Half shop, half farm, half
tavern, it gathered up to itself all the threads of the life of the
whole region. Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at
Hartsel's, drank at Hartsel's, slept at Hartsel's. It was the only place
of its kind within a radius of twenty miles; and it was the least bad
place of its kind within a much wider radius.
Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow -- when he was sober; but as
that condition was not so frequent as it should have been, he
sometimes came near being a very bad fellow indeed. At such
times everybody was afraid of him,-- wife, children, travellers,
ranchmen, and all. "It was only a question of time and occasion,"
they said, "Hartsel's killing somebody sooner or later;" and it
looked as if the time were drawing near fast. But, out of his cups,
Hartsel was kindly, and fairly truthful; entertaining, too, to a
degree which held many a wayfarer chained to his chair till small
hours of the morning, listening to his landlord's talk. How he had
drifted from Alsace to San Diego County, he could hardly have
told in minute detail himself, there had been so many stages and
phases of the strange journey; but he had come to his last halt now.
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