Then in order to have a water-tight reason for remaining in the room he pulled off his boots and trousers, fished a housewife from a cantena, and set about repairing a rip in his trousers.  It was a perfectly good rip.  He had had it a long time.  What more natural that on this particular day he should wish to sew it up?

It was an hour later that he heard the tramp of several pairs of boots on the stairs.  He could hear the wheezing, laboured breathing of Bill Lainey, the hotel proprietor.  Climbing the stairs always bothered Bill.  The latter and his followers came along the hall and stopped in front of Racey’s door.

“This is his room,” panted Bill Lainey.

Unceremoniously the latch was lifted.  A man entered.  The man was Jake Rule, the sheriff of Fort Creek County.  He was followed by Kansas Casey, his deputy.

Jake looked serious.  But Kansas was smiling as he closed the door behind him.  Then he opened it quickly and thrust his head into the hall.

“No need of you, Bill,” he said.

“Aw right,” said Bill, aggrievedly, and forthwith shuffled away.

Kansas withdrew his head and nodded to Jake Rule.  “He’s gone,” he said.

Racey Dawson, sitting crosslegged on his cot and plying his needle in most workmanlike fashion, grinned comfortably at the two officers.  Lord, how glad he was he had found that knife!  If he hadn’t—­

“Sidown, gents,” invited Racey.  “There’s two chairs, or you can have Swing’s cot if you like.”

Jake Rule shook his head.  “We don’t wanna sit down, Racey,” he said.  “We got a li’l business with you, maybe.”

“Maybe?  Then you ain’t shore about it?”

“Not unless yo’re willing.  You see, Dolan’s drunk to-day, and of course we can’t get a warrant till he’s sober.”

“A warrant?  For me?”

“Not yet,” said Jake Rule.  “Only a search warrant—­first.  But of course if you ain’t willing we can’t even touch anything.”

“Still, Racey,” put in Kansas Casey, smoothly, “if you could see yore way to letting us go through yore warbags, yores and Swing’s, it would be a great help, and we’d remember it—­after.”

“Yeah, we shore would,” declared the sheriff.  “You save us trouble now, Racey, and I’ll guarantee to make you almighty comfortable in the calaboose.  You won’t have nothing to complain of.  Not a thing.”

Racey laughed cheerily.  “Got me in jail already, have you?” he chuckled.  “You’ll have me hung next.”

“Oh, they’s quite some formalities to go through before that happens,” declared the sheriff, seriously.

“I’m glad,” drawled Racey.  “I thought maybe you were fixing to take me right out and string me up before dinner.  Want to search our stuff, huh?  Hop to it.  Swing ain’t here, but I’ll give you permission for him.  He won’t mind.”

Jake and Kansas went at the warbags like terriers digging out a badger.  Racey leaned on his elbow and watched them.  What luck that the door had been ajar and that he had noticed it!  If it had not been a life-and-death matter he would have laughed aloud.