Sam slept on the
table. Horse blankets were thrown about the floor in confusion. They
served as bedclothes when the gang slept. At other times they might as
well have been called doormats. One of the niches in the wall was used
as the resting place for such bones or remnants as might strike it when
hurled in that direction by the occupants. No one took the trouble to
carefully bestow anything in the garbage hole, and no one pretended to
clean up after the other. The place was foul smelling, hot and almost
suffocating with the fumes from the stoves, for which there seemed no
avenue of escape.
Hours afterward, although they seemed drawn out into years, the men
began to breathe naturally, and a weird silence reigned in the cave.
They were awake. The venerable Maude emerged from her doze, looked
apprehensively at Sam, prodded the corner to see that the prize had not
faded away, and then began ponderously to make preparations for a meal,
supposedly breakfast. Meagre ablutions, such as they were, were
performed in the "living room," a bucket of water serving as a general
wash-basin. No one had removed his clothing during the night, not even
his shoes. It seemed to her that the gang was in an ever-ready condition
to evacuate the place at a moment's notice.
Rosalie would not eat, nor would she bathe her face in the water that
had been used by the quartette before her.
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