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Updated: June 29, 2025
It was Rack Slimson, the proprietor of the Starlight Saloon. But he was riding in from the direction of the Bar S. He rode soberly, as one bound on a journey of length. Even as Marie had done he glimpsed the three men and turned his horse toward them. Ten feet from the flank of Racey Dawson's mount he pulled in and nodded.
"But " began again Rack Slimson. "You might try prayer," Racey interrupted. "It would maybe help. You can't tell." The unhappy Rack Slimson looked toward Mr. Saltoun and Tom Loudon. But there was no aid for him in that quarter. In fact, both men eyed him with frank hostility. "So you see Marie is kept out of it." Racey laid his final injunction on Rack as the girl in question joined them.
They dismounted, tied the horses to separate willows, and climbed the side of the draw. "No hurry," cautioned Racey, for Rack Slimson was showing signs of a nervous haste. "Besides, I want to pat you all over for a hideout." Behind the blind end of Marie's shack Rack Slimson submitted to being searched for concealed weapons. Racey found none, not even a pocket-knife.
Racey's assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicions proved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson. "I lookit here," he began, desperately, "can't we fix this here up some way? I dunno as " "Shore we can fix it up," interposed Racey, heartily. "Go after yore gun any time you feel like it. I been letting you keep it on purpose." Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation.
He held Rack Slimson by the belt and pushed him toward the door giving into the front room. This door was shut. They paused behind it. "He oughta be along pretty soon," complained a fretful voice that Racey recognized as belonging to Honey Hoke. "We don't mind waiting," chimed in Punch-the-breeze Thompson. "It's the best thing we do." This was big Doc Coffin speaking.
Racey thumbed Rack Slimson in the ribs. Rack turned his head and saw that Racey was grinning. Rack grew even more spineless. "You see," pointed out Racey in a sardonic whisper. "Yo're up against the pure quill, feller." Which remark at any other time would have been in the worst possible taste, but license is extended to men in peril of their lives.
I'll even go farther than that. I'm tellin' you, Rack, that if anybody finds out in Farewell that Marie was here, or if any accident happens to her any accident, y'understand I'll have to take it as evidence that you had to blat. Fair enough, huh?" "But supposing somebody else sees her and tells about it?" protested Rack Slimson. "In that case yo're out of luck," was the unfeeling reply.
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