Mr. Pooley arose and left the room.
* * * * *
"You gotta get out of here!" It was Mr. Pooley speaking with great asperity.
"Why for?" countered our old friend McFluke, one-time proprietor of a saloon on the bank of the Lazy.
"Because they're after you, that's why."
"Who's they?"
"Racey Dawson for one."
McFluke sat upright in the bunk. "Him! That ——!"
"Yes, him," sneered Pooley. "Scares you, don't it? And he's got two detectives with him, so get a move on. I don't want you anywhere on my property if they do come sniffin' round."
"I'm right comfortable here," declared McFluke, and lay down upon the bunk.