"You know all about this, Curly! Cayn't you trust me to help?"
"We want no help, I reckon."
I turned my tongue loose then, and surely burned young Curly.
"Don't talk so loud, ole Chalkeye, but say some more!" he laughed. "I could set around to listen to you all day. Turn yo' wolf loose, for it's shorely yo' time to howl."
That dried me up cold and sudden, for I had been acting youthful, and Curly had got responsible, maybe elderly with me, the same being ridiculous seeing how small the boy was.
"Yo're through with yo' prayers, Chalkeye? Some comforted, eh? You ole ring-tailed snorter, cayn't you understand? We ain't going to have you mixed up with us range wolves, and branded for an outlaw. We want you to keep good, and be a whole lot respectable right along. Then you can stay around in this man's town, walk in the open with a proud tail, and show the Ryan outfit that Balshannon has one friend who ain't no robber."
Then I understood.
"Now," says Curly, "hear my lil' voice, for I'm goin' to prophesy. You know that Ryan reckons to have young Michael here for Balshannon's funeral? Suppose this Michael don't transpire to-night? Suppose the train comes in with news of a horrible shocking outrage? Suppose them mean, or'nary robbers has stole a millionaire? Suppose—well, just you wait for Ryan's yell when he hears what's done happened to his petted offspring. He'll surely forget there's any Balshannon to kill. Just you wait peaceful, and when the town turns out to rescue that poor stolen maverick you want to ride in and collect Balshannon."
Opposite in the hotel piazza I watched old Ryan and the City Marshal having a mint julep together at one of the tables.
"You hear that hawss?" says Curly, and far off I heard a horse come thundering. Soon the rider swung into sight, pitching the dust high, until he came abreast of my window, and saw the City Marshal in the piazza.