Attracted by the sound of voices, he turned the corner of the building where the principal entrance seemed to be, and found himself in the presence of a dozen or more men who were congregated on the porch, some lounging on benches, and others sitting with their chairs tipped back against the side of the house and their feet elevated on the rounds. They were all taking loudly, and the appearance and actions of some of them indicated that they had had something besides water to drink. They raised their eyes as the boy appeared among them, and after giving him a good looking over, went on with their conversation.
The landlord was among them, and he made himself known to Guy by pointing with his thumb over his shoulder toward the open door—an invitation for him to enter and make himself at home. At any rate Guy took it as such and acted upon it. In the bar-room he found another rough-looking individual, who relieved him of his rifle and pack and asked what he could do for him.
“I want a room and something to eat,” said Guy.
“I don’t know how it’ll be about a room,” replied the man. “We’re pretty full—we always are—but I can give you a shake-down somewhere. Grub is plenty, and you look as though you needed a good tuck-out.”
“So I do,” said Guy. “I am almost starved to death. I haven’t eaten anything but salt horse and hard-tack for the last seven months.”
The man showed some curiosity to know where Guy had been that he was obliged to live on such fare, and the latter told him as much of his history as he cared to have him know. He did not tell him, however, where he was going and what he intended to do, for fear the man might laugh at him. He had a suspicion that the gunsmith laughed at him when he was buying his outfit. Indeed, everybody who knew that he wanted to be a hunter thought the notion a wild one—they looked it if they did not say it—and Guy could not bear to have his grand idea made sport of.
Guy passed a comfortable night at the hotel in spite of its unpromising exterior, enjoyed a good sleep, which was something he really needed, ate a hearty breakfast the next morning, and felt more like himself than he had felt for many a long day. Having settled his bill he stood for a moment on the porch with his rifle in his hand and his pack over his shoulder, looking down the long, straight road before him and wondering how many steps it would take to bring him to his hunting-grounds, when he was accosted by one of the guests of the house who sat on a heavily loaded wagon with his whip and reins in his hand.
“I say, stranger, if you’re travelin’ my way, you might as well get up an’ ride,” said he.
“Are you going to the mountains?” asked Guy.
“Wal, I’m goin’ down to the San Joaquin.”