I got to think of my business reputation." He passed on up the street.
"What's the matter with Tom ?" asked Curly.

"Seems like he wasn't feelin' right cheerful, some way." Dan Anderson gazed after the teamster pensively.
"Methinks you are concealing something from us, Tom," said he.

"Let's go find out what it is, fellows." He disengaged the respective six-shooters from their place on the fence, and thus again properly clad, we wandered over toward Whiteman's commercial emporium, where Tom Osby was now proceeding to discharge the cargo of his freight wagon.
This done, he did not pause for a pipe and a parley, but, climbing up to the high front seat, picked up the reins and drove off; not, as was his wont, to the corral, or to Uncle Jim Brothers's restaurant, but to his own adobe down the _arroyo_.

We looked at each other in silence.
"Something on his mind," said Dan Anderson.
"He didn't bring my clothes," said McKinney.
"Nor my drugs," said Doc Tomlinson.
"And yet," said Curly, who was observant, "he kep' one box in the wagon.

Couldn't see the brand, but she's there all right." "Curly," said Dan Anderson, "you are appointed a committee of one to follow the accused down to his house and find out what all this means." Curly deployed as a skirmisher, and finally arrived in front of Tom Osby's adobe.