“Well, let’s go into the Wild Rose and get you settled,” Hurley said with that cordiality that did much, after all, to disarm Betty’s criticism. “I told ‘Cholo’ Sam and Maria to clean up some rooms for you and try and make things halfway decent. But I don’t know. This isn’t like the hotel at Crescent City.” The statement was not conducive to Betty’s peace of mind. The sordidness and squalor of Canyon Pass was being from moment to moment etched more deeply on her brain. They mounted the steps of unplaned boards and crossed the porch that shook even under Betty’s light tread. Unpainted walls, uncarpeted stairs, and not altogether clean floors met her gaze as they entered the hostelry. If Hunt was appalled by the rudeness of their surroundings he very successfully hid his real feelings. He had spent vacations in the hunting and fishing camps of Maine and Quebec. The lack of even the ordinary conveniences of civilized life could not in any case trouble him as it did his gently nurtured sister. He did, however, on this first evening arrange to have their supper served in Betty’s room, rather than forcing her to eat in the general dining-room of the hotel. But he explained that they could not thus segregate themselves in the future. “It wouldn’t do, Betty. I must mix with these people—show myself willing to be one of them in ordinary ways. Respect for the cloth cannot be won among these open-hearted folk by finnicky manners. I must be one of them. I must show them that I am a man as well as a preacher.” She could not agree; but at least she was wise enough not to oppose—at this time—his evident acceptance of Joe Hurley’s advice. She saw in the latter more clearly than ever a dangerous ally for her brother. Hunt’s abundant cheerfulness—even over the coarse supper-fare and the absence of napkins—closed his sister’s lips even more firmly. The two had come to Canyon Pass with diametrically opposed mental attitudes. Hunt was prepared to accept things as they should find them, but nothing in Canyon Pass, or about it or its inhabitants, could please Betty. As darkness fell the town grew noisier, for it was a Saturday night. Betty, looking from her window, saw only flaring oil lamps and gasoline torches illuminating the street. The men who passed up and down were much rougher in appearance and of tongue than those she had watched under similar circumstances in Crescent City. There were almost no women in sight. Men spoke harshly, or shouted ribaldries to one another. Indeed, the girl from the East scarcely understood the language they used. Miserably she crept to bed. She had locked her door after her brother left her, and she even dragged the pine washstand against it as a barricade.