the word Tienda was rudely painted on a board, and as rudely illustrated
by the wares displayed at door and window. Accustomed as she was to the
poverty of frontier architecture, even the crumbling walls of the old
hacienda she had just left seemed picturesque to the rigid angles of the
thin, blank, unpainted shell before her. One of the loungers, who was
reading a newspaper aloud as she advanced, put it aside and stared at
her; there was an evident commotion in the shop as she stepped upon the
platform, and when she entered, with breathless lips and beating heart,
she found herself the object of a dozen curious eyes. Her quick pride
resented the scrutiny and recalled her courage, and it was with a slight
coldness in her usual lazy indifference that she leaned over the counter
and asked for the articles she wanted.

The request was followed by a dead silence. Mrs. Tucker repeated it with
some hauteur.

"I reckon you don't seem to know this store is in the hands of the
sheriff," said one of the loungers.

Mrs. Tucker was not aware of it.

"Well, I don't know any one who's a better right to know than Spence
Tucker's wife," said another with a coarse laugh. The laugh was echoed
by the others. Mrs. Tucker saw the pit into which she had deliberately
walked, but did not flinch.

"Is there any one to serve here?" she asked, turning her clear eyes full
upon the bystanders.

"You'd better ask the sheriff. He was the last one to SARVE here.