Men were passing to and fro on the platform, some of whom appeared to be very dark of skin and eye, and were probably Mexicans.  At length an expressman approached Carley, soliciting patronage.  He took her bags and, depositing them in a wagon, he pointed up the wide street:  “One block up an’ turn.  Hotel Wetherford.”  Then he drove off.  Carley followed, carrying her small satchel.  A cold wind, driving the dust, stung her face as she crossed the street to a high sidewalk that extended along the block.  There were lights in the stores and on the corners, yet she seemed impressed by a dark, cold, windy bigness.  Many people, mostly men, were passing up and down, and there were motor cars everywhere.  No one paid any attention to her.  Gaining the corner of the block, she turned, and was relieved to see the hotel sign.  As she entered the lobby a clicking of pool balls and the discordant rasp of a phonograph assailed her ears.  The expressman set down her bags and left Carley standing there.  The clerk or proprietor was talking from behind his desk to several men, and there were loungers in the lobby.  The air was thick with tobacco smoke.  No one paid any attention to Carley until at length she stepped up to the desk and interrupted the conversation there.

“Is this a hotel?” she queried, brusquely.

The shirt-sleeved individual leisurely turned and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”

And Carley said:  “No one would recognize it by the courtesy shown.  I have been standing here waiting to register.”

With the same leisurely case and a cool, laconic stare the clerk turned the book toward her.  “Reckon people round here ask for what they want.”

Carley made no further comment.  She assuredly recognized that what she had been accustomed to could not be expected out here.  What she most wished to do at the moment was to get close to the big open grate where a cheery red-and-gold fire cracked.  It was necessary, however, to follow the clerk.  He assigned her to a small drab room which contained a bed, a bureau, and a stationary washstand with one spigot.  There was also a chair.  While Carley removed her coat and hat the clerk went downstairs for the rest of her luggage.  Upon his return Carley learned that a stage left the hotel for Oak Creek Canyon at nine o’clock next morning.  And this cheered her so much that she faced the strange sense of loneliness and discomfort with something of fortitude.  There was no heat in the room, and no hot water.  When Carley squeezed the spigot handle there burst forth a torrent of water that spouted up out of the washbasin to deluge her.  It was colder than any ice water she had ever felt.  It was piercingly cold.  Hard upon the surprise and shock Carley suffered a flash of temper.  But then the humor of it struck her and she had to laugh.

“Serves you right—­you spoiled doll of luxury!” she mocked.  “This is out West.  Shiver and wait on yourself!”