The door of his room was ajar, and a faint light streamed out into the entry. Pushing it open, he saw two roughly dressed and bearded men sitting down on one of the beds with a pack of cards between them.
“Wall, youngster, what do you want?” asked one.
“I believe we are room-mates,” said Tom. “This bed is mine.”
“Sail in, then. You’re welcome. What’s your name?”
“Tom Temple.”
“Well, Temple, my name’s Jim Granger, and this here’s my pard.”
“Pard?”
“Yes, pardner. Where was you raised not to know that? He’s Bill Rogers.”
“I’m glad to make your acquaintance, gentlemen,” said Tom politely—with more politeness, perhaps, than sincerity.
“Come, that’s talkin’ fair. Have a drink, Temple?”