Page:Randall Parrish - The Red Mist.djvu/244

 228 The stairs were somewhere to the right, unprotected by even a handrail. I crept toward them across the rough board floor, fearing a fall, and finally located the opening. Nothing indicated that the room below was occupied, and I slipped down as silently as possible, although the steps creaked under my weight. Once in the sheriff's room, some recollection of its form and furnishing recurred to mind; my memory, served by the dim reflection of a camp-fire without, which rendered objects faintly visible. I could distinguish the desk, and a few rounded-back wooden chairs pushed against the wall. There was a door to the left, standing ajar, leading into a wash-room, and I ventured within, feeling about to assure myself if there had been any water left. I found a bucket nearly full, and two bars of soap, and unable to resist the luxury, I stripped off my ragged uniform coat, and began vigorous scrubbing. How thorough a job I made of it I cannot tell, but the soap lathered freely, and I certainly did my best, using up an entire roller towel in the final effort to attain cleanliness.

There was a coat and hat hanging on the hooks, neither article of the highest respectability I judged from feeling them, but more to my purpose than the rags I had cast aside, and I donned the two gladly, finding them no bad fit. The hat was looped up with a star. Feeling quite myself again in these new