"How do you feel now?" queried the sheriff.
"I'm all right. Somethin' caught me quick—out there."
"Your lungs have been working overtime. Too much fresh air all at once. You'll feel better tomorrow."
"I reckon you won't have to set up and watch the front door," said Pete, smiling faintly.
"Or the back door. You're in the Sanborn House—room 11, second floor, and there's only one other floor and that's downstairs. If you want any thing—just pound on the floor. They'll understand."
"About payin' for my board—"
"That's all right. I got your money—and your other stuff that I might need for evidence. Take it easy."
"Reckon I'll git up," said Pete. "I'm all right now."
"Better wait till I come back from the office. Be back about six. Got to write some letters. Your case—called next Thursday." And Sheriff Owen departed, leaving Pete staring at yellow wallpaper sprinkled with blue roses.