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They sat quite still and stared at the man and the gun behind the body of their friend Rack Slimson. They said nothing. Perhaps there was nothing to say. "I hear you were expectin' me, Doc," drawled Racey, his eyes bright with cold anger. "Whatsa matter?" he added. "Ain't three of you enough to take care of any mistakes?" At which Doc Coffin's right hand flashed downward.
"I've been so took up with this Dale mortgage and the idea of Luke Tweezy and that skunk Lanpher getting this land that I ain't give much thought to anything else. Of course Racey will need help, and you and I are the fellers to give it to him." Racey Dawson and Rack Slimson, rising a hill on the way to Farewell, simultaneously turned their heads and looked at each other.
"I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly, to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to the Starlight's back door." The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, the proprietor in the lead. "Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to be empty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes."
"That's right," Racey assented, smoothly, suddenly mindful both of a peculiar gleam in Bill Lainey's eye and a chance sentence uttered by the hasher in his hearing at breakfast. "That's right. It was Swing Tunstall what made so free and outrageous with Rack Slimson. You go and crawl Swing's hump, Bill. Lord knows he needs it. He's been getting awful brash and uppity lately. No living with him.
At sight of her Rack Slimson's eyes opened wide, then they narrowed. "Hell," he muttered, turning a slightly worried look on Racey. "What you hellin' about?" Racey inquired, pleasantly. "You knowed about Swing Tunstall alla time," complained Rack Slimson. "What makes you think so?" Racey sidled his horse closer to Rack. "She told you." Thus Rack, bluntly. "'She? What she you mean?" "Aw, her."
"Let's go," said Racey Dawson. "We'll go to yore saloon first. And you pray hard that nobody sees us from the back window." They diagonalled down past the stage company's corral to the house next door to the Starlight. "They haven't seen us yet," Racey observed, cheerfully, to Rack Slimson whose wretched knees had been knocking together ever since he had dismounted.
"I dud-dud-dunno," insisted Rack Slimson, his teeth chattering as Racey shook him. "Is he in town?" "I dud-dunno." "Is Thompson going after him, do you think?" "I dud-dunny-dunno!"
I was only gonna ride along with you part way." Racey shook his head. "Wouldn't be sensible, that wouldn't. Somebody might see you. You come along later like I told you. Me and Rack will travel together." "I was goin' to the 88," protested Rack. "Yo're mistaken," Racey told him, firmly. "Yo're going to Farewell with me. Ain't you?" "I s'pose so," Rack Slimson capitulated. "Then c'mon.
"We thought we heard shootin' " began Galloway, staring in astonishment at the grotesque posture Rack Slimson had assumed the better to endure the ministrations of the bartender. "We heard shootin', all right," said Judge Dolan, his glance sweeping past Slimson and the bartender to the rear of the room. "What's happened, Racey?" queried Dolan, striding forward. "Both of 'em cashed?"
Rack Slimson opened the door and immediately endeavoured to spring to one side. But he reckoned not on the strength of Racey Dawson. It was a painfully surprised trio that confronted Racey and his unwilling barricade. The bartender was likewise surprised. He immediately fell flat on the floor. Not so the three men at the table.
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