In a way it was as if the night was giving a loud voice to the silent struggle of the two men, who continued pleasant, careless with each other.
But when Nash stepped across the room behind Bard, the latter turned and was busy with the folding of his blankets at the foot of his bunk, his face toward the cowpuncher and when Bard, slipping off his belt, fumbled at his holster, Nash was instantly busy with the cleaning of his own gun.
The cattleman, having removed his boots, his hat, and his belt, was ready for bed, and slipped his legs under the blankets.

He stooped and picked up his lariat, which lay coiled on the floor beside him.
"People gets into foolish habits on the range," he said, thumbing the strong rope curiously, and so doing, spreading out the noose.
"Yes ?" smiled Bard, and he also sat up in his bunk.
"It's like a kid.

Give him a new toy and he wants to take it to bed with him.

Ever notice ?" "Surely." "That's the way with me.

When I go to bed nothin' matters with me except that I have my lariat around.