“Mister Easton will likely put his horse in a stable,” stated Hashknife. “Especially if he aims to drive back tonight. We better kinda examine the livery-stable.”
They jingled their spurs down the sidewalk to where a lantern swung over a wide doorway, from within which came the unmistakable odor of a stable. Two more lighted lanterns were hung at the sides of the room to light up the rows of stalls.
A stable-man came out of the grain-room carrying another lantern which he placed on a backless chair near the door, and squinted at Hashknife and Sleepy.
“Evenin’,” he grunted. Cowboys usually made the stable their headquarters.
“Evenin’,” greeted Hashknife. “How’s business?”
“’S’all right, I reckon. The day man got drunk and I’m doin’ two shifts. Got any Durham?”
Hashknife passed him part of a sack and he rolled a cigaret.
“Ain’t much night business, is there?” asked Hashknife.
“Naw—not much; but just enough to make me miss a date with m’ girl. Figured to close up early, but a feller drove in a while ago, and he’s goin’ out agin’ tonight. Naturally I’ve got to linger around here ’till he starts travelin’ agin’. I ain’t no drinkin’ person, but whisky sure does cause me a lot of misery.”
“Can’t he hitch his own horse?” asked Hashknife.