The Carson City lock-up was an improvised affair, although a decidedly
popular resort. It was originally a two-room cabin with gable to the
street, the front apartment at one time a low groggery, the keeper
sleeping in the rear room. Whether sudden death, or financial reverses,
had been the cause, the community had in some manner become possessed of
the property, and had at once dedicated it to the commonweal. For the
purpose thus selected it was rather well adapted, being strongly built,
easily guarded, and on the outskirts of the town. With iron grating over
the windows, the back door heavily spiked, and the front secured by iron
bars, any prisoner once locked within could probably be found when wanted.
On the occasion of Keith's arrival, the portion abutting upon the street
was occupied by a rather miscellaneous assembly--the drunk and disorderly
element conspicuous--who were awaiting their several calls to appear
before a local justice and make answer for various misdeeds. Some were
pacing the floor, others sat moodily on benches ranged against the wall,
while a few were still peacefully slumbering upon the floor. It was a
frowsy, disreputable crowd, evincing but mild curiosity at the arrival of
a new prisoner. Keith had barely time to glance about, recognizing no
familiarity of face amid the mass peering at him, as he was hustled
briskly forward and thrust into the rear room, the heavy door closing
behind him with the snap of a spring lock.

He was alone, with only the faintest murmur of voices coming to him
through the thick partition. It was a room some twelve feet square, open
to the roof, with bare walls, and containing no furniture except a rude
bench. Still dazed by the suddenness of his arrest, he sank down upon the
seat, leaned his head on his hands, and endeavored to think. It was
difficult to get the facts marshalled into any order or to comprehend
clearly the situation, yet little by little his brain grasped the main