All she found was a paper of burnt matches outside in the hotel corridor that had been set off so when she opened the door shed smell smoke. Of course she ran backand[See larger version]One had gone mad with loco-weed, and they gored each other's sides until the blood ran, while only a low, moaning bellow came from their dried throats. A cloud of fine dust, that threw back the sun in glitters, hung over them, and a flock of crows, circling above in the steel-blue sky, waited.