The sun was framed in a low notch of the horizon, as he approached a border-hostelry, on the gable of which “Cat’s Bluff Hotel” was painted in letters quite disproportioned in size to the city of Cat’s Bluff, which consisted of the house in question, neither more nor less.  In that house Peter Walker decided upon sojourning luxuriously for that night, at least, if he had to draw a check upon his holsters for it.

Having stabled his horse, then, and seen him supplied with such provender as the place afforded, he looked about the hotel, which he found to be an institution of very considerable pretensions.  It seemed to have a good deal of its own way, in fact, being the only house of entertainment for many miles upon a great south-western thoroughfare, from which branched off the trail to be taken by him tomorrow,—­a trail which led only to the trading-post or fort already mentioned.

The deportment of the landlord was gracious, as he went about whistling “Wait for the wagon,” and jingling with gold chains and heavy jewelry.  Still more exhilarating was the prosperous confidence of the bar-keeper, who took in, while Walker was determining a drink, not less than a dozen quarter-dollars, from blue-shirted, bearded, thirsty men with rifles, who came along in a large covered wagon of western tendency, in which they immediately departed with haste, late as it was, as if bound to drive into the sun before he went down behind the far-off edge.  Walker used to say, jocularly, that he supposed this must have been the wagon for which the landlord whistled, and which came to his call.

Everything denoted that there was abundance of money in that favored place.  Even small boys who came in and called for cigars and drinks made a reckless display of coin as they paid for them, and then drove off in their wagons,—­for they all had wagons, and were all intent upon driving rapidly in then toward the west.

But, as night fell, travel went down with the declining day; and Walker felt himself alone in the world,—­a man without a dollar.  Nevertheless, he called for good cheer, which was placed before him on a liberal scale:  for landlords thereabouts were accustomed to provide for appetites acquired on the plains, and their supply was obliged to be both large and ready for the chance comers who were always dropping in, and upon whom their custom depended.  So he ate and drank; and having appeased hunger and thirst, he went into the bar, and opened conversation with the landlord by offering him one of his own cigars, a bunch of which he got from the bar-keeper, whom he particularly requested not to forget to include them in his bill, when the time for his departure brought with it the disagreeable necessity of being served with that document.

Western landlords, in general, are not remarkable for the reserve with which they treat their guests.  This particular landlord was less so than most others.  He was especially inquisitive with regard to Walker’s exquisite pantaloons, the like of which had never been seen in that part of the country before.  His happiness was evidently incomplete in the privation of a similar pair.