'll find such sports in the big cities mainly."