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. "Ain't I seen you in Farewell, stranger?" Peaches Austin asked, shortly. "You might have," returned Racey. "I'm mighty careless where I travel." "Known Jack long?" Peaches was becoming nothing if not personal. "Long enough," smiled Racey. "Lookit here, who are you?" "That's what's worryin' McFluke," dodged Racey, wishing that he could see just what it was McFluke was doing with his hands. But McFluke was employing his hands in nothing more dangerous than the fetching of a bottle from some recess under and behind the bar. Now he laughed. "He ain't tellin' all he knows," he said to Peaches Austin. "Don't be so damn suspiciony, Peaches. He's a friend of Jack's, I tell you. He knows all about the deal." "That don't make him no friend of Jack's," declared Peaches, stubbornly. "I--" At which juncture Peaches' flow of language was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Chuck Morgan. Chuck, after a sweeping glance round the room, headed straight for the bar. "McFluke," said Chuck, halting a yard from the bar, "did you sell any redeye to Old Man Dale to-day?" "What's that to you?" demanded McFluke, truculently. "Why, this," replied Chuck, producing a sixshooter so swiftly that McFluke blinked. "You listen to me," he resumed, harshly. "It don't matter whether you sold it to him or not. He _got_ it here, and that's the main thing. I'm telling you if he gets any more I'm gonna make you hard to find." "Is that a threat or a promise?" inquired McFluke. "Don't do that," Racey said, suddenly, as his hand shot out and pinned fast the right wrist of Peaches Austin. "C'mon outside now, where we can talk. Right through the door. To yore left. Aw right, now they can't hear us. Lookit, they ain't any call for a gunplay, none whatever. This gent is only laying down the law to Mac. And here you have to get serious right away. See how easy Mac takes it. He ain't doing a thing, not a thing. Good as gold, Mac is. Can't you see how a killing thisaway, and a fellah like Morgan, too, would maybe put a crimp in this place for good? Have some sense, man. We need McFluke's." "He hadn't oughta drawed on Mac," said Peaches, his pale eyes, shifty as a cat's, darting incessantly between Racey and the doorway. "He didn't shoot him. And he ain't. You lemme attend to this, will you? I'll get him away quiet and peaceable--if I can. But you keep out of it. Y'understand?" Peaches Austin gnawed his lower lip. "I never did like Chuck Morgan," he grumbled. "It was a good chance." "A good chance to get yoreself lynched. Shore. It was all that." "Say, I'd like to know where you come in, stranger. Jack never said anything to me about any feller yore size."