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. Then he buttoned the two lower buttons of his vest and pulled the garment in question over the protruding butt.
For a space of time they rode the bottom of the draw. Where a few heavy willows grew about a tiny spring Racey pulled in.
"We'll leave the cayuses here," said he. "We're right close in back of
Marie's shack."
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.
"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. "Slide over this way a li'l more, Rack. Now take off yore spurs."