Tommy shuffled his feet, and looked again at the marshal; he had received positive orders about that room, and was fully convinced that Montgomery would not take kindly to eviction. But Hickock's quiet gray eyes were insistent.
“Here, 'Red,'” he finally called to the burly porter, “hustle up to '15,' an' tell that fellow Montgomery he's got to get out; tell him we want the room for a lady.”
Hickock watched the man disappear up the stairs, helped himself carefully to a cigar out of the stand, tossing a coin to the clerk and then deliberately lighting up.
“Think Montgomery will be pleased?” he asked shortly.
“No; he'll probably throw 'Red' down stairs.”
The marshal smiled, his glance turning expectantly in that direction.
“Then perhaps I had better remain, Tommy.” And he strolled nonchalantly over to the open window, and stood there looking quietly out, a spiral of blue smoke rising from his cigar.
They could distinctly hear the pounding on the door above, and occasionally the sound of the porter's voice, but the straight, erect figure at the window remained motionless. Finally “Red” came down, nursing his knuckles.
“Says he'll be damned if he will—says he's gone to bed, an' that there ain't a cussed female in this blasted country he'd git up for,” he reported circumstantially to the clerk. “He told me to tell you to go plumb to hell, an' that if any one else come poundin' 'round thar to-night, he'd take a pot shot at 'em through the door. 'Fifteen' seemed a bit peevish, sir, an' I reckoned if he was riled up much more, he might git rambunctious; his language was sure fierce.”
“Wild Bill” turned slowly around, still calmly smoking, his eyes exhibiting mild amusement.