It was the same as if Jean had not spoken.

Waiting, half amused, half irritated, Jean shot a rapid glance around the store.

The place had felt bare; and Jean, peering back through gloomy space, saw that it did not contain much.

Dry goods and sacks littered a long rude counter; long rough shelves divided their length into stacks of canned foods and empty sections; a low shelf back of the counter held a generous burden of cartridge boxes, and next to it stood a rack of rifles.

On the counter lay open cases of plug tobacco, the odor of which was second in strength only to that of rum.
Jean's swift-roving eye reverted to the men, three of whom were absorbed in the greasy checkerboard.