From there, I hurried to the main street of Linrock and to that section
where violence brooded, ready at any chance moment to lift its hydra
head. For that time of day the street seemed unusually quiet. Few
pedestrians were abroad and few loungers. There was a row of saddled
horses on each side of the street, the full extent of the block.
I went into the big barroom of the Hope So. I had never seen the place
so full, nor had it ever seemed so quiet. The whole long bar was lined
by shirt-sleeved men, with hats slouched back and vests flapping wide.
Those who were not drinking were talking low. Half a dozen tables held
as many groups of dusty, motley men, some silent, others speaking and
gesticulating, all earnest.
At first glance I did not see any one in whom I had especial interest.
The principal actors of my drama did not appear to be present. However,
there were rough characters more in evidence than at any other time I
had visited the saloon. Voices were too low for me to catch, but I
followed the direction of some of the significant gestures. Then I saw
that these half dozen tables were rather closely grouped and drawn back
from the center of the big room. Next my quick sight took in a smashed
table and chairs, some broken bottles on the floor, and then a dark
sinister splotch of blood.
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