"Who is it?" came Hurley's voice, sleepy and disgusted. "What the devil do you want?"
"It's me," was Turk's entirely to be expected answer. "Come to report."
The sound of bare feet thudding on the floor, of a bolt shot back and with the door thrown open before him Turk stalked in.
"Hang it, man," snapped Hurley, "why can't you wait to report until you are asked to? I'm not paying you for walking back and forth across country and waking me up this time of day."
"Bill Steele's out there," said Turk imperturbably. "I give him your letter. Says he'll see you in a week or so. Meantime he won't budge."
Ed Hurley, though Steele stood high in his esteem, grunted savagely. He went back to his bed, sat down upon its edge and stared at Turk who in turn stared back at the towselled head, sleepy eyes and big, bony form of his pajamaed superior.
"Plague take Billy Steele!" grumbled Hurley. "Doesn't he know I'm jumping half a dozen ways already, without his starting in any funny monkey business? … What else did he say, Turk?"
"Said he wouldn't go because he wasn't on the Queen's land a-tall. Says it belongs to him. Bill Rice ups and says Steele ain't given to lyin'. So we quit right there."
Incredulity came into Ed Hurley's eyes.
"Where did you find him?" he demanded.
"On the little flat by Hell's Goblet. Says he owns eighty acres in there."
