I knew the words half-hitch had something to do with a lasso, and I was
rather taken back by the hotel proprietor's remark. The dining-room was
more attractive than anything I had yet seen about the place: the linen was
clean, and the ham and eggs and coffee that were being served to several
rugged men gave forth a savory odor. But either the waiter was blind or he
could not bear, for he paid not the slightest attention to me. I waited,
while trying to figure out the situation. Something was wrong, and,
whatever it was, I guessed that it must be with me. After about an
hour I got my breakfast. 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