that above the Palisades. Not until reaching Winslow did she realize how
near she was to her journey's end and that she would arrive at Flagstaff
after dark. She grew conscious of nervousness. Suppose Flagstaff were like
these other queer little towns!

Not only once, but several times before the train slowed down for her
destination did Carley wish she had sent Glenn word to meet her. And when,
presently, she found herself standing out in the dark, cold, windy night
before a dim-lit railroad station she more than regretted her decision to
surprise Glenn. But that was too late and she must make the best of her
poor judgment.

Men were passing to and fro on the platform, some of whom appeared to be
very dark of skin and eye, and were probably Mexicans. At length an
expressman approached Carley, soliciting patronage. He took her bags and,
depositing them in a wagon, he pointed up the wide street: "One block up
an' turn. Hotel Wetherford." Then he drove off. Carley followed, carrying
her small satchel. A cold wind, driving the dust, stung her face as she
crossed the street to a high sidewalk that extended along the block. There
were lights in the stores and on the corners, yet she seemed impressed by a
dark, cold, windy bigness. Many people, mostly men, were passing up and
down, and there were motor cars everywhere. No one paid any attention to
her. Gaining the corner of the block, she turned, and was relieved to see
the hotel sign. As she entered the lobby a clicking of pool balls and the
discordant rasp of a phonograph assailed her ears. The expressman set down
her bags and left Carley standing there. The clerk or proprietor was
talking from behind his desk to several men, and there were loungers in the
lobby. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. No one paid any attention to
Carley until at length she stepped up to the desk and interrupted the
conversation there.