of a crime, and no crime--yet. This is getting monotonous."

He laid down the knife, settled his hat, and methodically searched
Swing Tunstall's warbags. It turned out a needless precaution. He had
felt that it would be. But he could not afford to take any risks.
Having found nothing in Swing's warbags save his friend's personal
belongings, Racey slid the knife up his sleeve and went downstairs to
breakfast. On the way he stopped a moment at a fortuitous knothole in
the board wall. When he passed on his way the knife was no longer with
him.

Jack Harpe was still eating when Racey eased himself into the chair at
Swing's right hand. Jack Harpe nodded to Racey and went serenely on
with his meal. Racey seized knife and fork, squared his elbows, and
began to saw at his steak. And as he chewed and swallowed and sloshed
the coffee round in his cup in order to get the full benefit of the
sugar he wondered whether it was Jack Harpe or Bull to whom he was
indebted for the butcher knife. It was one of the two, he thought. Who
else could it be?

He believed it would be wise to spend most of his spare time in his
room. At least until he knew the inwardness of the butcher-knife
incident. It was possible that the man who had secreted the knife
would return. Racey might well be in line for other even more delicate
attentions.

Before going up to his room Racey went to the corral. He had left his
saddle-blanket out all night, he mentioned to Swing in the hearing
of Jack Harpe. He was gone five minutes. When he returned, strangely
enough minus the saddle-blanket, he was in time to see Piney Jackson
dart round the corner of the blacksmith shop, cup his hand at his
mouth, and raise a stentorian bellow for Jake Rule.

Piney did not wait to see whether the sheriff replied to his call.
Instead he beckoned violently to the handful of men grouped on the
sidewalk in front of the hotel.

"C'mon over!" he bawled. "Look what I found here this morning."

Jack Harpe and the owner of the Starlight being among those present
and responding to the invitation, Racey Dawson took a chance and went
with the rest.

"Look at that," said Piney Jackson, indicating a humped-up individual
sitting behind the woodpile.

Racey and the other spectators went round the woodpile and viewed the
humped-up individual. The latter was Bull, the Starlight bartender.
And he was dead, very dead. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.
He was a ghastly object.

"Wh