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Updated: May 3, 2025
"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." "Where you going?" demanded Swing Tunstall. "Over the hills and far away to pick the wild violets," chanted Racey. "You wanna come along? Better not.
But Rack Slimson's hands continued to remain in plain sight, the while Rack gnawed a thin and bloodless lip. When at long last the draw opened before them Racey calmly reached over and removed the saloon-keeper's sixshooter. After satisfying himself that the weapon was fully loaded he stuffed it down inside the waistband of his trousers.
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."
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