“This is a dandy spot,” he said fluently. “You know, when I first dropped in here I nearly got straight back on the bus and went out again. Seemed like a guy would go nuts sittin’ around here with nothing to look at but a lot of mesquite. Well, now I guess movies and cabarets don’t mean so much compared with real home life. I could settle down in a town like this. Say, Salvatore, what’s the hunting around here?”
Intuccio lifted his eyes under their dense black brows. “Hunting?”
“Yeah. You got a swell rifle hangin’ on the wall outside. I took it down to have a look at it, and it was all cleaned and erled. Or is it in case the bandits come this way?”
The innkeeper sat motionless, as if he had not heard, staring at the glass cupped between his hands. The voices of the poker players muttered a pizzicato background to his stillness: “Two to come in.”
“And four.”
“Make it four more.”
“I’ll raise that ten.” The chips slithered and spilled across the board and hands were turned face downwards and sent spinning over the table to join the discard.
Intuccio, detached as a statue, turned his head as the game fell into the lull of a fresh deal.
“Mr Jupp, have you seen any bandits here?”
One of the players looked up.