“If they need any extra riders here’s some more out of a job,” Dick told him.
“Heard to-day of a freighter that wants a mule-skinner. I’m going to see him to-morrow,” Slats chipped in.
“Darn this looking for a job anyhow. It’s tur’ble slow work,” Curly followed up, yawning. “Well, here’s hoping you land yours, Sam.”
This was about two o’clock in the afternoon. The game dragged on for a while, but nobody took any interest in it. Sam had to get ready for the work of the night, and the rest were anxious to get out and give him a chance. So presently Dick threw down his cards.
“I’ve had enough poker for one session. Me, I’m going to drift out and see what’s moving in town.”
“Think I’ll snooze for a while,” Sam said, stretching sleepily.
The others trooped out and left him alone. From the room rented by Davis the three watched to see that Sam did not leave without being observed. He did not appear, and about six o’clock Curly went back to his room.
“Time to grub,” he sang out.
“That’s right,” Sam agreed.
They went to the New Orleans Hash House, and presently Davis and Maloney also arrived. The party ordered a good dinner and took plenty of time to eat it. Sam was obviously nervous, but eager to cover his uneasiness under a show of good spirits.