Curly finished eating just as Sam’s second cup of coffee came. Flandrau, who had purposely chosen a seat in the corner where he was hemmed in by the chairs of the others, began to feel in his vest pockets.
“Darned if I’ve got a cigar. Sam, you’re young and nimble. Go buy me one at the counter.”
“Sure.” Cullison was away on the instant.
Curly’s hand came out of his pocket. In it was a paper. Quickly he shook the contents of the paper into the steaming cup of coffee and stirred the liquid with a spoon.
Sam brought back the cigar and drank his coffee. Without any unnecessary delay they returned to his room. Before the party had climbed the stairs the boy was getting drowsy.
“Dunno what’s the matter with me. I’m feeling awful sleepy,” he said, sitting on the bed.
“Why don’t you take a snooze? You’ve got lots of time before the train goes.”
“No, I don’t reckon I better.”
He rubbed his eyes, yawned, and slumped down. His lids wavered, shut, jerked open again, and closed slowly.
“Wake me, Curly—time for train.” And with that he was sound asleep.