trying to find a lamp or candle. Evidently the hotel, and, for that matter,
the town of Holston, did not concern itself with such trifles as lights. On
the instant I got a bad impression of Holston. I had to undress in the
dark. When I pulled the window open a little at the top the upper sash slid
all the way down. I managed to get it back, and tried raising the lower
sash. It was very loose, but it stayed up. Then I crawled into bed.

Though I was tired and sleepy, my mind whirled so that I could not get to
sleep. If I had been honest with myself I should have wished myself back
home. Pennsylvania seemed a long way off, and the adventures that I had
dreamed of did not seem so alluring, now that I was in a lonely room in a
lonely, dark town. Buell had seemed friendly and kind--at least, in the
beginning. Why had he not answered my call? The incident did not look well
to me. Then I fell to wondering if the Mexican had really followed me. The
first thing for me in the morning would be to buy a revolver. Then if any
Mexicans--

A step on the tin roof outside frightened me stiff. I had noticed a porch,
or shed, under my window. Some one must have climbed upon it. I stopped
breathing to listen. For what seemed moments there was no sound. I wanted
to think that the noise might have been made by a cat, but I couldn't. I
was scared--frightened half to death.

If there had been a bolt on the window the matter would not have been so
disturbing. I lay there a-quiver, eyes upon the gray window space of my
room. Dead silence once more intervened. All I heard was the pound of my
heart against my ribs.

Suddenly I froze at the sight of a black figure against the light of my
window. I recognized the strange bat, the grotesque outlines. I was about