Falcon, of Squawtooth

by Arthur Preston Hankins

There was a low mumble from the stage driver, which the listening girl could not distinguish.

“A pink necktie,” said Crip. “She was tied to the can. They didn’t have the savvy to cut a pole, like we did, to reach down to the water; so one of ’em had took off his necktie and fastened the can on it. Then as the water had plumb ruined her, he threw her in with the can when they was ready to go. Did one of ’em wear a pink tie, Dal?”

Dal Collins mumbled something indistinguishable, to which the vaquero replied:

“Can’t remember, eh? Well, it oughta be easy to get ’em now. The sheriff’s sure, anyway, these fellas come from some o’ the railroad camps. He says these Jaspers, so far’s he’s seen, ain’t anything but crooks, anyway. So if they come from any o’ the outfits, or from Ragtown or Stlingbloke, he’s got an idea that the tie was bought somewheres here on the desert. All the big camps sell shirts an’ ties and things like that in their commissaries; and there’s little stores at Stlingbloke and Ragtown. It was a new tie, you could see that. Just wet. Not wadded much or dirty on the edges, like an old tie’d be. The sheriff come down with me. He’s gone over to begin ridin’ the camps now. I come here for a feed, then I’m foggin’ it over to Mangan-Hatton’s to go with ’im, if he finds he wants me to.”

Here Squawtooth Canby came in and went on into the sick room. For his benefit the story was repeated by Crip.

Manzanita called Crip to lunch presently, and when he was settled at the table she left the room, much to the gentleman’s disgust, telling him to pound on something with his fork if he required anything more. In her own little room, which looked out on green alfalfa fields and the pear orchard, she sat down to think.

She had seen Halfaman Daisy dressed up as he went through on the stage to Opaco; and no one who ever had seen Mr. Daisy dressed up could forget the horror of the combination made by his sandy hair and his new pink tie. Halfaman Daisy and Falcon the Flunky were partners. They had come to the desert together from some mysterious place far beyond. Together they had left the desert, five days before. Since their leaving the stage had been robbed, and Dal Collins lay at the point of death. A pink tie had been found in an underground stream near where the holdup men had camped.

Dully Manzanita thought of Hunter Mangan’s serious words in regard to the flotsam and jetsam of the railroad camps:

“There are many bright, capable men in trampdom—far more than is realized by the general public. But do you not see that this fact in itself should make you cautious about picking a friend from among them? Bright, capable men have taken to tramp life, in many cases, because polite society has for some reason ostracized them. They may be bank defaulters, forgers, or even worse. Surely your reason will tell you that no educated, refined man need be a tramp laborer these days; and that, since he is educated and refined, ambition cannot be lacking. So such a man must be a renegade, a fugitive from justice, an ostracized member of good society, to explain his adherence to the slip-along life of the construction stiff.”

There was a dull pain in her some place, she could not tell just where, and her head ached, too. What had Halfaman Daisy meant when he said he might return in Santa Claus’ sleigh? He had hinted at future affluence. And what kept the two away so long? Also, why had not Falcon the Flunky told her he was contemplating a trip away from the desert?