"He won't," declared the confident Doc. "He'll come boiling right in like he owned the place. Don't you lose no sleep over that."
"Maybe Rack couldn't find him," pursued Honey Hoke, and an answering quiver ran through the frame of Rack Slimson.
"Rack will find him all right," said Punch-the-breeze Thompson.
"He might be suspicious of Rack, alla same," Honey Hoke wavered on.
"Not the way Rack will tell him. Didn't we fix it up just what Rack was to say and all before he went? Shore we did. He won't make no mistake, Rack won't. You'll see."
"And anyway," broke in Doc Coffin, "they's four of us to take care of any mistakes."
At which the three laughed loudly.
"I hope," Racey whispered in Rack's rather grimy left ear, "I hope you heard all those fellers said. Proves I was right, don't it? Nemmine nodding yore head more'n once. Hold still. Yo're doin' fine. Yep, I'm shore glad we stood here a-listenin' like we have. Makes me feel a heap easier in my mind about you. Otherwise I might always have had a doubt I did right. I'd have been shore, y' understand, but I wouldn't have been dead shore."
At which the unfortunate Rack came within an eyewink of fainting. As it was his stomach seemed to roll over and over. He began to feel a little sick.
"The bartender now," went on Racey after a moment, "is he likely to mix into this?"