"I beg your pardon. Can you tell me the name of the best hotel?" she asked.
The man who had seized the trunk stopped rolling it toward the doorway and turned quickly to look at the woman who stood there in the pallid glow from the one oil lamp. He saw a blue straw toque fitting tightly over a compact mass of black hair; he saw blue eyes, earnest and troubled; red lips, with the fullness of youth; flushed cheeks, a trim, small body clothed in a close fitting, dark suit.
"Yes, ma'am; it's th' Manzanita House. It's th' two-story buildin' up th' street. Is this your trunk?"
"Yes. May I leave it here until morning?"
The man nodded. "Sure," he answered.
"Thank you. Is there a carriage here?"
He set the trunk on end, wiped his palms on his hips and smiled slightly.
"No, ma'am. Yavapai ain't quite up to hacks an' things yet. We're young. You can walk it in two minutes."
Ann hesitated.
"It's ... all right, is it?"