Three or four of the dwellings "out Main Street" had conspicuous lawns that had felt the blades of a lawn mower, but most of the yards were merely grass, with flower beds filled with the more hardy kinds of flowers, such as would grow tall and show over the top of the surrounding grass.

The plank walks, which on Main and Cross Streets were made of boards laid crossways, tapered down into narrow walks with the boards--two of them--laid lengthways very soon after the stores were passed, and a little farther out became dirt paths along the fences, and beyond that pedestrians were supposed to walk on the road.

But most of the houses were painted, either freshly, or at least not anciently.
The corner of Main and Cross Streets, the business center of Kilo, was like the business centers of other small country towns.

A long hitching rail extended at the side of the street before the buildings on each corner, and the dirt beneath was worn away by the scraping of the feet of the many horses that had been tied to the rails.

Just below the corner, on Cross Street, were other holes worn by tossing horseshoes at pegs, which, if America was composed of small towns only, would be our national game.
It was a good little town, and Eliph' Hewlitt was pleased.
On one of the corners of Main Street stood the Kilo Hotel, and before it Eliph' checked the slow gait of Irontail.
Jim Wilkins, the landlord, tipped his chair forward, and got out of it with a grunt of laziness.
"Hotel running ?" asked Eliph' Hewlitt briskly.
"You might call it runnin' if you wasn't dictionary--particular what you called it," said the landlord.