“Can yu' make out what he's at?” whispered Steve.
He was plainly undressing. The rip of swift unbuttoning told us that the black-headed guy must now be removing his overalls.
“Why, thank yu', no,” he was replying to a question of the drummer. “Outside or in's all one to me.”
“Then, if you'd just as soon take the wall—”
“Why, cert'nly.” There was a sound of bedclothes, and creaking. “This hyeh pillo' needs a Southern climate,” was the Virginian's next observation.
Many listeners had now gathered at the door. The dealer and the player were both here. The storekeeper was present, and I recognized the agent of the Union Pacific Railroad among the crowd. We made a large company, and I felt that trembling sensation which is common when the cap of a camera is about to be removed upon a group.
“I should think,” said the drummer's voice, “that you'd feel your knife and gun clean through that pillow.”
“I do,” responded the Virginian.
“I should think you'd put them on a chair and be comfortable.”
“I'd be uncomfortable, then.”