"I tied him at the corner of the nearest corral," was the answer.
"C'mon," said he and took her again by the hand.
They had not gone ten steps when she stumbled and fell against him.
"Whatsa matter?"
"Nothing," was the almost breathless reply. "I'm—I'm all right. I just stepped on a sharp stone."
"Yore shoes!" he murmured, contritely. "I never thought. Why didn't you say something? Here."
So saying he scooped her up in his arms, settled her in place with due regard for the box of caps in his breast-pocket, and plowed on through the night. Her arms went round his neck and her head went down on his shoulder. She sighed a gentle little sigh. For a sigh like that Racey would cheerfully have shot a sheriff's posse to pieces.
"I left my shoes in my saddle pocket," she said, apologetically. "I—I thought it would be safer."
There was a sudden yell somewhere on Main Street. It sounded as if it came from uncomfortably close to the Tweezy house. Then a sixshooter cracked once, twice, and again. At the third shot Racey was running as tight as he could set foot to the ground.
Encumbered as he was with a double armful of girl and a fairly heavy sackful of papers he yet made good time to the corner of the nearest corral. The increasing riot in Main Street undoubtedly was a most potent spur.