Bartley entered, glanced round the room, and then shook hands with Cheyenne. "Been a week trying to find you. How are you and how are the horses? Man, but it was a long, lonesome ride from San Andreas! If it hadn't been for that dog that adopted me--by the way, Colonel Stevenson was telling Senator Brown that Panhandle is in town. I suppose you know it."
"I seen him, this evenin'."
"So did I. Just passed him as I came down here. The Colonel said you were camping somewhere opposite the Hole-in-the-Wall. How is everything?"
"Quiet."
"Were you going anywhere?"
"No place in particular."
Bartley sat down on the edge of the bed and lighted a cigarette. Cheyenne stood as though waiting for him to leave. There was something queer about Cheyenne. His eyes were somber, his manner stiff and unnatural. His greeting had been cool.
"About that man Panhandle--" Bartley began, but Cheyenne interrupted with a gesture.
"You say you saw him, on your way down here?"