FLIGHT
THE rapid development of the unlooked-for situation seemed to have
bewildered Falcon the Flunky. One moment he had been overjoyed at the
discovery that the girl he had loved almost from the first day he met
felt the same toward him, that he had held her in his arms and kissed
her. Now they were fleeing from the hand of the law. The biggest day of
his life suddenly had been turned into a nightmare of improbabilities,
a whirlwind of exotic happenings of which he had never dreamed.
After a run of a mile or more, the roan colt that Manzanita rode
steadied down and ceased pitching and plunging. The girl directed their
route of escape, leading the way over the illimitable sweep of the
desert by an unmarked course. Away on their left blinked the lights of
the camps, like great ships seen at a distance on the sea. On their
right the mountains frowned down, black and mysterious and forbidding
in their world-old vigil over the desert.
Since leaving Squawtooth the two riders had not spoken. Whether or not
they were being pursued The Falcon could not tell, for Manzanita had
not stopped even to listen. She kept the steadying roan to a swift
gallop, swinging him from right to left to avoid the clumps of desert
growth. The pinto mare followed him persistently. On and on into
the night they rode. Their quick progress made conversation next to
impossible.
They had been traveling two hours, perhaps, when the girl reined in and
The Falcon drew up at her side.
“We’ll be obliged to let ’em blow,” she remarked. “That clip would kill
them before morning.”
They slowed to a brisk walk, and as the greasewood was frugal here they
kept side by side.
“Manzanita,” Falcon the Flunky said, “I don’t know what to say or
think. We shouldn’t have fled this way. I----”
“We did exactly right,” she interposed. “I know our boys and the desert
rats generally about here. Dal Collins, the stage driver, was an
old-timer in the country and liked by everybody who knew him.”
“But the deputies----”
“They would have been helpless. It would be almost impossible for Pa
Squawtooth to tell them that he had imprisoned you without the desert
folks getting wind of it. They might have taken the law into their own
hands. Anyway, I was taking no chances. This is safer.”
“But where are we going? What are we to do?”
“I know where to go to hide until we can think the matter over and
decide upon a plan of action. I know where to go, all right. They’ll
never find us.”
“Where?”
“Up in the mountains. Mart and I found the place. We’ve kept it a
secret. We were going to run away once, and we planned to hide there
till the hue and cry had died down. Then we played outlaw there once.
Weren’t we the silly kids? That was years and years ago.”
“How many?” he asked.
“I won’t tell you!” she shot back. “It’s not fair to ask.”
“But if Mart knows of this place, won’t he suspect and lead them there?”
“That little rattle pod work against me, his old pal! Not in a thousand
years. He’ll be on our side.”
“But Halfaman Daisy? Heavens, dear girl, I never deserted a friend
in my life! And Daisy has been a good, true friend to me. Unselfish,
cheerful, loyal to the last drop of his blood. I----”
“You’re not deserting him, Falcon. Arrest won’t hurt him. From what
he’s told me from time to time it will be no new experience. Not that
he’s bad at all, but--well, he’s been a tramp, and----”
“I understand all that. No, you bet he’s not bad. He has a heart of
gold.”
“He’ll be all right. They got him safely away and started for the
inside. When you and I clear this thing up he’ll be none the worse for
his experience. You couldn’t help him, anyway.”
“But----”
“And you could not clear things up if they lynched you, could you?
And you couldn’t do much if you were in jail with Halfaman, either.
No--freedom is best. Besides, it all made me mad clear through. I don’t
believe in meekness. I’d rather take care of myself and fight ’em in
the open.”
“Our teams----”
“Our teams?”
“Well, Halfaman’s. What’s to become of them?”
“Are they at Jeddo’s still?”
“Yes.”
“Was Halfaman there when he was arrested, do you suppose?”
“I think so. I went over to the Mangan-Hatton camp directly after you
rode home to-day. I left Halfaman there trying to convince Wing o’ the
Crow that he hadn’t stolen the outfit. I think he intended to drive
later to Stlingbloke and try to get Jeddo the Crow to come back to camp
and sober up.”
“Wing-o will take good care of the stock,” Manzanita observed after
a thoughtful pause. “Halfaman would have had lots of time to explain
everything before they arrested him. He’ll have told her what to do
before they took him away.”
“But convincing her was one of Daisy’s problems. He was worrying----”
“He needn’t have worried.”
“Why?”
Manzanita laughed. “Because Wing o’ the Crow loves him,” she made
answer.
“He’s not so sure about that.”
“I am, though. Rest assured she’ll aid and abet her beloved Halfaman to
the last atom of her energy and devotion.”
“Do you know that?”
“Positively. She was helping me all she could to keep from the
sheriff’s hands the evidence against you two.”
“The cover off the book of cigarette papers, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t told me about that.”
Manzanita did tell him, then, to the last detail.
“And now we must go back,” was his decision in the matter.
“You’re thinking of Blacky Silk, of course,” she said.
“Certainly. What an odd thing for you to do, dear. But also what a
loyal thing.”
He rode closer, found her hand, and held it until a large clump of
greasewood forced their horses apart, and the combined length of their
arms could not bridge it. Manzanita laughed.
“Separated already!” she cried merrily, her bubbling youth refusing to
harbor downcast spirits in the face of their predicament.
“Wing o’ the Crow says Blacky Silk is a villain, anyway,” she
complacently observed as they rode together again, holding hands once
more.
“That makes no difference. He’s innocent of this----”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, so far as we know he’s innocent, at any rate.”
“It seems that the sheriff didn’t arrest him, anyway,” she added.
“No, we’ll not worry about Blacky Silk, Falcon. He owes me a little
discomfort, I think. We’ll not worry about anybody or anything. We’ll
just get clear of this vicinity for a time, and give folks a chance to
cool off. Meantime we’ll look the situation over and find out how best
to prove your and Halfaman’s innocence.”
“Did you expect Blacky Silk to be arrested?”
“I did--afterward. But, really, when I wrote his name on the cover I
had no thought of making trouble for him. I just knew something had
to be written there, and, as Mart was right upon me, I scribbled what
naturally was uppermost in my mind.
“Yes,” she continued, “when Wing-o and I had talked it over, I expected
any minute to hear of Blacky’s arrest. Then you two rambled in with
your mules and--well, spilled the beans, as they say. I’m confident,
though, that if the sheriff had been there Halfaman would not now
be under arrest, and you and I would not be fleeing across this old
desert. I think the sheriff went inside on some matter connected with
Blacky Silk, whom my scribble had caused him to suspect. Maybe he went
to try and find out more about the man. He told the deputies to come
down out of the mountains and see that he did not get away, perhaps,
while he was on the inside. They came, and in the meantime you fellows
had shown up with your mules and things. You two already were under
suspicion because of the pink necktie--and you being a man of mystery,
anyway, you know. So the deputies decided that to arrest you two would
be the proper thing.
“And now,” she added, “I’m ready to hear what you have to say on the
subject.”
“You think me innocent, then?”
“Of course.”
He leaned toward her and put an arm about her. Screened by the desert
darkness, they kissed again.
“Despite the pink tie and the pasteboard cover?” he asked softly.
“Despite everything. Please explain, though. I’m merely curious--that’s
all, d----”
“Say it,” he urged.
“Dearest!” she whispered, under the sheltering blackness that hid her
face.
“It’s all so simple,” he told her at last, “so ridiculously simple.
Long ago I promised Daisy that I would help him any way I could, for I
have learned to love the heart of the man and to forget his unlettered
mind and lack of culture. It’s a fellow’s heart that counts, after all.
Culture and education alone never could cause a friend to do what he’s
done for me. I could tell many stories of his sacrifices for me when we
were on the road together. And once he saved my life on a fast train at
the risk of his own.
“I’d do anything for old Halfaman, and, as I said, I made him that
promise long ago. In his crazy way he imagined that, to win the love
of Wing o’ the Crow, it was necessary for him to impress her with his
importance. It was his ambition to get a string of good mules and tools
and go into partnership with her father--or both of them--for Wing-o is
half of the concern as it stands. The best half at that, I imagine.
“So about all there is to the mule story is that I promised to advance
him the money to buy a good outfit, taking a mortgage on them as a
matter of businesslike self-protection and allowing him to pay me
back as the teams made money. Apparently he had in secret talked the
matter over with Jeddo the Crow, and unbeknown to his daughter had been
offered a partnership if he could deliver the equipment. So he put
it up to me, and we decided to spring a pleasant little surprise on
Halfaman’s sweetheart--and he at least was arrested for it.”
“What did the outfit cost?” asked Manzanita.
“All together, six thousand seven hundred dollars,” he told her.
“You--you gave--loaned--advanced--Halfaman Daisy six thousand seven
hundred dollars!”
“Yes, dear.”
“Wh-where did _you_ get the money?”
“From a Los Angeles bank.”
“But you’re only a--a flunky.”
He laughed gayly. “Yes, only a flunky,” he said. “And a good one, too;
ask the stiffs! You see, the deal was to be kept a secret. Unless Daisy
lost control of his tongue, Wing-o was not to learn right away where
he got the funds to buy the outfit. Now, though, I suppose, everything
will come out, and Falcon the Flunky will pass into obscurity.
“But let me work up to that gradually. I must explain about the tie and
the pasteboard cover.
“We went inside to Los Angeles, then made it by train to Sycamore
Grove, directly opposite here on the other side of the range, as you
know. There we got track of a bunch of mules that were on pasture up
in the mountains. From the description, they seemed to be about what
we were after. The owner, however, was absent and the sale was in the
hands of a friend of his--with no commission guaranteed him, I imagine.
Anyway, he could not, or would not, take us up into the mountains to
show us the stock. But he told us about where we might find them, if we
wanted to make the trip ourselves.
“We had bought everything else in Los Angeles, and ordered it shipped
to Opaco by train. We wanted the four mules that this man described. So
when we learned that they were on this side of the range we decided to
cross over from Sycamore Grove, see the mules, take them if we liked
them, and come on down to the desert camps on this side, settling with
the owner later--and later, also, go to Opaco for our shipment, having
described a complete circle in our travels.
“In an automobile stage we went up into the mountains from the other
side to a resort. There we bought a few provisions, and, being old
hobos, did not require much of a camp outfit. We set off afoot across
the range to see the mules on this side. We got lost, of course, and to
this moment have never set eyes on those four long ears. We did camp
several times, and almost froze in the high altitude at night. Daisy
did use his beautiful pink tie to haul up water from an underground
creek. But there seemed no other way to get at it, and the tie was
already wrinkled. For my part, I didn’t miss it at all. As to the cover
from Halfaman’s book of cigarettes, I imagine he threw it away at
some time or other, the papers being exhausted. But of course I can’t
recall such a trivial incident as that. The writing is his, though, and
I’m not surprised to see it where it is. If there’s anything between
here and northern California on which he hasn’t written his begatting
sentiments, there was a great oversight somewhere.
“We had run out of grub, so gave up the hunt. We knew where the desert
was, of course, and headed ourselves this way. Once down on the level
we caught an automobile bound for Opaco, and decided to go on in and
get our shipment, so as not to fail in our proposed surprise and
triumphal entry for the benefit of Wing o’ the Crow. We bargained for
a ride, went to Opaco--passing directly through Squawtooth, by the
way--got our outfit, drove out, and--bingo!--you know the rest. At
Opaco for the first time we heard of the robbery.”
“And is that positively all there is to it?”
“Positively all. Do you believe it?”
“Of course,” she told him simply.
“I’d rather have you say that than all the jurymen and judges in the
State,” he said. “I live on loyalty. It’s my religion. As Halfaman
would say, you’ve made an awful hit with me. And through all the happy
years that you and I are to spend together, dear girl, I want loyalty
to be our watchword. It’s a beautiful thing--loyalty.”
“I guess the Canbys have their share of it,” she said. “I’ve been told
we carry it too far. But we’ll take a chance. Loyalty begets loyalty
sometimes. It pays in the end. And now for the big question and its
answer. Then I have a confession to make.”
“I’ve been occupying the floor for some time,” he pointed out. “Suppose
you confess first.”
She gave in, and told him of her father’s ambition for her to marry
Hunter Mangan, and how she had revolted and planned to humiliate Mangan
and her father by making up to what she considered the least important
individual in the camp--the flunky. How fate had taken the situation
into her own hands and caused her first to admire, then come to love
the man she had mischievously chosen to bear the burden of her girlish
willfulness.
Falcon the Flunky chuckled. “So your father desires a moneyed man for
you, does he? Well, we’ll see what we can do for him. Disappointments
should be avoided in this life, if possible, you know. He’s too old
to face disappointments any longer. I imagine he’s stood his share of
them. I admire your father. He’s so forceful and--and convincing.
I doubt if any other man I ever met could tie me hand and foot so
easily. He has a convincing way with that big gun of his. It’s folly to
misinterpret him.”
“He’s an old dear,” said Manzanita. “And as for disappointment, he
started out as a homesteader at Squawtooth, with almost nothing
for backing. Disappointments! Goodness me! His life has been one
disappointment after another up until the last ten years.”
“We’ll see if we can reward him for his patience and perseverance,”
said The Falcon with a merry laugh.
“Now tell me,” she pleaded. “Don’t talk in riddles any longer. You
forced a serious confession from me to-night. You’ve made me admit that
I--that--that you’re everything to me. And, merciful heavens, I don’t
even know your name!”
“I’ll keep you in ignorance no longer,” he promised.
But before he could continue she laid her hand on his wrist and
whispered: “Listen!”
They reined in, every sense alert.
From a great distance came plainly the sounds of galloping hoofs.
“Let ’em out again!” said the girl. “They’re after us!”