Standing before the little mirror, she wondered dimly at those dark
circles beneath her eyes, the unusually sharp lines visible at the
corners of her mouth. She felt hot, feverish, and in hope of thus
relieving the painful throbbing of her temples she buried her face in
the bowl of cool water. Rapidly, almost carelessly, she gathered up
her dishevelled locks, fastening them in some simple, yet secure
fashion back out of the way. From the open trunk standing against the
wall, she caught up a plain, soft hat, one she had used in character
upon the stage, and drew it down firmly over the mass of soft hair,
never noting how coquettishly the wide brim swept up in front, or what
witchery of archness it gave to her dark eyes. She took a quick step
toward the door, and then, her hand already on the latch, she paused in
uncertainty; finally, she drew a small, pearl-handled revolver from the
bottom tray, and placed it carefully in a pocket of her jacket.
"I--I hardly believe I could ever use it," she thought, "but maybe I
might."
Outside, in the narrow, deserted hall, she stood at the head of the
steep flight of stairs and listened. The snoring of the drunken man in
the office below was the only disturbing sound. Out through the open
office door a dull bar of yellow light streamed across the lower steps.
Like a ghost she stole silently down, treading so softly not a stair
creaked beneath her cautious footfalls. The next moment she had opened
the door, and was alone in the dark street.
Dark it was, but neither deserted nor silent. The unleashed evil of
San Juan was now in full control, more madly riotous than ever beneath
the cloak of so late an hour. Nothing short of complete return of
daylight would bring semblance of peace to that carnival of saloons,
gambling dens, and dance halls. Through the shadows stalked unrebuked,
uncontrolled, the votaries of dissipation and recklessness, of "easy
money" and brutal lust. Yellow rays of light streamed from out dirty,
uncurtained windows, leaving the narrow street weirdly illuminated,
with here and there patches of dense shadows. Shifting figures, often
unsteady of step, appeared and disappeared like disembodied spirits,
distorted from all human semblance by that uncertain radiance; on every
side the discordant sounds of violins and pianos commingled in one
hideous din, punctuated by drunken shouts and every species of noise of
which civilized savagery is capable.
Yet this was not what she feared, this saturnalia of unbridled passion,
for the way was comparatively well lighted, and in traversing it she
was reasonably certain to be within call of some one sober enough to
protect her from insult or injury. Even in drink these men remained
courteous to women of the right sort. No, she had travelled that path
alone at night before, again and again, returning from her work. She
shrank, womanlike, from the sights and sounds, but was conscious of no
personal fear. What she dreaded beyond expression was that long, black
stretch of narrow, desolate alley-way leading down toward the creek
bridge and the old fort beyond. She had been over that path once in
broad daylight, and it made her shudder to think she must now feel her
way there alone through the dark. The growing fear of it got upon her
nerves as she stood hesitating; then, almost angry with herself, she
advanced swiftly down toward the distant glowing lights of the Gayety.
It was just beyond there that the alley turned off toward the
foothills, a mere thread of a path wandering amid a maze of unlighted
tents and disreputable shacks; she remembered this, and the single
rotten strip of plank which answered for a sidewalk.