Through a broken gate at
the side there was a glimpse of a grass-grown and deserted court-
yard piled with the disused packing-cases and barrels of the
tienda, or general country shop, which huddled under the same roof
at the other end of the building. The opened door of the fonda
showed a low-studded room fitted up with a rude imitation of an
American bar on one side, and containing a few small tables, at
which half a dozen men were smoking, drinking, and playing cards.
The faded pictorial poster of the last bull-fight at Monterey, and
an American "Sheriff's notice" were hung on the wall and in the
door-way. A thick yellow atmosphere of cigarette smoke, through
which the inmates appeared like brown shadows, pervaded the room.
The young man hesitated before this pestilential interior, and took
a seat on a bench on the veranda. After a moment's interval, the
yellow landlord came to the door with a look of inquiry, which
Guest answered by a demand for lodging and supper. When the
landlord had vanished again in the cigarette fog, the several other
guests, one after the other, appeared at the doorway, with their
cigarettes in their mouths and their cards still in their hands,
and gazed upon him.
There may have been some excuse for their curiosity. As before
hinted, Guest's appearance in his overalls and woolen shirt was
somewhat incongruous, and, for some inexplicable reason, the same
face and figure which did not look inconsistent in rags and extreme
poverty now at once suggested a higher social rank both of
intellect and refinement than his workman's dress indicated.
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