The cowboys picked up their duffel and headed toward the hotel.
“What was the idea telling the hostler Lightning was old and losing her speed?” asked Chuck.
“There’s just a chance we may find our lives depending on Lightning’s speed and there’s no use in tipping off anyone how fast she really can run when I give her a chance.”
“In other words, we’ll sit tight and let the other fellows do the talking while we’re here,” grinned Chuck.
“Exactly. I’m hungry. Let’s hope the hotel doesn’t live up to the name of the town.”
They clumped across the narrow stoop in front of the hotel and entered the small room which served as a lobby. A fat, bald-headed man who had been swatting flies looked around from behind the counter.
“Bed and board?” he asked.
“Providing there’s no bugs in either one,” said Chuck.
The fat man’s face turned red and he sputtered furiously.
“Tha--, tha--, that’s an insult to the Palace Hotel,” he finally managed to say. “I never yet been accused of harboring a bed bug in my place.”