"That's good. But—"
"And if any gents on hossback should drop in on you and ask questions just remember that what they dunno won't hurt 'em."
Jack Richie nodded understandingly. "Trust me," he said. "As I see it,
Miss Dale and you come in from the north, and—"
"Only me—you ain't seen any Miss Dale—and I only stopped long enough to borrow a fresh hoss and then rode away south."
"I know it all by heart," nodded Jack Richie.
"In about a week or ten days, maybe less," said Racey Dawson, "you'll know more than that. And so will a good many other folks."
CHAPTER XXX
THE REGISTER
"Mr. Pooley," said Racey Dawson, easing himself into the chair beside the register's desk, "where is McFluke?"
Mr. Pooley's features remained as wooden as they were fat. His small, wide-set eyes did not flicker. He placed the tips of his fingers together, leaned back in his chair, and stared at Racey between the eyebrows.