Mr. Smart, even through the happy mists which enveloped him, spoke well of this step. After supper, the demijohn could be recalled. The friendship which Mr. Smart and Mr. Masterson had conceived for one another might then be expanded, and its foundation deepened and secured. Thus sufficiently if not distinctly spake Mr. Smart; and Mr. Masterson coincided with him at every angle of his argument.
It was nine o’clock, and supper had been over two hours when Mr. Masterson again sought Mr. Smart at that gentleman’s post in the hall. Mr. Masterson had much to talk about. The more he had seen of Ogallala the better he liked it. As for Mr. Smart, he was among Ogallala’s best features. It had become Mr. Masterson’s purpose to go into business in Ogallala. Possessing boundless capital, he would engage in every scheme of commerce from a general outfitting store to a corral. Mr. Smart should be with him in these enterprises. While Mr. Masterson dilated, Mr. Smart drank, and the pleasant character of the evening was conceded by both.
At one A. M. Mr. Masterson supported Mr. Smart to his cot in Cimarron’s room. The invalid roused himself to say more bad words of both Mr. Smart and Mr. Masterson; for the room being unlighted, he assailed Mr. Masterson ignorantly and in the dark. Mr. Smart no sooner felt the cot beneath him than he fell into deep sleep, and his snorings shook the casements like a strong wind.
At half after two Mr. Masterson stepped confidently into Cimarron’s room. He found Mr. Smart as soundly asleep as a corpse. Mr. Masterson shook Cimarron gently by the shoulder:
“Steady!” he whispered.
“Is that you, Bat?” Cimarron asked, coming at once to an understanding of things.
“How hard are you hit?” asked Mr. Masterson. “Can you walk?”
“I’m too stiff and sore for that.”
“Then it’s a case of carry.”
It was within five minutes of the train. Mr. Masterson wrapped the wounded Cimarron in the bed-clothes; thus disguised he resembled a long roll of gray army blankets.