Chapter NineSimms slept in the bunkhouse and, in the morning, shivering with the cold, tramped across the square to 'Clancy's' where he took coffee. Bent double over his cup, he pulled a chair up close to the wood-burner, his breath steaming from his mouth. The surroundings were in sharp contrast to how they were when he first arrived. Two hunched soldiers by the counter were the only customers and, by the look of them, they appeared colder than Simms, a fact which he found difficult to accept. He did not think he had ever felt as cold before now and believed he may have caught a chill.
“You look like hell, mister,” said the barkeep, his voice booming across the empty room. Simms craned his neck to watch him wiping a spotted rag over the counter top. “You want me to put a whisky in anothe
