He picked up the dead hand and gingerly fingered the lumpy knuckles.
Then, in a flash of thought, it came to him. The hand was broken.
He raised his head and looked across the room. And as it chanced he looked across the packed shoulders and between the peering heads of the crowd straight into the face of McFluke and the black eye adorning that face.
He rose to his feet and pushed his way through the crowd to the side of the sheriff.
"Can I ask a question?" said he to the officer.
"Shore," nodded the sheriff. "Many as you like."
"Thompson," Racey said, but watching McFluke the while, "did Dale have any trouble here with anybody besides the stranger?"
"Not as I know of," came the reply after a moment's hesitation.
"He didn't have any fuss with anybody," spoke up Luke Tweezy.
"I was talking to Thompson," Racey reminded the lawyer. "When I want to ask you any questions I'll let you know."
"Huh," Luke contented himself with grunting, and subsided.