“Don’t think so.”
“Where’d he go from here?”
“Dunno that either.”
They sat down at one of the tables and had a smoke. Hashknife noticed that Slim’s right hand was bruised and swollen a little, and that Slim kept it concealed as much as possible.
Later on they sauntered back to the office, which was in darkness.
“Scotty must ’a’ gone to bed,” said Chuck.
“He’s shore a sleepy son-of-a-gun.”
The door was unlocked. They walked in and Slim headed for the table, intending to light the lamp, when he tripped and fell sprawling across the floor.
“Why don’tcha pick up yore feet?” laughed Chuck.
“Light the lamp!” snorted Slim, picking himself off the floor. “By God, I fell over somebody!”