them for a little test on Uncle Boley, for the purpose of learning under the shrewd eyes of that sharp-seeing old fellow how well her disguise covered her indentity. If it was sufficient to pass with him, they believed it would hold good anywhere in Cottonwood. In the end they intended to take him into their confidence, for Hartwell knew that he could be trusted to the rim of the world.
Fannie appeared in the door with a quick, half-careless, "Hello, Texas," hat pulled over her eyes, very much an Indian in appearance, indeed. She was wearing gloves with red stars worked into the gauntlets, and spurs with rowels which clicked on the floor as she walked. She was a trim figure of a cowboy, but not unusual in a field where lightframed men were the general rule.
Confident and careless as she appeared there when Texas introduced her as his friend Ben Chouteau, from the Nation, Fannie had walked in shrinking fear between the hotel and Uncle Boley's shop. She dreaded meeting some of the old gang who had been the tyrants of her past life of oppression, unconscious herself how truly effective was her disguise.
"I wanted you to meet my friend, Uncle Boley," Texas explained, "for we may need your help on certain matters of business that we've got to clear up in this town in the next day or two."
