"G'on. He didn't."
"Oh, didn't he? You better believe he did. If I hadn't got a holt of his wrist and whanged him over the head with my Colt for all I was worth he'd 'a' had me laid out cold. Yep, li'l Mr. Luke Tweezy himself. The rat that don't care nothing about fighting with anything but a law book."
"A rat will fight when it's cornered," said Swing.
Racey nodded. "I've seen 'em. It's something to know Luke carries a knife and where."
"Where?"
"Under his left arm. Fill up, and shove the bottle over."
Swing filled abstractedly and slopped the table. He pushed the bottle toward Racey. The latter caught it just in time to prevent a smash on the floor.
"Say, look what yo're doing!" cried Racey. "Y' almost wasted a whole bottle of redeye. I ain't got money to throw away if you have."
"I was just wonderin' what Fat Jakey's plan is," said Swing, scratching his head.
"No use wonderin'," Racey told him. "It's their move."