"Is it any of your affair what I do?" he snarls, glaring at me.
"Well, no—I guess it ain't, Rags," I says. "Only I'd think a fellow which is in the trouble you are"
He busts out laughing at the top of his voice and I stop in the greatest of surprise.
"What's the joke?" I says.
Rag's lip curls at me in one of them sneers which would make a rabbit aggressive.
"You're the joke, my poor fool!" he says. "I'm not in any trouble—I never stole anything! I saw a chance for a clean-up on that infernal nag of Brock's, Knight Errant, if I had a respectable amount of money to bet. So I concocted that embezzlement story for your sole benefit and you fell for it beautifully, you boob! Ten thousand dollars for the mere asking, though you must admit I put on some artistic touches. Well, you owe me something for coming between me and Judy Willcox. As for the ten thousand—try and get it, that's all! You have nothing to show that I owe you a penny, and I have your word of honor that you'll never tell!"
Well, I just stand there and stare into his grinning face. I'm afraid to touch him, honest I am, because I know I would never be satisfied with just beating him up! I'd bump him off as sure as my name's Gale Galen, and I didn't want to go to the chair. But somebody pushes in between us and grabs Rags's arm. It's Nate Shapiro and his face is as white as white itself.
"You double-crossin', yellah hound!" he bawls at
