She was in a small room, almost dark,
where McTurpin had left her after locking the door on the outside. It
was like a cell, with one small window high and narrow which let in a
straggling transmitted light, dimming mercifully the crude outlines of a
wooden stool, a bedstead of rough lumber, covered by soiled blankets, a
box-like commode upon which stood a pitcher and basin of heavy crockery.
The walls were very thin. From beyond them, in what was evidently a
public chamber, came snatches of talk interspersed with oaths, a click
of poker chips and coin, now and then a song. An odor of rank tobacco
seeped through the muslin-covered walls. With a sudden feeling of
nausea, of complete despair, the girl threw herself face down upon
the bed.
For a time Inez lay there, oblivious to all save the misery of her
fate. If only her father had not gone with those northern engineers! If
only Benito were here to advise her! Benito, her beloved brother, in
whose path the gallows loomed. It was that picture which had caused her
to yield to McTurpin. Even darker, now, was the picture of her own
future. A gambler's wife! Her hand sought a jewelled dagger which she
always carried in her coiffure.
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