Excuse the coffee service, Claiborne.

We always pour the sugar from the paper bag--original package, you understand.

And see if you can't find Captain Claiborne a hat, Oscar--" With a tin-cup of steaming coffee in his hand he sat on the table dangling his legs, his hat on the back of his head, the cartridge belt strapped about his waist over a brown corduroy hunting-coat.

He was in a high mood, and chaffed Oscar as to the probability of their breakfasting another morning.

"If we die, Oscar, it shall be in a good cause!" He threw aside his cup with a clatter, jumped down and caught the sword from the table, examined it critically, then sheathed it with a click.
Claiborne had watched Armitage with a growing impatience; he resented the idea of being thus ignored; then he put his hand roughly on Armitage's shoulder.
Armitage, intent with his own affairs, had not looked at Claiborne for several minutes, but he glanced at him now as though just recalling a duty.
"Lord, man! I didn't mean to throw you into the road! There's a clean bed in there that you're welcome to--go in and get some sleep." "I'm not going into the valley," roared Claiborne, "and I'm not going to bed; I'm going with you, damn you!" "But bless your soul, man, you can't go with me; you are as ignorant as a babe of my affairs, and I'm terribly busy and have no time to talk to you.