CHAPTER IX: A NIGHT AND A MORNING.
Stella Donovan never forgot the miseries of her first night in Haskell.
When old man Timmons finally left her, after placing the flaring lamp on a chair, and went pattering back down the bare hall, she glanced shudderingly about at her unpleasant surroundings, none too pleased with the turn of events.
The room was scarcely large enough to contain the few articles of furniture absolutely required.

Its walls were of unplaned plank occasionally failing to meet, and the only covering to the floor was a dingy strip of rag-carpet.

The bed was a cot, shapeless, and propped up on one side by the iron leg of some veranda bench, while the open window looked out into the street.

There was a bolt, not appearing particularly secure, with which Miss Donovan immediately locked the door before venturing across to take a glance without.
The view was hardly reassuring, as the single street was still the scene of pandemonium, the saloon and dance-hall almost directly opposite, operating in full blast.

Oaths and ribald laughter assailed her ears, while directly beneath, although out of her view, a quarrel threatened to lead to serious consequences.