12Pushing through the kitchen door with his shoulder, Francis walked into the hotel lobby with two plates piled high with eggs and slices of ham. He put them down at the table chosen by Hardin and mumbled, “The bread was covered in green mould, but the rest, which I found in a cold store, seems fine.”
“Taste will tell,” said the gunfighter, and attacked the food without another word.
Eating at a more leisurely pace, Francis paused to pour out beer from a pitcher. “There is plenty of this,” he said, raising his glass.
Grunting with his mouth full, Hardin nodded and tapped his glass with his knife. He continued to eat whilst Francis poured the beer.
Having finished, Hardin positioned his chair by the open door and gazed down the street. After studying him for a few silent moments, Franci
