“Think I'm a fool kid?” snapped Red, aggressively.
“Well, you ain't no kid.”
“You let me do the talking; I'll get him.”
“All right; an' I'll do the laughing,” snickered Hopalong, at the door. “Sic 'em, Red!”
The other boldly stepped into a small vestibule, Hopalong close at his heels. Red hitched his holster and walked heavily into a room at his left. With the exception of a bench, a table, and a small altar, the room was devoid of furnishings, and the effect of these was lost in the dim light from the narrow windows. The peculiar, not unpleasant odor of burning incense and the dim light awakened a latent reverence and awe in Hopalong, and he sneaked off his sombrero, an inexplicable feeling of guilt stealing over him. There were three doors in the walls, deeply shrouded in the dusk of the room, and it was very hard to watch all three at once.
Red was peering into the dark corners, his hand on the butt of his Colt, and hardly knew what he was looking for. “This joint must 'a' looked plumb good to that coyote, all right. He had a hell of a lot of luck, but he won't keep it for long, damn him!” he remarked.
“Quit cussing!” tersely ordered Hopalong. “An' for God's sake, throw out that damned cigarette! Ain't you got no manners?”
Red listened intently and then grinned. “Hear that? They're playing dominoes in there—come on!”
“Aw, you chump! 'Dominee' means 'mother' in Latin, which is what they speaks.”
“How do you know?”