Bull obeyed, his back against the rock, and was careful not to lower his hands. Racey hunkered down and sat on a spurless heel. The rifle was under his knee. He had exchanged the bowie for a sixshooter. The firearm was trained in the general direction of Bull's stomach. Racey smiled widely. He felt very chipper and pleased with himself. He was managing the affair well, he thought. "You show up right plain against that white rock," he remarked. "If yo're figuring to gamble with me, think of that." "Whatcha want?" demanded Bull, sullenly. "Lots of things," replied Racey, shifting a foot an inch to the left. "I'm the most wantin' feller you ever saw. Just now this minute I want you to tell me where it was you met up with Bill Smith and what it was he did so bad that you and Marie think you've got a hold on him." "You _was_ listenin' quite a while," muttered Bull. "Quite a while," admitted Racey Dawson. "Quite a while." "But you didn't listen quite hard enough," suggested Bull. "No," assented Racey, "I didn't. I'm expecting you to sort of fill in the gaps." Bull shook a decided head. "No," he denied. "No, you got another guess comin'. I won't do nothin' like that a-tall." "And why not?" "Because I won't." "'Won't' got his neck broke one day just because he wouldn't." "Yeah, I guess so," sneered Bull. "You must forget I heard all about how you tried to bushwhack me from the second floor of the Starlight," Racey put in, gently. "Aw, that's a damn lie," bluffed Bull. "A damn lie. All a mistake. You heard wrong." Racey shook a disapproving head. "When it's after the draw," he said, "and you ain't got a thing in yore hand, and the other gents have everything and know they have everything to yore nothing, she's poor poker to make a bluff. Whatsa use, sport, whatsa use?" "I dunno what yo're talkin' about," persisted Bull. "Aw right, let it go at that. Who put you up to bushwhack me?" "Nun-nobody," hesitated Bull. "Yore own idea, huh?" Bull spat disgustedly on the grass. He had seen the trap after it had been sprung. "You shore can't play poker," smiled Racey, his eyes shining with pleasure under the wide brim of his hat. "I--The starlight's pretty bright remember." Bull's sudden movement came to naught. He settled back, his eyes furtively busy. "Still, alla same," pursued Racey, "I wonder was it all yore own idea." "Whatell didja kick me for?" snarled Bull. "'Kick you for?'" Racey repeated, stupidly. "Yeah, kick me," said Bull. "No damn man can kick me and me not take notice." "Dunno as I blame you. Dunno as I do. If any damn man kicks you, Bull, you got a right to drill him every time. And you think I kicked you?" "I know you did." "You know I did, huh? Did you see me do it?" "You kicked me after you'd knocked me silly with that bottle. Kicked me when I was down and couldn't help myself." "So I did all that to you after you were down, huh? Who told you?" "Nemmine who told me. You done it, that's enough."