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. 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.