THE PINK NECKTIE
MR. PHINEHAS DAISY was filling his tank wagon at Squawtooth’s artesian
well and keeping an eye on the kitchen door of the old adobe ranch
house. It was morning, and his first trip of the day. The heart of Mr.
Daisy was hopeful, and to the accompaniment of the rushing water he
sang:
“Rattlesnake bit-a me nose and knees;
Scorpion stung me, also bees--
Tarantulas an’ centipedes an’ Frisco fleas,
But they all died a-shakin’ with the dread D. T.’s!
On a pay day--for me ba-bay!
On a pay day with the dread D. T.’s!”
Then Manzanita came from the kitchen door, dressed for the saddle, and
approached him. Mr. Daisy promptly swept off his disreputable cap to
her.
“Well, ma’am, how’s every little subordinate element this mornin’?”
he asked genially, above the roar of the water. Before she could make
reply he announced: “I’d like to see you a minute, ma’am.”
Manzanita went over to him.
“Things ain’t just breakin’ right with the children of Amram,” he
gravely informed her.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
Mr. Daisy sighed and rested knuckles on one bony hip.
“D’ye remember the first day you saw me?”
“Quite well.”
“Uh-huh. And d’ye remember me sayin’ I wanted you to use your
inflooence with a certain party when the time was ripe?”
“Yes, I remember something of the kind. You were rather vague, though.”
“Well, she’s ripe, ma’am.”
“And what do you wish me to do, Halfaman?”
Mr. Daisy became slightly embarrassed. He looked at her gravely, then
took from his overalls pocket his pencil stub, thoughtfully touched his
tongue to the blunt point, and wrote on the edge of the horse trough:
“The sons also of Aaron; Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar.”
Manzanita’s lips twitched as she read it. A week before Mr. Daisy had
asked permission to use the telephone in the ranch house to relay a
message for Mangan to Opaco. After he had left, Manzanita had found
scribbled on the pad that lay always on the telephone table: “And the
children of Amram; Aaron and Moses and Miriam. The sons also of Aaron;
Nadab and----” But at this point, apparently, whoever Mr. Daisy had
been calling had come to the other end of the wire.
Presently Mr. Daisy looked up briskly, as if he had gained inspiration
from his chirographic concentration. “Ma’am,” he said, “I want you
to slip Wing o’ the Crow an earful o’ chatter that’ll wise her up a
little. Now lissen: There was a slip. But that’s all past an’ gone.
Wing-o, though, she can’t ferget it--see? Now you sidle round her and
kinda say: ‘Say, Wing-o, ain’t that fella Halfaman the limit?’
“‘He sure is,’ she’ll say.
“Then you’ll say: ‘What d’ye mean th’ limit?’
“And she’ll come back: ‘Ripe fer the chipmunks.’
“Then you: ‘Nothin’ stirrin’! You don’t get me, kiddo. _I_ think he’s
great!’ See--just like that. Course you’re stallin’--get the idea? You
don’t have to think that yerself. Just stringin’ her along--see?
“‘What d’ye mean great?’ maybe she’ll say.
“Then you: ‘Kind an’ everything--and a perfect gentleman, even if he is
a roughneck. I just think he’s there!’ See ma’am--you know how to do it.
“‘I think he’s a cuckoo,’ maybe the kid’ll say. But you don’t pay no
’tention to that, but just keep on:
“‘And he’s got such good chances for the future’--see? Like that.
‘There ain’t a stiff on the line that’s likely to make the hit that
bird’s due to pull off pretty soon. My!’ you’ll say. ‘Some nice girl’s
missin’ a lot just because this fella’s a kind of a woman hater.’
“‘What d’ye mean woman hater?’ she asks.
“‘Oh,’ you’ll say, ‘some jane turned him down, it seems, and he’s got
hard and bitter an’ everything. He never told me nothin’ about his
troubles, but I c’n see he’s had ’em just by lookin’ in his eyes. And
he’s likely to go ’way any day now,’ you’ll say. ‘I guess he’s saved
up a lotta jack, and will be goin’ back to his old haunts and habits.’
Haunts and habits--that’ll get her! ‘Ain’t it too bad,’ you’ll be
sayin’ then. ‘A man like that oughta have a nice girl to love ’im, and
then he’d settle down and be a credit to the country. But I guess it’s
too late!’ See--just like that. Was you goin’ over to-day to see ’er,
ma’am?”
“Yes, I was just going to saddle up.”
“Then to-day’ll be a good time to spring it on ’er. And then maybe
to-morrow you’ll go back again--see--and say:
“‘Well, he’s gone’--blunt, you know--sudden, kinda.
“‘Who’s gone?’ she’ll say. Course she savvies--see--but she’ll stall.
“‘Mr. Daisy,’ you’ll be tellin’ her; and then you’ll go to talkin’
about sumpin else. Get the idea?”
“But you won’t be gone.”
“Oh, yes, I will. I’ll beat it at noon on the stage.”
“You’ll leave the country?”
Mr. Daisy swept his cap to the other ear and winked. “Cameofladge,” he
whispered mysteriously.
“Oh, I see! And what am I to do after telling her?”
Again Mr. Daisy winked. “Watch how she takes it,” he instructed. “And
then begin pullin’ a lotta patter about what a pity it is--see--and
what good chances Mr. Daisy had right here on this ole desert, but
threw ’em all away because of a woman.” Mr. Daisy winked once more.
“Pull that on ’er,” he added, “and then set on the lid and wait for
the cuckoo to come outa her clock. And if she begins puttin’ on one o’
these I’m-to-blame performances, you tell her you maybe could telephone
to Opaco in time to stop Mr. Daisy; and maybe he’d come back in Santa
Claus’ sleigh.”
“Why, I don’t know what you mean at all!”
Mr. Daisy scratched a pitcher-handle ear with one finger, then jumped
at the water cock, as his tank was running over.
“I mean,” he told Manzanita, “that Mr. Daisy might be persuaded to come
back and begat a little kick into a certain gypo outfit you an’ me know
about, ma’am.”
“And shall I telephone you?”
“Well--now--that won’t be hardly necessary, ma’am--’cause I’m comin’
back, anyway. But all the time I’m gone, you keep on pullin’ that
what-a-pity racket--see?”
“I’ll see what I can do,” promised Manzanita, suppressing her laughter
as she hurried toward the corrals.
* * * * *
For years a stage line had run between Opaco and Piñon, seven thousand
feet up in the mountains. Piñon was the summer headquarters of the
Squawtooth outfit, and also a post-office point for gold mining camps
and a lumber mill farther back in the wilderness. The stage carried
mail, supplies, and passengers; and often it brought out gold ingots
to be shipped to the mint in San Francisco. Frequent washouts in the
mountain roads and difficult grades made an automobile impracticable,
and the company still adhered to the picturesque four-horse mode of
travel for the outland lap of the trip. Now that the construction men
had come the stage had changed its route, making a wide detour over the
desert to include Ragtown, Stlingbloke, and all the camps between the
latter and Squawtooth Ranch. Squawtooth had been a way station since
time immemorial. Where it ran only once a week before the camps came,
it now made trips every other day.
Two passengers boarded the stage to-day at noon as it pulled up, with a
merry jingling of the bells on the leaders’ hames, in the Mangan-Hatton
camp. One of them was Halfaman Daisy, the other Falcon the Flunky. The
two had arranged with a couple of floaters passing through the line
of camps to hold down their respective jobs for a few days, while they
took a little vacation.
The stage took on the mail and two more passengers and rolled away
toward Squawtooth.
It was not yet one o’clock when it reached the ranch, where Manzanita
Canby came out with the mail and an order for groceries from Opaco. As
she neared the stage one of the passengers leaned out and bestowed upon
her a prodigious wink.
“Why, Halfaman! Are you off so soon?”
He winked again. “Off so soon,” he told her. “Any luck this mornin’,
ma’am?”
“I made some progress, I think,” replied Little Apple with a smile.
Then her hazel eyes widened a trifle as they sighted the passenger at
Mr. Daisy’s side.
“Why, are you going, too?” she asked Falcon the Flunky.
“Yes, Halfaman and I are off for a little vacation,” he told her. “All
work and no play, you know--the old excuse. We’ll be back in a few
days.”
There was time for no more, as the stage started moving.
“I wonder what’s up,” thought Manzanita as she walked back to her
house. “The Falcon didn’t say anything to me about leaving when he was
over here.”
Five days passed; and in the meantime something happened that caused a
great deal of speculation at Squawtooth and in the camps.
The third day after the departure of Daisy and The Falcon the inbound
stage, coming from the mountains, was held up by two masked men who
wore overalls, and fifty pounds of gold bullion was stolen. The driver,
“Dal” Collins, had attempted to draw his gun, and had been shot through
the abdomen. He was not expected to live. He now lay at Squawtooth,
nursed by Manzanita, and under a doctor’s care. The sheriff was out
with a small posse, strengthened by Squawtooth Canby’s cow-punchers,
and they were searching the mountains for the thieves.
Then early one afternoon “Crip” Richey rode into Squawtooth from Piñon,
corralled his tired horse, and came into the adobe for lunch. He asked
to see the wounded man, and was permitted entrance to the darkened
room by the doctor. Manzanita, hurrying to get the vaquero some lunch,
overheard the conversation.
“Well, Dal,” said Crip, after inquiring after the sufferer’s progress
toward recovery, “we found somethin’ that oughta cheer you up. We found
where them bandits had camped. The sheriff’s got measurements o’ the
footprints o’ both of ’em, too, that he found where they pulled it off.
Then we saw the ashes o’ their fire where they’d camped, and some
labels off o’ canned stuff. Right near the ashes was a little crick
that runs underground pretty near altogether. But at that place you
could see down in where the water was, in a kind of a little tunnel,
all covered with ferns. It was pretty near five feet down to the water,
and we was wonderin’ how they reached it.
“So Lucky Gilfoyle lays flat down on his belly and holds a match down
in there, and he sees a new can layin’ on the bottom, under the water.
They’d used that, and had thrown ’er in when they broke camp.
“Well, we wasn’t goin’ to pay any attention to it, but the sheriff
wasn’t passin’ up chances. And he gets down on his belly and strikes a
match and has a look.
“And he sees somethin’ pink, kinda, down in there, but can’t make out
just what she is. So we cut a long pole with a crotch at the end of ’er
and begins to fish. And pretty soon we fetch up the can; and what d’ye
suppose the stick had caught on?”
There was a low mumble from the stage driver, which the listening girl
could not distinguish.
“A pink necktie,” said Crip. “She was tied to the can. They didn’t have
the savvy to cut a pole, like we did, to reach down to the water; so
one of ’em had took off his necktie and fastened the can on it. Then as
the water had plumb ruined her, he threw her in with the can when they
was ready to go. Did one of ’em wear a pink tie, Dal?”
Dal Collins mumbled something indistinguishable, to which the vaquero
replied:
“Can’t remember, eh? Well, it oughta be easy to get ’em now. The
sheriff’s sure, anyway, these fellas come from some o’ the railroad
camps. He says these Jaspers, so far’s he’s seen, ain’t anything but
crooks, anyway. So if they come from any o’ the outfits, or from
Ragtown or Stlingbloke, he’s got an idea that the tie was bought
somewheres here on the desert. All the big camps sell shirts an’ ties
and things like that in their commissaries; and there’s little stores
at Stlingbloke and Ragtown. It was a new tie, you could see that.
Just wet. Not wadded much or dirty on the edges, like an old tie’d
be. The sheriff come down with me. He’s gone over to begin ridin’
the camps now. I come here for a feed, then I’m foggin’ it over to
Mangan-Hatton’s to go with ’im, if he finds he wants me to.”
Here Squawtooth Canby came in and went on into the sick room. For his
benefit the story was repeated by Crip.
Manzanita called Crip to lunch presently, and when he was settled at
the table she left the room, much to the gentleman’s disgust, telling
him to pound on something with his fork if he required anything more.
In her own little room, which looked out on green alfalfa fields and
the pear orchard, she sat down to think.
She had seen Halfaman Daisy dressed up as he went through on the stage
to Opaco; and no one who ever had seen Mr. Daisy dressed up could
forget the horror of the combination made by his sandy hair and his
new pink tie. Halfaman Daisy and Falcon the Flunky were partners. They
had come to the desert together from some mysterious place far beyond.
Together they had left the desert, five days before. Since their
leaving the stage had been robbed, and Dal Collins lay at the point of
death. A pink tie had been found in an underground stream near where
the holdup men had camped.
Dully Manzanita thought of Hunter Mangan’s serious words in regard to
the flotsam and jetsam of the railroad camps:
“There are many bright, capable men in trampdom--far more than is
realized by the general public. But do you not see that this fact in
itself should make you cautious about picking a friend from among them?
Bright, capable men have taken to tramp life, in many cases, because
polite society has for some reason ostracized them. They may be bank
defaulters, forgers, or even worse. Surely your reason will tell you
that no educated, refined man need be a tramp laborer these days; and
that, since he is educated and refined, ambition cannot be lacking. So
such a man must be a renegade, a fugitive from justice, an ostracized
member of good society, to explain his adherence to the slip-along life
of the construction stiff.”
There was a dull pain in her some place, she could not tell just where,
and her head ached, too. What had Halfaman Daisy meant when he said he
might return in Santa Claus’ sleigh? He had hinted at future affluence.
And what kept the two away so long? Also, why had not Falcon the Flunky
told her he was contemplating a trip away from the desert?
He had not told her that the night he had been at the house for supper,
but she remembered that he had told her other things--things to which
she had listened with long lashes hiding her eyes. No, he had not
said outright that he loved her more than anything else on earth; but
the tenderness in his tones and the way he had looked at her told her
everything that she wished to know.
And now she realized that she loved him. Until this cloud had settled
over him she had not been quite sure of the truth. Oh, why had she
cultivated his acquaintance so deliberately--to lead him along half
flirtatiously as she had done at first? Not for long, though, she
comforted herself. Quite soon she had learned to like this quiet,
unassuming young man; and the more she had seen of him the better she
had liked him, until--this!
Would he ever come back? How much depended on that! Everything she told
herself. If he did not return with Halfaman they were guilty. Fifty
pounds of gold was worth approximately fourteen thousand dollars. With
this amount to divide between them, why should they come back? Unless
it would be a crafty move to divert suspicion. One moment Manzanita
raged at Mr. Daisy for being so stupid as to leave his pink tie in the
water; the next she was resolutely telling herself that a man with eyes
and voice and manners like The Falcon’s could never commit a crime.
One thing certain, though: if they returned she would at once speak
to The Falcon on the subject and demand the truth. If they did not
return--she could think no further. She did not wish to think further
along the line of this possibility.
She went about the ranch in sober mood all that afternoon, attending
to the wants of the stricken stage driver and helping Mrs. Ehrhart.
She was dull, listless, and her head ached continuously--something to
which she was unaccustomed. Early evening brought no less an important
individual to the ranch than Martin Canby, racing in from the mountains
on his snap-nosed bay, rapidly chewing squawtooth for his kidneys and
bursting with enthusiasm over the man hunt.
“Hello, Pod!” Manzanita listlessly greeted him as he watered his horse
at the trough.
“Where’s th’ sheriff, Nita?”
“Over at the camps, I think. Wipe the squawtooth juice from your mouth
and kiss me.”
“Ain’t got time, Nita,” he replied in a businesslike tone. “We found
the cover off a bunch o’ cigarette papers after the sheriff left. I got
it. There’s writin’ on it.”
“Let me see it.”
“Ain’t got time. A dep’ty says she’s mighty important. Jest scribblin’,
anyway. It don’t mean nothin’ to them ner to me. But we’re hot on their
trail, and we found where this had been throwed away. And the dep’ty
wanted the sheriff to see it ’cause he might dedooce somethin’.”
“Deduce your grandmother! Everybody in the mountains smokes cigarettes,
and anybody might write on the back of a book of cigarette papers in an
idle moment. Show it to me, _muchacho_!”
“Can’t, Nita. I gotta beat it. Wonder if this here ole hoss is gonta
drink the trough dry!”
“Please don’t say ‘this here old hoss,’ _hermano_.”
“This here hoss,” Mart corrected himself.
“I’ll allow that to stand if you’ll show me that cover.”
But here Mart’s horse lifted his nose from the water, and the young
scout wheeled him.
“Mart!”
“Ain’t got time! The dep’ty told me not to show the ev’dence to
_anybody_ but th’ sheriff. See you to-night if----”
Two bounds and Manzanita grasped the mane of the bay, just lifting his
front legs to lunge directly into a gallop. As he leaped the girl’s
right hand caught Mart’s sleeve, and with an agile spring she landed
astride, behind the saddle.
“Break away from me, will you, you little snipe!” she mocked, as the
pony sped away bearing both of them.
“Aw, Little Apple! Slide off now; I’m busy!”
“You little podhead! Show me what you have, or I’ll ride with you to
the ends of the desert. You can’t shake me, and you know it!”
She was hatless, and wore neither chaps nor riding skirt. Mart glanced
down at the generous display of tight black stockings and jeered:
“Oh, yes, I c’n shake you! You oughta be ashamed--a big girl like you
showin’ all them legs!”
“Only two, brother. But if you don’t wish to disgrace me, come across
with that cover. If you don’t, I’ll ride with you right into the camps.”
“Yes you will!”
“I’ll show you. Come across!”
“Will you slide off and leave me be if I let you have a look at ’er?”
“Uh-huh!”
“Cross yer heart!”
His sister agreed.
Mart took from a shirt pocket the dark-blue back that had once held
brown wheat-straw papers.
“Inside,” he directed.
She opened it as the bay galloped swiftly along, and on the pink paper
pasted there she read in scrawly penciling:
“The sons also of Aaron; Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar.”
For a moment the desert swam toward her, yellow, suffocating. Then she
said:
“Mart, I--I’m going to keep this.”
She was thrusting it into her pocket, but he turned sharply and grasped
at it.
“You’re crazy! Why----”
Unexpectedly she reached around his body and grasped the saddle horn
with her left hand. A moment and she swung herself forward along the
bay’s side. She had felt his hands clutching at her pocket as she threw
herself from the speeding pony’s back. She alighted safely in the sand,
lost her balance and pitched forward on her face.
“Hi-yi!” came Mart’s derisive shout; and like a streak of brown the
snip-nose dashed away at a dead run.
Manzanita felt in her pocket. The pasteboard cover had gone on with
Martin.