Racey nodded. He didn't see exactly where to begin, either.
"Lookit, Judge," he said at last, "can't you sort of delay the proceedin's for a while?"
"I'll do what I can," assented Dolan, "but I can't keep it up forever. I'm sworn to obey the law and see that it is obeyed. And if Luke Tweezy's paper can't be proved a forgery certain and soon, they's only one thing for me to do and one thing for the Dales to do. I'm sorry, but that's the way it stands under the law."
It was then that the door-latch clicked and one entered without knocking. It was Luke Tweezy. Beyond the merest flicker of a glance he did not acknowledge the presence of Racey Dawson. He nodded perfunctorily to Dolan.
"Mornin', Judge," said he, "are the papers ready for the sheriff yet?"
"Not yet, Luke, not yet," Dolan assured, him blandly. "I ain't had time to get at 'em."
"When you gonna get at 'em?"
"Soon as I get time."
"But lookit here, Judge. We're bein' delayed. We wanna get the Dales off their ranch soon as we can."
"Off their ranch is shore the truth," struck in Racey. "You do tell it sometimes, don't you, Luke?"