Moodily he rode up the trail. It rained harder than ever. The pony slipped, slid, and scrambled. Stephen sat in the saddle, stiff as an image. His face was drawn with lines that were not pleasant to look upon. The corners of his mouth were drawn hard down, telling of tightly clenched teeth.
When he reached the saloon he dismounted, hastily tied his horse to a bush, and went in. In one corner of the shack a stove was burning warmly. The pine boards of the flooring were smooth and white.
The bar, which was made of packing boxes covered with oiled cloth, ran the whole length of the room on the right-hand side from the door. At the left-hand side were a couple of small green baize-covered tables. By these were seated several Mexicans, all more or less drunk. They were singing noisily. Along the wall behind the bar ran a shelf which supported a large array of bottles. Behind these, in imitation of the cheap gaudiness of a city saloon, was a long, cracked mirror. Two Colt revolvers lying grimly on the shelf gave a delicate hint to guests to behave themselves, and to pay their bills.
The Mexicans looked in a stupid, vacant way at Loring, then went on with their singing. The barkeeper was leaning against the wall, biting the end from a cigar, and at the same time whistling. This accomplishment was made possible by the fact that two front teeth were missing. It was rumored that in addition to smoking and whistling, he could curse and expectorate, all at the same time.
The possessor of these remarkable accomplishments greeted Stephen in a friendly fashion. They had often before met in the camp, when Hankins came down from the saloon for supplies.
“Well, now, Mr. Loring, I’m glad to see you. Mean weather out, ain’t it? First time you’ve been up to our diggings, I guess,” he said, while he gripped Stephen’s hand with a crushing grasp.
“Yes, this is the first time I have had a chance to drop in,” rejoined Loring.
Some one rode up to the door, and with heavy tread, and jangling of spurs, came stamping into the saloon.
“How are you stacking up, Jackie?” asked Hankins of the newcomer. “Say, Mr. Loring, I want you to know my partner; Mr. Jackson, shake hands with Mr. Loring.” The introduction accomplished, he stepped back behind the bar.