There was something unusual, I thought, about the way she talked, a sort of high-strung excitement. As to her face, that was pale as ashes. By the time I'd cooked bacon and slapjacks she had the horses in, and fresh mounts saddled.
"How's Flagstaff?" I asked, while she washed herself at the spring.
"Ain't this just purty?" she said to the bubbling water. "Flagstaff? Why, it sure is the craziest town I ever seen." Her laugh was harsh to hear.
"You been showin yo' face in the street?"
"Wall partly, but I covered up half my complexion to look like the toothache—so!" She stuffed a ball of a handkerchief into her near cheek, bound the towel around her jaw, and looked most miserable. "Oh, throw me a dentist!" she howled, then broke out laughing. "I shorely did act pitiful."
"And why for is this town locoed?" I felt the girl was laughing so as not to cry.
"Well," says she, "there's Joe Beef, the Utah sheriff, and a lot of lil' no-account sheriffs, there's a fat United States Marshal with a chin whisker and a heap of deputies, there's cowboys, scouts, and trackers, reporters, ambulances, dawgs, pony-soldiers——"
"Has the Navajos broke out?"
"No, the pale-face has broke out; it's a hull epidemic, and there's an outfit on the war trail in Utah, another on the San Juan in Colorado—and they're going to eat up Robbers' Roost—and you, Chalkeye, lookin' glum as a new-laid widow! Scat, you!"
"Has they gawn mad?" I asked. "The moment they make a break for Robbers' Roost, McCalmont will kill this Ryan, scatter his wolves, and vanish. This must be only the escort for Ryan's ransom."