They were all in bed; and in some beds two were sleeping. How they could do it but in those days I was fastidious. The American had come in recently and was still awake.
"Thought you were to sleep at the store?" said he.
So then I invented a little lie, and explained that I was in search of the Virginian.
"Better search the dives," said he. "These cow-boys don't get to town often."
At this point I stumbled sharply over something.
"It's my box of Consumption Killer," explained the drummer. "Well, I hope that man will stay out all night."
"Bed narrow?" I inquired.
"For two it is. And the pillows are mean. Takes both before you feel anything's under your head."
He yawned, and I wished him pleasant dreams.
At my news the Virginian left the bar at once, and crossed to the sleeping room. Steve and I followed softly, and behind us several more strung but in an expectant line. "What is this going to be?" they inquired curiously of each other. And upon learning the great novelty of the event, they clustered with silence intense outside the door where the Virginian had gone in.
We heard the voice of the drummer, cautioning his bed-fellow. "Don't trip over the Killer," he was saying. "The Prince of Wales barked his shin just now." It seemed my English clothes had earned me this title.
The boots of the Virginian were next heard to drop.
