"You have hit on a bad night," he said, as he conducted them into the house; "but I will give you rooms up stairs—you will be quiet enough there."
"Show us to them at once," said Hinchley; "I am fairly sick with this disgusting scene."
"I used to feel so," returned Yates; "but a man gets accustomed to any thing in these regions."
He led them through the hall and up the stairs, the servant carrying the saddle-bags and packages. They were shown into a comfortable room, which, in comparison with the scene they had left, appeared like a palace.
"You will do very well here," said Yates. "That next room is for your man. I'll have some supper sent up to you. I don't keep a tavern, nay how, but those rascals below would tear my house down about my ears if I refused them admittance. It's nothing when you are acquainted with California life."
"I'm blessed if I don't hope my acquaintance'll be a short one," muttered Martin.
Yates laughed as he left the room, and Hinchley threw himself into a chair, wearied with many days' privation and hard riding.
"I guess we're safe enough here," said Martin.
"Oh, yes; I apprehend no danger at all."
While they waited for their supper, and listened to the horrible din below, Yates went on to the room where Sybil was seated.