Then came a lull, and a mysterious voice from the road shouted the parting adjuration: "Try Miggles's." We caught a glimpse of our leaders as the vehicle slowly turned, of a horseman vanishing through the rain, and we were evidently on our way to Miggles's.
Who and where was Miggles?
The Judge, our authority, did not remember the name, and he knew the country thoroughly.

The Washoe traveler thought Miggles must keep a hotel.

We only knew that we were stopped by high water in front and rear, and that Miggles was our rock of refuge.
A ten minutes splashing through a tangled by-road, scarcely wide enough for the stage, and we drew up before a barred and boarded gate in a wide stone wall or fence about eight feet high.

Evidently Miggles's, and evidently Miggles did not keep a hotel.
The driver got down and tried the gate.

It was securely locked.