“They have staked out their claims,” he added. In this public sleeping room they had done what one does to secure a seat in a railroad train. Upon each bed, as notice of occupancy, lay some article of travel or of dress. As we stood there, the two Jews came in and opened and arranged their valises, and folded and refolded their linen dusters. Then a railroad employee entered and began to go to bed at this hour, before dusk had wholly darkened into night. For him, going to bed meant removing his boots and placing his overalls and waistcoat beneath his pillow. He had no coat. His work began at three in the morning; and even as we still talked he began to snore. “The man that keeps the store is a friend of mine,” said the Virginian; “and you can be pretty near comfortable on his counter. Got any blankets?” I had no blankets. “Looking for a bed?” inquired the American drummer, now arriving. “Yes, he’s looking for a bed,” answered the voice of Steve behind him. “Seems a waste of time,” observed the Virginian. He looked thoughtfully from one bed to another. “I didn’t know I’d have to lay over here. Well, I have sat up before.” “This one’s mine,” said the drummer, sitting down on it. “Half’s plenty enough room for me.” “You’re cert’nly mighty kind,” said the cow-puncher. “But I’d not think o’ disconveniencing yu’.” “That’s nothing. The other half is yours. Turn in right now if you feel like it.” “No. I don’t reckon I’ll turn in right now. Better keep your bed to yourself.” “See here,” urged the drummer, “if I take you I’m safe from drawing some party I might not care so much about. This here sleeping proposition is a lottery.” “Well,” said the Virginian (and his hesitation was truly masterly), “if you put it that way--” “I do put it that way. Why, you’re clean! You’ve had a shave right now. You turn in when you feel inclined, old man! I ain’t retiring just yet.” The drummer had struck a slightly false note in these last remarks. He should not have said “old man.” Until this I had thought him merely an amiable person who wished to do a favor. But “old man” came in wrong. It had a hateful taint of his profession; the being too soon with everybody, the celluloid good-fellowship that passes for ivory with nine in ten of the city crowd. But not so with the sons of the sagebrush. They live nearer nature, and they know better. But the Virginian blandly accepted “old man” from his victim: he had a game to play. “Well, I cert’nly thank yu’,” he said. “After a while I’ll take advantage of your kind offer.”