Page:Saga of Billy the Kid.djvu/220

After nightfall, he slipped unnoticed into town and, having put up his horses in Pete Maxwell's barn, went into comfortable ambush in the old military hospital at the edge of the village on the Texas road and settled down to await the coming of his quarry.

So on this night when all the world was happy, a bare room in the old hospital was filled with heavily armed men. A fire of pitch-pine knots roared in the chimney, irradiating the chamber with ruddy light. Smoke from pipes and cigarettes hung in the air in strata and lazily drifting whorls. The men, the majority Mexicans, stalked about restlessly or sat cross-legged on the floor along the walls, their rifles across their laps. There was desultory talk.

Sheriff Garrett, Barney Mason, Tom Emory, and Bob Williams played poker on a blanket on the floor. Frank Stewart, the cattle detective from Texas, Lee Hall, Louis Bozeman, and Juan Roibal stood watching the game. Jim East took his ease stretched out on a blanket and whiffed at a meditative pipe. Lon Chambers mounted guard in the road outside.

"What time is it?" drawled East.

"Quarter to twelve," replied Lee Hall, pulling out his old silver timepiece.

"Old Santa Claus in his reindeer sleigh has snow to travel on to-night and he ought to be in Fort Sumner pretty soon," reflected East. "Only a quarter of an hour till Christmas. Wish I was with the folks back in Tascosa."

"Two cards," said Garrett at his poker game on the blanket.

"One to me," chimed Emory.

There was a jingle of silver coins as the men tossed their bets into the pot.

"I'll call," said Emory. "What you got?"