He ate while dressing, disgustedly arraying himself in the grey shirt, breeches, and laced boots which weather, water, rock, and brier had not improved.
In a pathetic attempt to spruce up, he knotted the red bandanna around his neck and punched Salzar's slouch hat into a peak.
"I look like a hootch-running Wop," he said. "Maybe I can get into the house before I meet the ladies——"
"You look like one of Clinch's bums," remarked Wier with native honesty.
Darragh, chagrined, went to his bunk, pulled the morocco case from under the pillow, and shoved it into the bosom of his flannel shirt.
"That's the main thing anyway," he thought. Then, turning to Wier, he asked whether Eve and Stormont had awakened.
It appeared that Trooper Stormont had saddled up and cantered away shortly after sunrise, leaving word that he must hunt up his comrade, Trooper Lannis, at Ghost Lake.
"They're coming back this evening," added Wier. "He asked you to look out for Clinch's step-daughter."
"She's all right here. Can't you keep an eye on her, Ralph?"
"I'm stripping trout, sir. I'll be around here to cook dinner for her when she wakes up."