Without waiting for any further discussion of himself, his country, or his projects, Layton walked towards the hotel. From the two upper tiers of windows certain portions of military attire, hung out to air or to dry, undeniably announced a soldierly occupation; cross-belts, overalls, and great-coats hung gracefully suspended on all sides. Lower down, there was little evidence of habitation; most of the windows were closely shuttered, and through such as were open Layton saw large and lofty rooms, totally destitute of furniture and in part unfinished. The hall-door opened upon a spacious apartment, at one side of which a bar had been projected, but the plan had gone no further than a long counter and some shelves, on which now a few bottles stood in company with three or four brass candlesticks, a plaster bust, wanting a nose, and some cooking-utensils. On the counter itself was stretched at full length, and fast asleep, a short, somewhat robust man, in shirt and trousers, his deep snoring awaking a sort of moaning echo in the vaulted room. Not exactly choosing to disturb his slumbers, if avoidable, Layton pushed his explorations a little further; but though he found a number of rooms, all open, they were alike empty and unfinished, nor was there a creature to be met with throughout. There was, then, nothing for it but to awaken the sleeper, which he proceeded to, at first by gentle, but, as these failed, by more vigorous means.
“Don't! I say,” growled out the man, without opening his eyes, but seeming bent on continuing his sleep; “I 'll not have it; let me be,—that's all.”
“Are you the landlord of this hotel?” said Layton, with a stout shake by the shoulder.
“Well, then, here's for it, if you will!” cried the other, springing up, and throwing himself in an instant into a boxing attitude, while his eyes glared with a vivid wildness, and his whole face denoted passion.
“I came here for food and lodging, and not for a boxing-match, my friend,” said Layton, mildly.
“And who said I was your friend?” said the other, fiercely: “who told you that we was raised in the same diggins? and what do you mean, sir, by disturbin' a gentleman in his bed?”
“You'll scarcely call that bench a bed, I think?” said Layton, in an accent meant to deprecate all warmth.
“And why not, sir? If you choose to dress yourself like a checker-board, I 'm not going to dispute whether you have a coat on. It's my bed, and I like it. And now what next?”
“I 'm very sorry to have disturbed you; and if you can only tell me if there be any other hotel in this place—”
“There ain't; and there never will be, that's more. Elsmore's is shut up; Chute Melchin 's a-blown his brains out; and so would you if you 'd have come here. Don't laugh, or by the everlastin' rattlesnake, I 'll bowie you!”