Brevoort said that it was pretty fair.
The conductor knew of a nice little hotel near the station—in fact he stopped there himself. El Paso was the end of his run. If the boys were going to see the town, they couldn't do better than to stop at this hotel. Clean beds, good food, quiet, and reasonable as to rates.
Pete was about to say something when Brevoort touched him gently with his knee.
"We was lookin' for a place like that," said Brevoort, suddenly loquacious. "We sure aim to see this town. We just been paid off—we was workin' for the Bar-Cross—and we figured on seein' a little high life a-fore we went to punchin' again. Is that hotel you was speakin' about open all night?"
The conductor chuckled. "Ain't been closed a minute for six years that I know. Mostly railroad men. And say, if you figure on being in town more than a couple of days, you can save money by taking your room by the week."
"Thanks," said Brevoort. "We aim to stay a week, anyhow."
"Well, they'll use you all right," asserted the conductor. "And if you're looking for a place to buy anything—clothes or collars or shirts—why, right across from the hotel there's as fine a little clothing-store as you can find in town. The man that runs is a friend of mine, and he'll use you white. Just tell him I sent you. Stokes is his name—Len Stokes."
"Thanks, neighbor," said Brevoort, and Pete thought that Brevoort's tone was the least bit sarcastic.
"That's all right," said the genial conductor. "I always like to see the boys have a good time."
Pete himself was a trifle suspicious of the conductor's solicitude as to their welfare, naturally unaware that that worthy official got a rake-off on all customers mentioning his name at the hotel and clothing-store.