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Page 8
Not only once, but several times before the train slowed down for her
destination did Carley wish she had sent Glenn word to meet her. And when,
presently, she found herself standing out in the dark, cold, windy night
before a dim-lit railroad station she more than regretted her decision to
surprise Glenn. But that was too late and she must make the best of her
poor judgment.
Men were passing to and fro on the platform, some of whom appeared to be
very dark of skin and eye, and were probably Mexicans. At length an
expressman approached Carley, soliciting patronage. He took her bags and,
depositing them in a wagon, he pointed up the wide street: "One block up
an' turn. Hotel Wetherford." Then he drove off. Carley followed, carrying
her small satchel. A cold wind, driving the dust, stung her face as she
crossed the street to a high sidewalk that extended along the block. There
were lights in the stores and on the corners, yet she seemed impressed by a
dark, cold, windy bigness. Many people, mostly men, were passing up and
down, and there were motor cars everywhere. No one paid any attention to
her. Gaining the corner of the block, she turned, and was relieved to see
the hotel sign. As she entered the lobby a clicking of pool balls and the
discordant rasp of a phonograph assailed her ears. The expressman set down
her bags and left Carley standing there. The clerk or proprietor was
talking from behind his desk to several men, and there were loungers in the
lobby. The air was thick with tobacco smoke. No one paid any attention to
Carley until at length she stepped up to the desk and interrupted the
conversation there.
"Is this a hotel?" she queried, brusquely.
The shirt-sleeved individual leisurely turned and replied, "Yes, ma'am."
And Carley said: "No one would recognize it by the courtesy shown. I have
been standing here waiting to register."
With the same leisurely case and a cool, laconic stare the clerk turned the
book toward her. "Reckon people round here ask for what they want."
Carley made no further comment. She assuredly recognized that what she had
been accustomed to could not be expected out here. What she most wished to
do at the moment was to get close to the big open grate where a cheery red-
and-gold fire cracked. It was necessary, however, to follow the clerk. He
assigned her to a small drab room which contained a bed, a bureau, and a
stationary washstand with one spigot. There was also a chair. While Carley
removed her coat and hat the clerk went downstairs for the rest of her
luggage. Upon his return Carley learned that a stage left the hotel for Oak
Creek Canyon at nine o'clock next morning. And this cheered her so much
that she faced the strange sense of loneliness and discomfort with
something of fortitude. There was no heat in the room, and no hot water.
When Carley squeezed the spigot handle there burst forth a torrent of water
that spouted up out of the washbasin to deluge her. It was colder than any
ice water she had ever felt. It was piercingly cold. Hard upon the surprise
and shock Carley suffered a flash of temper. But then the humor of it
struck her and she had to laugh.
"Serves you right--you spoiled doll of luxury!" she mocked. "This is out
West. Shiver and wait on yourself!"
Never before had she undressed so swiftly nor felt grateful for thick
woollen blankets on a hard bed. Gradually she grew warm. The blackness,
too, seemed rather comforting.
"I'm only twenty miles from Glenn," she whispered. "How strange! I wonder
will he be glad." She felt a sweet, glowing assurance of that. Sleep did
not come readily. Excitement had laid hold of her nerves, and for a long
time she lay awake. After a while the chug of motor cars, the click of pool
balls, the murmur of low voices all ceased. Then she heard a sound of wind
outside, an intermittent, low moaning, new to her ears, and somehow
pleasant. Another sound greeted her--the musical clanging of a clock that
struck the quarters of the hour. Some time late sleep claimed her.
Upon awakening she found she had overslept, necessitating haste upon her
part. As to that, the temperature of the room did not admit of leisurely
dressing. She had no adequate name for the feeling of the water. And her
fingers grew so numb that she made what she considered a disgraceful matter
of her attire.
Downstairs in the lobby another cheerful red fire burned in the grate. How
perfectly satisfying was an open fireplace! She thrust her numb hands
almost into the blaze, and simply shook with the tingling pain that slowly
warmed out of them. The lobby was deserted. A sign directed her to a dining
room in the basement, where of the ham and eggs and strong coffee she
managed to partake a little. Then she went upstairs into the lobby and out
into the street.
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