"Yep, the straight of. Don't you see anything funny about this jigger's offer?" "Looks like a fair proposition to me. Fifty per shore listens well." "As if that's all of it." "Well, what's a li'l fussin' round with Baldy Barbee and the Anvil folks?" "Nothin a-tall, _that_ ain't. But the li'l green pea ain't under _that_ shell. Listen here, Swing, old-timer, I got a long and gashly tale of wickedness to pour into those lily-white mule ears of yores. Yep, if it wasn't me a-telling it I'll bet you'd think it was a fairy tale." "I might even so," said the sceptical Swing. "But I don't mind. I'm good-natured to-day. I feel just like being lied to. Turn yore wolf loose." * * * * * "What do you feed it on?" inquired solemn-faced Swing when he had heard Racey to the bitter end. "Feed which on what?" demanded the unsuspicious Racey. "Yore imagination." "Say, lookit here--" "Yeah, I know. Oh, aw right, aw right, I didn't go for to make you mad. I believe it. Every word. You're getting so dam touchy nowadays, Racey, they's no living with you. I swear they ain't. Why, if a feller so much as doubts one of yore reg'lar fish stories you gotta crawl his hump. Aw right, I believe you. How big was he again? Ugh-h-h! Uncle! Uncle! Get off my stummick! I said 'Uncle,' didn't I? Damitall, that left ear of mine will never be the same again. You rammed it into a rock with more points than a barb-wire fence. Nemmine no more foolin' now. Are you shore you got Peaches fixed for three-four days? 'Cause if you ain't--pop goes the weasel." "This weasel ain't gonna pop. Not this trip. Peaches will stay put. Don't you fret. By the time he does drift in we'll know all we need to know, I guess." "We," sniffed Swing. "Did I hear you say 'we'? Ain't you taking a awful lot for granted?"