At which Molly dropped candle and match and squeaked in affright. But her scare did not prevent her from drawing a sixshooter. He heard the click of the hammer, and whispered desperately, "Molly! Molly! It's me! Racey!"
He struck a match and retrieved the candle and lit it quickly. By its light he saw her staring at him uncertainly. Her eyes were bright with conflicting emotions. Her sixshooter still pointed in his general direction.
"Put yore gun away," he advised her. "We've got no time to lose. Hold the candle for me! Put it in the can first!"
Automatically she obeyed the several commands.
He knelt before the open safe and, beginning at the top shelf, he stuffed into his bran sack every piece of paper the safe contained. Besides papers there were two sixshooters and a bowie. These he did not take.
When the safe was clean of papers Racey tied the mouth of the bran sack, took Molly by the hand, and blew out the candle.
"C'mon," he said, shortly. "We'll be leavin' here now."
Towing her behind him he led her to the window of the rear room. Holding his hat by the brim he shoved it out through the window. No blow or shot followed the action. He clapped the hat on his head, and looked out cautiously. He satisfied himself that the coast was clear and flung a leg over the sill.
When he had helped out Molly he gave her the sack to hold and pulled on his boots.
"Where's yore hoss?" he whispered.