A moment later, the door had closed behind the trim, athletic figure and Dick was left with his mind whirling confusedly. The events of the night, incident following incident so closely, formed a chaotic picture, which passed in review before his weary eyes. With difficulty, he stifled a yawn at the same time looking a wee bit covetously at the clean, white bed at the far side of the room.
“I’ll wait here for ten or fifteen minutes before I steal over to wake Toma and Sandy. Gee, I’m so tired I don’t even dare to sit down.”
He began a restless pacing back and forth across the room, occasionally glancing up at the little clock that stood on a shelf near the door. The minutes seemed interminable. A cold sweat broke out upon his face, his hands twitched nervously.
“Still five minutes more,” sighed the impatient young man. “This suspense is terrible. I hope—”
A slight noise in the hallway outside riveted his attention. He swung about on his heel, took a few steps forward, then stood stock still, shaking with excitement. It seemed as if some ghostly hand was opening the door. Slowly, a few inches at a time, it swung on its hinges, and presently the bearded, uncouth face of Murky Nichols appeared through the aperture.
“Stayin’ up kind o’ late, ain’t yuh?” he drawled out in an insinuating voice.
Dick’s two hands went up to his chin. He made a gesture of pain.
“I’ve been up all night with this pesky toothache,” he said a little shakily. “Nothing that I can do has seemed to help very much.”
Murky pushed his way into the room, his evil mouth twisted into a sneer. At the same time, Dick dropped back, edging his way over near the table, where his rifle stood. Murky’s voice broke an interval of silence.
“I shore feel sorry for yuh, young feller,” he grimaced. “Toothache ain’t no fun. Ain’t anything I can do, is there?”