Falcon, of Squawtooth

Falcon, of Squawtooth
A Western Story
BY ARTHUR PRESTON HANKINS Author of “The She Boss”
CHELSEA HOUSE 79 Seventh Avenue New York City
Copyright, 1923 By CHELSEA HOUSE Falcon, of Squawtooth (Printed in the United States of America) All rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian.
FALCON OF SQUAWTOOTH
A LONG freight train, westward bound, came to a stop in a little California mountain town with a shriek of brakes and a hiss of air. At once a brakeman clambered agilely down the steel ladder of a box car in the middle of the train, and sent the side door of the car creaking along its rusty track. He thrust his head inside and peered about through the darkness of the interior.
Then he cried raucously:
“Come outa that, now! Make it snappy, Jack!”
In a dark corner of the box car a man arose and stepped slowly toward the square of sunlight that represented the door. As the light of day shone in upon him the brakeman looked him up and down, and did not seem so displeased.
The tramp was dressed in overalls, fairly decent shoes, and a cap. Though he was grimy and stained from hours of travel on a freight, he was no dirtier than the brakeman and was dressed as well. His hair was close-cropped, and no stubble of beard showed on his rather boyish face. His eyes were dark and twinkling. His figure was straight and strong. There was nothing hangdog about this tramp.
The brakeman’s tones were mollified as he asked: