I knew that young Curly was hid in Grave City somewheres, and after a search I found him. The boy was so disguised he hardly knew himself.
"Chalkeye," says he, "you want a talk?" He looked sort of scared and anxious.
"I do."
"If Ryan's folk see you making talk with me, they'll think there's some new plot against the white men. Just you watch where I go, and follow casual."
He led me to a little room he rented over a barber's shop, and looking from the window I noticed that Ryan's hotel was just across the street. Curly left the room door open, because he didn't want any spy to use the keyhole.
"Now," says he, "make yo' voice tame, or we'll be overheard. Don't show yo'self off at that window, but keep your eyes skinned thar, while I watch the stairs. What is yo' trouble?"
"Whar are yo' range wolves?"
"They're a whole lot absent," says Curly.
"Cayn't you trust me?"
"I ain't trusting even myself." He looked fearful worried.