Better hurry and look sharp. Holston's
not a safe place for a stranger at night."
I stepped off into a windy darkness. A lamp glimmered in the station
window. By its light I made out several men, the foremost of whom had a
dark, pointed face and glittering eyes. He wore a strange hat, and I knew
from pictures I had seen that he was a Mexican. Then the bulky form of
Buell loomed up. I called, but evidently he did not hear me. The men took
his grips, and they moved away to disappear in the darkness. While I
paused, hoping to see some one to direct me, the train puffed out, leaving
me alone on the platform.
When I turned the corner I saw two dim lights, one far to the left, the
other to the right, and the black outline of buildings under what appeared
to be the shadow of a mountain. It was the quietest and darkest town I had
ever struck.
I decided to turn toward the right-hand light, for the conductor had said
"down the street." I set forth at a brisk pace, but the loneliness and
strangeness of the place were rather depressing.
Before I had gone many steps, however, the sound of running water halted
me, and just in the nick of time, for I was walking straight into a ditch.
By peering hard into the darkness and feeling my way I found a bridge. Then
it did not take long to reach the light.
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