eleven
o'clock
The presence of a dozen other herds holding along it forced us into a permanent camp a short half-day 's ride from the town . The horse-wrangler was pressed into service in making up the first guard that night , and taking Morg Tussler with me , I struck out for Dodge in the falling darkness . On reaching the first divide , we halted long enough to locate the camp-fires along the Mulberry to our rear , while above and below and beyond the river , fires flickered like an Indian encampment . The lights of Dodge were inviting us , and after making a rough estimate of the camps in sight , we rode for town , arriving there between ten and eleven o'clock . The Dodge House was a popular hostelry for trail men and cattle buyers , and on our making inquiry of the night clerk if a Mr. Siringo was stopping there , we were informed that he was , but had retired . I put up a trivial excuse for seeing him , the clerk gave me the number of his room , and Tussler and I were soon closeted with him . The detective was a medium-sized , ordinary man , badly pock-marked , with a soft , musical voice , and apparently as innocent as a boy .