Hopalong, having sent down both of Johnny's first offerings, felt over the bed for the rest of Red's belongings, if there were any more, and became profanely indignant as his hand caressed another rifle and then bumped against another saddle.
"What'n h—l is he doin'?" he demanded. "My G—d! There's more'n a dozen rooms on this floor, an' men in all of 'em! Hey, Kid!" he whispered as breathing sounded suddenly close to him.
"What?" asked Johnny, holding two slicker rolls, a sombrero, a pair of boots, and a suit of clothes. Two belts with their six-guns were slung around his neck, but the darkness mercifully hid the sight from his friend.
"D—n it! We ain't movin' this hotel," said Hopalong with biting sarcasm. "It don't belong to us, you know. An' what was that whack I heard when you first went in?"
"Somebody jumped Red's bed, an' wanted to know some fool thing, or somethin', an' I had to quiet him. An' what'n blazes are you kickin' about? I've moved twice as much as you have, more'n twice as far. Grab holt of some of this stuff an' send it down to Idaho. He'll think you've went to sleep."
"You locoed tumble-bug!" said Hopalong. "Aimin' to send down th' bed, with th' feller in it, too?"
A door creaked suddenly and they froze.
"Quit yore d—d noise an' go to sleep!" growled a sleepy, truculent voice, and the door creaked shut again.
After a short wait in silence Hopalong put out an inquiring hand. "Come on," he whispered. "What you got there?"
Johnny told him, and Hopalong dropped the articles out
