Then I went into the office, intending to be
brisk, businesslike, and careful about asking questions.
"I'd like to pay my bill, and also for a little damage," I said, telling
what had happened.
"Somebody'll kill thet Greaser yet," was all the comment the man made.
I went outside, not knowing whether to be angry or amused with these queer
people. In the broad light of day Holston looked as bad as it had made me
feel by night. All I could see were the station and freight-sheds, several
stores with high, wide signs, glaringly painted, and a long block of
saloons. When I had turned a street corner, however, a number of stores
came into view with some three-storied brick buildings, and, farther out,
many frame houses.
Moreover, this street led my eye to great snowcapped mountains, and I
stopped short in my tracks, for I realized they were the Arizona peaks. Up
the swelling slopes swept a black fringe that I knew to be timber. The
mountains appeared to be close, but I knew that even the foot-bills were
miles away. Penetier, I remembered from one of Dick's letters, was on the
extreme northern slope, and it must be anywhere from forty to sixty miles
off. The sharp, white peaks glistened in the morning sun; the air had a
cool touch of snow and a tang of pine. I drew in a full breath, with a
sense on being among the pines.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45