"Looks like Punch-the-breeze Thompson," said Mr. Saltoun.
"It is Thompson," confirmed Racey. "Didn't it strike you he sort of hesitated a li'l bit when he first seen us—like a man would whose breakfast didn't rest easy on his stomach, as you might say."
Mr. Saltoun nodded. "He did sway back on them lines at the top."
"And he ain't boiling along quite as fast now as he was in the wash," elaborated Racey.
"I noticed that, too," admitted Mr. Saltoun.
They waited, barring the trail. Punch-the-breeze Thompson did not attempt to ride around them. He pulled up and nodded easily to the two men.
"They's been a fraycas down at McFluke's," Thompson said.
"Fraycas?" Racey cocked an eyebrow.
"Yeah—old Dale and a stranger."
Racey nodded. He knew with a great certainty what was coming next.
"Anybody hurt?" he asked.