When he awoke it was dark. He did not know where he was, and did not care. Being young and in perfect health he had not the traditional "splitting head." He was very dry, but that was all. He lay still, and remembered that Tom had helped him to that room, taken off his boots and told him to sleep it off. Apparently he had.
The window was open and the night air blew softly upon his face, bringing with it the sound of voices from the next room. He heard the scraping of chairs, the pop of a safety match, the clink of glass. Then the voices became more audible, as if the occupants of the room had drawn closer to the window. Listening idly, Turkey caught his own surname. In a moment it was repeated.
In spite of the adage concerning what listeners are apt to hear of themselves, and all honorable theories against eavesdropping, the average person hearing his own name will prick up his ears. Turkey rolled softly out of the bed, and in his stockinged feet went to the window.
It was a rear window, looking out upon the roofs of sheds and the backs of other buildings. The night was dark and, save for a soft breeze, quiet. The first words Turkey heard were calculated to destroy any scruples.
"I thought the boys were going to beat Mackay up," said a voice which at first he could not identify. Another voice which he knew for Garland's replied:
"They will, later. Blake has it in for him good and plenty."
"Over that girl on the dry ranch, I s'pose," the other speculated.
"There's a lot of things."
"Blake's a darn fool," said the other, and now Turkey knew the voice. It was Poole's. "He's too fond of women and booze. He's in a mess right now. That klootch wants him to marry her."
"She's got another guess coming."