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. At the end of twenty minutes the officers stood up. They had gone through everything in the room, including the cots. Kansas Casey wore a pleased smile. Jake Rule looked disappointed. "Don't look so glum, Jake," urged Racey. "Is it a fair question to ask what yo're hunting for?" "The knife," he said, shortly. "The knife that cut Bull's throat." "The knife, huh?" remarked Racey as if to himself. "So yo're suspectin' me of wiping out Bull, are you?" "I never did," said Kansas, promptly. "I know you. You ain't that kind." Jake looked reproachfully at his deputy. "You never can tall, Racey," he said, turning to the puncher. "I've got so myself I don't trust nobody no more." "Was this here yore own idea," pursued Racey, "or did somebody sic you onto me?" Jake made no immediate answer. It was obvious that he was of two minds whether to speak or not. "Why not tell him?" suggested Kansas. "What's the odds?" At this Jake took a piece of paper from his vest pocket and handed it to Racey. "I found this lying on the floor of my office when I come back after attending to Bull," was his explanation. There were words printed on the slip of paper. They read: Look in Racey Dawson's room for what killed Bull. The communication was unsigned. Racey handed it back to Jake Rule. "Got any idea who put it in yore office?" he asked. Jake shook his head. "I dunno," he said. "The window was open. Anybody passing could 'a' throwed it in."