Falcon, of Squawtooth

by Arthur Preston Hankins

“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?”