Racey Dawson's eyes came down from the ceiling. He studied the Judge's face attentively. What was Dolan driving at? Racey had known the Judge for several years, and he was aware that the more indirect the Judge became in his discourse the more important the subject matter was likely to be. "No," said Racey, willing to bite, "you never can tell." "We was talking one day about a feller making mistakes." The tangent was merely apparent. "Yep," acquiesced Racey. "We were saying Luke Tweezy made a good many." "Something like that, yeah. You run across any of Luke's mistakes yet, Racey?" Racey shook his head. "No." "Did you go to Marysville?" "Why for Marysville?" "Luke Tweezy lives in Marysville." "And you think there's somebody in Marysville would talk?" Judge Dolan looked pained. "I didn't say so," he was quick to remark. "I know you didn't, but--" "I don't guess they's many folks in Marysville _know_ much about Luke--no, not many. Luke is careful and clever, damn clever. But they's other things besides folks which might have useful information." "Yeah?" "Yeah. A gent, a lawyer anyway, keeps a lot of papers in his safe as a rule. Sometimes them papers make a heap interesting readin'." The Judge paused and regarded Racey coolly. "They might prove interesting reading, that's a fact," drawled Racey. "Now I ain't suggestin' anything," pursued Judge Dolan. "I couldn't on account of my oath. But it ain't so Gawd-awful far from Farewell to Marysville." "It ain't _too_ far." "I got a notion Luke Tweezy will find important business to keep him here in Farewell the next four or five days." "I wonder what kind of a safe Luke has got," murmured Racey. "Damfino," said the Judge. "You know anything about dynamite--how it's handled, huh?" "Shore, handle it carefully." "I mean how to prepare a fuse and detonator and stick it in the cartridge. You know how?" "I helped a miner man once for a week. Shore I know. You cut the fuse square-ended. Stick the square end into the cap until it touches the fulminate, and crimp down the copper shell all round with a dull knife to hold the fuse. Then you make a hole in the end of the cartridge and--" "I guess you know yore business, Racey," interrupted Judge Dolan. "You'll find a package on that shelf by the door. Handle it carefully. I'm glad you dropped in, Racey, Nice weather we're having." "But there are some people about due for a cold wave," capped Racey, stopping on his way out to take the package from the shelf and wink at Judge Dolan. The wink was not returned. But the Judge's tongue may have been in his cheek. He was a most human person, was Judge Dolan of Farewell. Racey, handling the package with care, went back to the draw where he had left the two horses. In the draw he opened the package. It contained six sticks of dynamite and the necessary detonators and fuse.