The stableman looked up and turned halfway around at the hail. "Hello!" he mumbled through a mouthful of nails. Removing them he nodded at the door. "Tryin’ to fasten that lock so it’ll do some good. It must ’a’ been forced off more’n once, judgin’ by th’ split wood, which is so old that it ain’t much good, anyhow. Th’ nails sink into it like it was putty." Tex was about to suggest the sawing out of the poorest part of the plank and the in-letting of a new piece in its place, but some subconscious warning bade him hold his peace. "Much ado about nothin’, Graves," he said, smiling ironically. "Hoss stealin’ is a bigger risk in these parts than it is a profit; an’ anyhow, th’ slightest noise will wake you up, sleepin’ like you do right next to th’ door." He examined the wood. "Huh; them splits were made when th’ wood was tough--it wouldn’t split as dead as it is now: th’ nails would just pull out. So you see it was done years ago. Hoss stealin’ has gone out of style since then. All you want is a catch to hold it shut ag’in’ th’ wind." He winced suddenly and held a hand gently against his jaw. "That’s all it wants." "Reckon yo’re right," agreed the stableman, glancing curiously at his companion’s hand. "What’s th’ matter? Toothache?" Tex growled a profane malediction and nodded. "Reckon I’ll have to go around an’ see th’ doc, an’ get some laudanum." "An’ pay that thief three prices!" expostulated Graves indignantly. "Chances are he’s so drunk he’ll give you strychnine instead. Why don’t you go up to Williams’ store? He’s got th’ laudanum, an’ knows how to fix it up for toothaches an’ earaches, I reckon." "Williams?" queried Tex in moderate surprise. "What you talkin’ about? He ain’t runnin’ no drug-store! What’s he doin’ with drugs an’ such stuff?" Graves laughed and contemplated the lock with strong disapproval. "No, it ain’t no drug-store," he replied. "But th’ doc drinks so hard he ain’t got no money left to carry a full line of drugs, so Williams carries ’em for him, an’ sells him stuff as he needs it. Besides, he allus did sell strychnine to th’ ranchers, for coyotes an’ wolves--though I ain’t never heard it said that any wolves was ever poisoned. Sometimes they do get a coyote--but not no wolves. They’ve been hunted so hard they just about know as much as th’ hunters." He stepped forward and felt of the wood around the lock. "I reckon yo’re right," he admitted; "though while I ain’t nat’rally a sound sleeper, it would take quite some racket to wake me up if I’d had a couple of drinks before goin’ to bed, which I generally do have. I’ll just let her stay like she is."