would
accommodate us. They're inside." She rose, and moved toward the door,
waving him to follow. Her slow, clumsy body and chinless, full-lidded head
reminded him of a turtle; she gave a still deeper amphibious
impression--there was something markedly cold-blooded, inhuman, deleted,
in her incongruous, gaudy bulk--an impression of a low, primitive
organism, the subtle smell of primal mud.

"Jake!" she called at the entrance to the crude hotel office; "Jake! Mr.
Ottinger! here's a gentleman wants a little game."

Two men hastily rose and advanced toward the door. The first, Jake, was
small, with the narrow, high shoulders, the long, pale face, the long,
pale hands, of a cripple. The other, a young man with a sodden countenance
discolored by old purplish bruises, wore a misfitting suit that drew
across heavy, bowed shoulders, thick, powerful arms. He regarded Gordon
Makimmon with no light dawning upon his lowering face; no greeting
disturbed the dark, hard line of his mouth. But the other, with an
apparently hearty, stereotyped flow of words, applauded Gordon's design,
approved his qualities of sportsmanship, courage.

"Give me the man from the woods for an open-handed sport," he vociferated;
"he ain't a fool neither, he's wise to the time of night. The city crowd,
the wise ones, are the real ringside marks."

"Come up to my room," the woman directed from the foot of a stairway;
"where no amateur John Condons will tell us how to play our cards. I got
some good liquor, too."

In her room she lit a small lamp, which proved insufficient, and Mr.
Ottinger brought a second from his quarters. Gordon found himself in a
long, narrow chamber furnished with two wooden beds, two identical,
insecure bureaus, stands with wash basins and pitchers, and a table. The
floor, the walls, the ceiling, were resinous yellow pine, and gave out a
hot, dry smell from which there was no escape but the door, for the room
was without other outlet.

A preliminary drink was indispensable; and, served in two glasses and a
cracked toothbrush mug--Mr. Ottinger elected to imbibe his "straight" from
the bottle--it was drunk with mutual assurances of tender regard. "Happy
days," the woman pronounced. Only three chairs were available, and after
some shuffling, appropriate references to "honest and plain" country
accommodations, the table was ranged by a bed on which Em--"Call me Em,"
she had invited Gordon, "let's be real homelike,"--seated herself.