“You c’n tell me what he’s doin’ for you, I reckon.”
“He’s working in the kitchen,” Mangan was obliged to admit reluctantly.
“Did you ever get his name? He wouldn’t give it down at Opaco that time.”
“He is still on the books as Falcon the Flunky, as I wrote him down when he got the job. He’s drawn no pay as yet, so there has been no check made out to him. Really, I can tell you nothing more about him.”
“Funny deal! How’d Nita get acquainted with ’im?”
Mangan told of the meeting, without embellishment.
“Huh! Funny! I beg yer pardon, Hunt. Come on out now an’ I’ll show ye our new pipe line to the new ’falfy field I’m layin’ off.”
Squawtooth’s guests had taken their leave, walking side by side toward the lights of the camp twinkling across the black desert, Mangan leading his saddle horse.
“Manzanita!”—from the front veranda.