But it was a saloon, and not the
hotel. One peep into it served to make me face about in double-quick time,
and hurry in the opposite direction.
Hearing a soft footfall, I glanced over my shoulder, to see the Mexican
that I had noticed at the station. He was coming from across the street. I
wondered if he were watching me. He might be. My heart began to beat
violently. Turning once again, I discovered that the fellow could not be
seen in the pitchy blackness. Then I broke into a run.
III. THE TRAIL
A short dash brought me to the end of the block; the side street was not so
dark, and after I had crossed this open space I glanced backward.
Soon I sped into a wan circle of light, and, reaching a door upon which was
a hotel sign, I burst in. Chairs were scattered about a bare office; a man
stirred on a couch, and then sat up, blinking.
"I'm afraid--I believe some one's chasing me," I said.
He sat there eying me, and then drawled, sleepily:
"Thet ain't no call to wake a feller, is it?"
The man settled himself comfortably again, and closed his eyes.
"Say, isn't this a hotel? I want a room!" I cried.
"Up-stairs; first door." And with that the porter went to sleep in good
earnest.
I made for the stairs, and, after a backward look into the street, I ran
up.
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