"Moccasin Spring."
Judge Dolan nodded and rasped a hand across his stubbly chin. "Luke is in town now," said he.
"I ain't lost any Luke Tweezys," observed Racey, looking up at the ceiling.
"I wonder how long Luke is figuring on staying in town," went on Judge
Dolan, sticking like a stamp to his original subject.
"Nothing to me."
"It might be. It might be. You never can tell about them things,
Racey."
Racey Dawson's eyes came down from the ceiling. He studied the Judge's face attentively. What was Dolan driving at? Racey had known the Judge for several years, and he was aware that the more indirect the Judge became in his discourse the more important the subject matter was likely to be.
"No," said Racey, willing to bite, "you never can tell."
"We was talking one day about a feller making mistakes." The tangent was merely apparent.
"Yep," acquiesced Racey. "We were saying Luke Tweezy made a good many."