He left the track at last, and turned up a slope toward an ugly frame house, backed into a cliff, which had the words "Mountainside Hotel" in large letters across its front. From its porch, a view of the straggling, muddy town could be had.
The loud supper-bell rang as they entered, and they went at once to the dining-room. Two drummers were the only other guests; the landlady and her daughters waited on the table, and the meal was a silent one.
When she was shown to her room afterward, however, Isabel ventured to make inquiries about the "war," and the landlady became loquacious upon the subject, and even offered to take her to see the blood-spots where several of the feudists had perished—an offer instantly accepted.
Skirting numerous deep mud-holes, and many reposing hogs and cows, they came at last to the courthouse, stronghold of the law, which proved to be the scene of the blood-spots. There they were, on step and walls, black and grisly.
"Hit's a sight in this world, the terrible things that goes on, and the men that's kilt and wounded," said the landlady. "If my man was alive, or my gals was boys, I wouldn't never see ary grain of peace."
Just across the street from the courthouse, she pointed out the large store belonging to one of the feud leaders, from the upper windows of which the shots had been fired that caused some of the spots. "Laywayings," "ambushings," battles, murder, and sudden death, seemed to be the order of the day; and apparently neither the state militia nor any other power could quell the trouble.
On their return to the hotel, Isabel found in her room, which was also the parlor, the three daughters of the house and the two drummers. One of the girls was producing loud discords on an organ with a front of scrollwork over red flannel, which adorned one corner; and as she had preëmpted the only chair in the room, the others sat on the two beds.
After a long hour of this, Isabel was left in possession, and proceeded to make herself ready for the night. The bed-covers were very dingy, and, turning them back, she found that there was but one sheet on each bed, and it was far from fresh; so were the pillow-cases. She was dismayed for only a moment, however: opening the newspapers her father had provided her with, she covered the top of one bed, and then lay down on it, with her blue silk kimono and her raincoat for covers.
At earliest dawn she was awakened by Uncle Adam's loud rap, and the summons, "Get up along, sis; we got to take a soon start!"
After they had pulled through the deep mud-holes in the town, they turned into a creek-bed, and plunged at once into a world of green loneliness and wild beauty. All day long they either "followed creeks," or wound around the sides of steep mountains, with sheer drop-offs below the narrow trail. Uncle Adam was no talker, but he was a skilled driver. Often it seemed that they must go over the edge, or that the mules could not climb the steps of rock up which they had to pull the heavy wagon; but always the danger was safely passed. Isabel wished, however, that she had four hands instead of two, to hold on with.