“Huh—­how much, Bill?” inquired Swing in a still small voice, and thrust his hand within his pocket.

“Well, seein’ as it’s you, Swing,” was the prompt reply, “I’ll only say ten dollars and six bits.  And that’s dirt cheap.  Honest, I’ll bet it’ll cost me fifteen dollars and a half to replace ’em, what with the scandalous prices we got now.”

“And I hope that’ll make you a better boy, Swing,” said Racey, observing with relish the transfer of real money from Swing’s hand to the landlord’s palm.  “There’s such a thing, Swing, old settler, as being too quick, as whirling too wide a loop as the man said when he roped the locomotive.  And it all costs money.  Yep, sometimes as much as ten dollars and six bits.”

“... and one and one and two makes ten and six bits makes ten-seventy-five,” totalled Swing Tunstall, “and that makes all square.”

“Correct,” said Bill Lainey, stuffing the money into a wide trousers pocket. “’Bliged to you, Swing.  I wish all the gents paid up as prompt as you do.”

“Oh, you needn’t be surprised,” chipped in the ready Racey.  “Swing’s a fair-minded boy.  He’ll do what’s right every time, once you show him where he’s wrong.  Yeah.  Say, Bill, has Nebraska Jones many friends in this town?”

“More than enough,” was the enigmatic reply.

“‘Enough,’ huh?  Enough for what?”

“For whatever’s necessary, Racey.  But I ain’t talking about Nebraska and his friends.  Not me.  I got a wife and family to support, and they’s enough trouble running a hotel without picking up any more by letting yore tongue waggle too much.”

“Yo’re right, Bill.  Yore views do you credit.  Is it against the law to tell a feller where Nebraska’s friends hang out when they’re in town?”

“The dance hall and the Starlight,” replied Bill Lainey, promptly.

“Might you happen to know any of their names, Bill?”

“What you wanna do, Racey, is look out for a jigger named Coffin,” declared Lainey, coming flatly to the point.  “Doc Coffin.  Yop.  Then they’s Punch-the-Breeze Thompson, Honey Hoke, and Peaches Austin.  They’s a few more, but they ain’t the kind to take the lead in anything.  They always follow.  But Coffin, Thompson, Hoke, and Austin are the gents to keep yore eye peeled for.  I ain’t talking about ’em, y’ understand.  I ain’t got a word to say against ’em, not a word.  If I was you, though, and I wanted to live longer and healthier Doc Coffin is the one you wanna watch special—­a heap special.”

“Thanks, Bill, I—­”

“No thanks needed,” fended off the hotel-keeper, hastily.  “I ain’t said nothin’, and don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t.  Is the Starlight’s owner, Rack Slimson, any friend of Nebraska’s, too?”

“We-ell, I dunno as he’s a boom companion exactly, but Nebraska and his bunch spend a pile of money in the Starlight, a pile of money.  A feller would be safe in saying that Rack Slimson’s sympathy is with Nebraska.”