ESCAPE
AT seven o’clock in the evening on the day of Mr. Daisy’s triumphal
return, Manzanita sat on the broad veranda of the old adobe at
Squawtooth Ranch. She and Mrs. Ehrhart were alone. Supper was over, and
the housekeeper had gone to her own room. Manzanita’s father had been
at Little Woman Butte all day, and she did not expect him home for the
night. The patient had been taken in the stage to a hospital on the
other side of the range--“the inside,” as the desert dwellers called
the peopled district between the mountains and the coast.
Falcon the Flunky was coming to see her soon. Any moment she expected
to see his figure loom up at the whitewashed gate that separated green
Squawtooth from the burning, barren desert beyond. He had spoken to her
a few moments that day in the Jeddo borrow pit, after Mr. Daisy had
inveigled Wing o’ the Crow into a whispered conference. He had asked to
come. She was tense as she waited, starting at every little night sound
of the creatures that inhabited the ranch.
The gate creaked suddenly. Some one was walking along the path toward
the house. She rose and stepped to the edge of the veranda, and the new
arrival saw the gleam of her white dress.
“That you, Nita?” came the question.
She sighed with disappointment. It was not Falcon the Flunky, but one
of her father’s vaqueros, Splicer Kurtz.
“Yes. Hello, Splicer! What brings you out of the mountains?”
“Sumpin. Got anything cold you could gi’me to eat, Manzanita?”
“Sure; pie and milk and cold beefsteak. Or I’ll cook you something. Are
you afoot? I didn’t know you could walk.”
The cow-puncher stepped on the veranda and laughed. “Oh, I’m ridin’. I
left my caballo out on the desert, though, and walked in.”
“Why, what a silly thing to do!”
“Maybe; maybe. Just gi’me somethin’ cold--all you c’n spare--and I’ll
pack ’er away with me, Nita.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind! Come in and put your big feet under the
table, Splicer.”
“No, thank ye, Nita; I gotta be foggin’ it. You see, I’m busy.”
“What’s up?”
“Oh, that holdup business. Gi’me all you can rake up, Nita. They’s a
bunch o’ the boys waitin’ for me out there. We’re all hungry.”
“Come in, then, while I get you something. What’s--what’s new?” She
found that her voice was trembling.
“Well, I wouldn’t say. I oughtn’t to. Sheriff said keep it quiet, you
know.”
He followed her into the large kitchen, seating himself awkwardly on
the edge of a chair.
“When did you see the sheriff last?” she asked.
“This afternoon--late. He’s gone inside now.”
“He has? Why?”
“Well, I mustn’t tell, you know.”
“Oh, I forgot. His--the trip is connected with the holdup, though, I
suppose.”
“Maybe. Yes, it is--I c’n say that much. And he left us boys to scout
around over here. He come up in the mountains this afternoon and said
for some of us to come down and keep our eyes on certain parties while
he went inside. He left in an auto. We just got down. And I thought
maybe you could give us a bite.”
“Who-all are with you? Our boys?”
“Some of ’em. And the dep’ties. We’re through up there. But don’t say a
word. I’m tellin’ too much now.”
“Don’t suppose you’d tell me who you are watching?”
“No, I couldn’t, Nita. Honest, I don’t like to. You know how it is.”
There came a step on the veranda. Manzanita darted to the door.
Splicer had not heard, she was almost sure. Her keener senses had been
alert for it. She stepped out on the veranda and closed the door after
her and stood facing the man who had been about to knock.
“Listen, Falcon,” she said, grasping the lapel of his coat before he
even could offer her greeting. “Go to the end of the veranda and sit
down in the shadow of the vines. Make as little noise as possible.
Go--I’ll explain later.”
She returned to the lighted kitchen after seeing that her command was
being obeyed.
Now, though her pumping of Splicer Kurtz was skillful, she learned very
little more from the vaquero. She loaded his arms with paper sacks of
food, and he thanked her and took his leave. Then Manzanita went out
and into the shadow of the vines that clambered over one end of the
long veranda.
“Well,” asked The Falcon, “what’s all this?”
“Come into the house now,” she said. “We--we must come to an
understanding.”
Silently he followed her, and they sought the kitchen, which room was
farthest of all from Mrs. Ehrhart’s quarters. She seated him in one of
the straight-backed, thong-bottom chairs, and for perhaps half an hour
they talked of inconsequential things, the girl watching the play of
his features all the time.
Then, when he least expected it, she rose suddenly, confronted him, and
silently handed him the “ev’dence.”
He looked at it bewilderedly, turning it over and over, then smiled up
at her and shook his head.
“Open it!” she commanded.
He obeyed her, saw the writing, and held it toward the miserable light
of the kitchen coal-oil lamp. He read aloud, then laughed.
“Daisy’s, of course,” he said. “And what shall I say next? I seem to be
sort of on the carpet, am I not?”
“It was found up in the mountains some place,” she told him,
straight-lipped and watchful.
He lifted his brown eyebrows.
“Near a temporary camp, perhaps,” she added.
“Really, Manzanita----”
“And also close there somewhere they found a pink tie in an underground
creek. It was tied to a can.”
“What’s that?” His expression suddenly had changed; his eyes had
narrowed.
“Who found it?” he asked.
“The sheriff’s men.”
“By George!” He slapped his thigh. Then he turned brown eyes upon her
and half rose from his chair.
“I see; I see!” he said. “Heavens above! What a mess! The holdup, eh?”
She closed her eyes and nodded slightly.
Then he rose altogether and stepped before her. A moment he stood thus,
while she looked fearlessly up into his eyes.
“How does it come that you have this?” he asked with a strange, new
thrill in his tones.
“I stole it,” she told him naïvely, “from my kid brother Mart, who was
taking it to the sheriff.”
He reached out both hands and laid them on her shoulders. “Why?” he
asked, his tones husky with eagerness.
Her long eyelashes shaded her eyes. The red mounted to her cheeks.
Falcon the Flunky waited for no other answer, but folded her in his
arms and searched with his lips for hers. Again and again he kissed
her, his heart singing with gladness.
Then a step. The kitchen door opened. Squawtooth Canby stood looking at
them, slowly stroking his patriarchal beard.
“Pa Squawtooth!” Manzanita’s eyes were tragic.
“Yes, daughter.” Canby stepped farther into the room, his stern glance
bent on The Falcon.
The younger man was now recovering from the surprise. He smiled in his
unobtrusive way and stepped boldly to meet the cattleman, who remained
silent.
“Mr. Canby,” he said, “you surprised us. But I’ll tell you now what I
would have told you the next time we met, anyway. I love Manzanita. I
think I’ve loved her since the first day I saw her. I’ve just learned,
through a rather peculiar happening, that she loves me. She hasn’t even
told me so in words, but I know it’s true”--his brown eyes shone with
the lover’s triumph--“and--and--well, that’s all, I guess. Except that,
of course, I want your consent to marry her.”
Like a storm brewing over the mountains evidences of anger almost
uncontrollable were growing in Squawtooth’s eyes.
“Manzanita,” he said in a loud voice, “go to your room!”
“Pa!”
“Go, I tell you! And you”--he took two quick steps, and, before The
Falcon knew what he was about, had slapped his hips and coat to locate
a concealed revolver--“you,” he finished in a roar, “are a prisoner!
The nerve of ye!”
Manzanita stifled a scream with her hand across her mouth. Falcon the
Flunky backed away from Squawtooth, his jaw dropping.
Canby laid a hand on the ivory butt of the heavy Colt that was always
at his hip.
“O’ course,” he said, “’twon’t be no use fer ye to try startin’
anything. I’m gonta tie yer hands an’ feet, an’ then ride over to the
camps fer the dep’ties. You here makin’ love to my daughter! I oughta
horsewhip ye!”
Falcon the Flunky’s face was twitching. “Mr. Canby,” he said
earnestly, “I’ll thank you to refrain from such violent remarks until
there has been a little explanation. I----”
“I don’t wanta hear any explainin’. I guess a thief always can explain
some way. Manzanita!” He flashed a quick glance at her. “You don’t
savvy, o’ course, or ye wouldn’t ’a’ acted like ye did. This here’s one
o’ the men that held up the mail stage. T’other ’n’s this minute on his
way to the inside, with handcuffs on.”
“They’ve arrested Halfaman Daisy!” cried the Falcon.
Squawtooth paid no attention to the interruption, but continued to his
daughter:
“I jest learned the latest pertickelers over to Mangan-Hatton’s as
I was ridin’ through. I already knew about the tie, o’ course. The
sheriff wasn’t any too sure about anything when he left for the inside.
He’d gone up in the mountains to get the boys to come down and take
charge o’ things while he was away. And when they got down here on the
desert this evenin’ they found that, while the sheriff had been on his
way up, these two bandits had come in, bold as Cuffy, with six er seven
thousan’ dollars’ worth o’ mules and new harness and scrapers. The
sheriff had gone and didn’t know anything about it, so the head dep’ty
took up this Daisy at Jeddo’s camp where he saw that outfit, an’ now
they’re huntin’ fer this fella here. Word come to-day that Dal Collins
died in the hospital, and our boys an’ the desert rats was gettin’ so
mad the dep’ties hadta rush that Daisy away in the machine to save ’im.
“Now, I ain’t keen about lynchin’ a man myself.” He turned back to
the flunky. “But Dal was mighty popular with the boys in this part
o’ the country, and they ain’t no tellin’ what they might do if they
got their hands on you two fellas. So best thing you c’n do is le’ me
tend to things and not raise any rumpus. I’ll keep ye here an’ go tell
the dep’ties I got ye. They’ll sneak ye away to Opaco somehow, ’thout
lettin’ the desert folks know ye’ve been caught. If I take ye to ’em,
why, my boys are there, and it wouldn’t be a nice sight--not a nice
sight at all. Suit ye to stay here while I go tell ’em?”
“But, Pa!” from Manzanita.
“I told you once to go to your room, didn’t I? I meant it. Ye ain’t
gonta stick up fer this fella after what I’ve jest told ye, are ye?
Don’t be a fool, Nita! I’ll fergive the rest ’o yer silliness with this
flunky.”
“You’re all wrong, wrong, wrong!” she cried with a sob in her voice.
Canby shrugged and jerked his head toward the door.
“But--but if he’s guilty, of course--of course----” she faltered, her
eyes fixed on The Falcon.
“O’ course he’s guilty. That’s the way to talk! Now go. I’ll ’tend to
the rest.”
* * * * *
With her ear to the keyhole of her door, Manzanita stooped, her heart
thumping throbbingly. Sounds came dully from the distant kitchen, then
she heard the closing of the outside door.
She hurried to her window and listened, and presently heard her father
ride from the corral on his big black saddle.
This was her signal to spring into rapid action, and a moment later she
ran into the kitchen. It was empty of human occupancy. She jumped to
the pantry door and twisted the knob.
The door was locked and the key gone. She placed her lips to the
keyhole and called softly:
“Falcon, are you in there?”
“Yes,” came the answer.
“Listen! Listen!” she cried. “You must stay there for the present.
The key’s gone, and I’ll have to break in the door. But I must get
everything ready first, or the noise will disturb Mrs. Ehrhart.
Are--are you tied?”
“Yes, hand and foot.”
“You’re not--not suffering?”
“Not at all.”
“Then be patient. I’ll let you out in a little while.”
The girl left the pantry door and began working desperately now. She
collected all the edibles she could lay hands on and a few utensils,
then hurried to her bedroom and slipped into chaps and shirt and boots.
She strapped on her Colt, and also found a .25-.35-caliber rifle in a
saddle scabbard. Jerking two blankets from her bed, she hastened with
the collection back to the kitchen.
She grasped up all the articles then, and hurried out into the night.
In the corral she caught her own mare and saddled her, then essayed
to catch another horse--the only other one in the corral fit for the
saddle--a roan that Limpy Pardoe had broken only that spring. Time and
again the roan evaded her. At last she got her rope from her saddle,
and, though it was dark, managed to cast the noose over his head after
many attempts, which took a great deal of precious time.
Despite his protests, she saddled him, and, after wrapping her
collection of articles in the blankets and tying them on behind, she
led him and her pinto to the kitchen door.
She was obliged to tie the roan, and this, too, took time. Her heart
was pounding now, for she imagined she heard the rumble of hoofs.
After a desperate search she found the ax, hurried in, and began
belaboring the panels of the pantry door. When they had given way
before her onslaught, she crawled through with the bread knife and
severed the rawhide lariat that held Falcon the Flunky so helplessly on
the floor.
With Manzanita dragging at him, they crawled out just as Mrs. Ehrhart,
in a long white nightdress, appeared with a small glass bedroom lamp
and stood gazing with wide eyes.
“Get on the mare!” ordered Manzanita outside.
“I won’t run away,” The Falcon protested. “I’ll face this thing. I’m
innocent. I won’t desert Halfaman.”
“You must--now--for the present! They’re coming! Get on! Later we can
think. Now we must get away. You must! To protect me, if for no other
reason.”
From the desert there came plainly now the thunder of hoofs.
Manzanita’s last words decided Falcon the Flunky.
He mounted the mare. Manzanita untied the roan, fought him a little
to get the bridle reins over his head, and, when she had accomplished
this, took the half-broken animal by surprise and vaulted on his back.
Bucking fiendishly, he bore her away toward the west line of the
property, The Falcon following and protesting that he ought to ride the
bucker.
“Ride! Ride!” she shouted back. “This horse couldn’t ditch me in twenty
years--he’s an amateur. Let her out! They’ll miss us in a minute now.”