III-IV

The fitful wind had, apparently, driven the
warmth, the sun, from the earth. The
mountains rose starkly to the slaty sky.

Gordon Makimmon lighted a lamp in the dining
room of his dwelling. The table still bore a red,
fringed cloth, but was bare of all else save the
castor, most of the rings of which were empty. The
room had a forlorn appearance, there was dust
everywhere; Gordon had pitched the headstall into
a corner, where it lay upon a miscellaneous, untidy
pile.

"I reckon you want something to eat," he observed
to General Jackson. He proceeded, followed
by the dog, to the kitchen. It revealed an
appalling disorder: the stove was spotted with
grease, grey with settled ashes; a pile of ashes and
broken china rose beyond; on the other side coal and
wood had been carelessly stored. A table was laden
with unwashed dishes, unsavory pots, crusted pans.

Gordon stood in the middle of the floor, a lamp
in his hand, surveying the repellent confusion. It
had accumulated without attracting his notice; but

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p290 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p291w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p292

v?