Racey stooped and removed his own. And not for an instant did he lose the magic of the drop. As a matter of fact, he had kept Rack covered from the moment Rack set his boot-soles to earth. Rack's spurs jingled on the ground. Racey let them lie. His own spurs he jammed each into a hip pocket.
"I'll have to be careful how I sit down now," he remarked, jocularly, to Rack Slimson. "You ready? Aw right. You know the way to the Starlight's back door."
The back door of the saloon was wide open. They entered on tiptoe, the proprietor in the lead.
"Remember," whispered Racey, when he discovered the back room to be empty, "remember, I'm right behind you. Keep on yore toes."
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.
The two behind the door heard a bottle-neck clink against the rim of a glass.
"You better not take too much," advised Thompson.