“But they’ll down me!”

“I’m counting on that.”

“But—­”

“Aw, shut up, you ——­ skunk!  You come out to Moccasin Spring on purpose to get me to come to Farewell and be peaceably shot by Doc Coffin and his gang.  Can’t tell me you didn’t.  I know better.”

“I didn’t!  I didn’t!  I—­”

“Aw right you didn’t.  In that case you got nothing to scare you.  If Doc and his outfit ain’t got any harsh thoughts against me they won’t shoot when we run up on ’em.  That’ll prove yo’re telling the truth, and I’ll beg yore pardon.  I’ll do more’n beg yore pardon.  I’ll eat yore shirt an’ my saddle.”

Racey’s assurance that he would do the right thing if his suspicions proved unfounded did not appear to cheer Rack Slimson.

“I—­lookit here,” he began, desperately, “can’t we fix this here up some way?  I dunno as—­”

“Shore we can fix it up,” interposed Racey, heartily.  “Go after yore gun any time you feel like it.  I been letting you keep it on purpose.”

Rack Slimson did not accept the invitation.  He had not the slightest desire to go after his gun.  He was not fast enough, and he knew it.

“It ain’t necessary to do that,” said he.

“Suit yoreself,” Racey told him calmly.  “Hop into action any time you feel like it.  Of course before we get to that draw outside Farewell where we’re gonna leave our hosses I’ll have to take yore gun away.  Later I might be too busy to do it—­and I can’t afford to take every chance.  Not with four or five men.  You can see that yoreself.”

Rack Slimson saw.  He saw other things too.  Oh, there was no warmth in the sunlight, and the sky was a drabby gray, and he was filled with bitterness unutterable.

“We’ll be at the draw some time soon,” suggested Racey ten minutes later.

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.