I made out little of what he said, nor did I question him.
Drunk as the man was, I still thought it best to wait until more thoroughly assured that we were alone.

Besides I could take no chance now with his garrulous tongue.

The trail ended before a two-room log cabin, so deeply hidden in the woods as to be revealed merely by a glimmer of light shining out from within through chinks in the walls.
Tim fumbled for the latch and finally opened the door, lurching across the threshold, dragging me along after him.

The room was evidently kitchen and bar combined, the latter an unplaned board, resting on two upturned kegs, with a shelf behind containing an array of bottles.
There were two men at a sloppy table, a disreputable looking white woman stirring the contents of a pot hung over the open fire, and a fellow behind the bar, attired in a dingy white apron.

It was all sordid enough, and dirty--a typical frontier grogshop; but the thing of most interest to me was the proprietor.