"We're safe enough here, lil' partner."
"Till I hit the trail for this scouting. But I mean, to live safe day after day without nobody ever wanting to kill you. Ain't it some monotonous?"
"Not to hurt."
"It must feel sort of—neglected. I read a book onced about folks in England, which I kep' on readin' and readin' to see if anythin' happened 'cept meals and go-to-bed and get-up-in-the-mawning. The girl was a sure enough fool, and as to the boy—well, he wore government socks, and didn't love the Lawd. Then he mar'ied a widow by mistake, which she had a forked tongue, a bad eye, and parted her ha'r on one side lookin' rather cute. That boy just aimed to cut his throat for seventy-three pages, then didn't after all, which was plumb discouraging. 'Stead of that he got a government job inspectin' the clouds and drawin' salary. Then the widdy she talked herself to death, and quit out. Afterwards that boy took sixty-one pages to get a kiss from the heroine. Thar was a deanery in it and a funny parrot—I reckon that's all the story."
"They mar'ied?"
"Sure, and nothin' happened ever afterwards, 'cept kids. Them characters was awful safe from gettin' excited. Will it be that a-way when I get tame enough to mar'y Jim?"
Feeling that said Jim was a lot unworthy of her, I strayed out to study how much our camp was visible. It seemed like we couldn't be attacked without our visitors cussing around first in the lava. They'd bark their shins, and we'd hear gentle protests.
When I came back, Curly was brooding still about her Jim.
"He'll be a dook like the old patrone," says she, "and sure as I'm a lady I'll be tired of life. Robes goes with that job, and a golden crown such as the angels wear."
"I reckon that's only for Sunday best," I told her.