“What’s that?” asked The Falcon, the lips of his grave mouth twitching in amusement.
“Ain’t you never read the Bible?”
“Not as much as I ought, perhaps.”
“Well, the begatters, as I call ’em are in the Bible. I learned that part by heart till it got down to me. It goes like this: ‘And the children of Amram; Aaron, and Moses, and Miriam. The sons also of Aaron; Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. Eleazar begat Phinehas. Phinehas begat Abishua.’ Didn’t you ever read that?”
“Yes, I suppose so. Rather dry in there, I thought.”
“Well, I’m Phinehas. I’m one o’ the begatters—see? But the bos they call me Halfaman. That’s pretty raw, too. See how they got it on me? I gotta be square all the time, or folks will think I’m only half a man because they call me that. I used to have a pal, and his right name was Holman Rose. Wasn’t that funny?—Rose and Daisy! Sometimes they called us ‘The Bouquet.’ And then, seein’ his name was Holman, they called me Halfaman. Maybe they’re right, but I never refused a guy a feed when I had it. Here she comes, Falcon. Now you do just what I tell you to, and we’ll make ’er out easy, and ride ’er clean to the desert—if we’re lucky. Believe me, ole Falcon, I’m a ramblin’ yegg when I get started!”
CHAPTER II
“SQUAWTOOTH” CANBY
THE village of Opaco, on the fringe of the big California desert, never in all its day had seen such frenzied activity. Ninety miles to the east over the wastes of sand, yuccas, greasewood, and cacti, the engineers of a railroad company had made the preliminary survey of the proposed Gold Belt Cut-off, and every indication pointed to the fact that Opaco would be the natural source of supply for the big camps that would come to build the road.
Even now one of the construction companies was temporarily in their midst, while they unloaded their outfit of tents and tools and horses and wagons innumerable from the sidetracked freight train that had brought it to Opaco. The local livery stable and its accompanying corrals were taxed to the limit to minister to the stock. More than fifty strange men, who spoke in the argot of tramps, labored at unloading the train and piling which they removed in big mountain wagons against the ninety-mile trip to Squawtooth Ranch, the outfit’s camping place. The two hotels were filled to overflowing with the nomadic laborers. Opaco stood about open-mouthed and watched. It was as good as a circus come to town. And the outfit—the Mangan-Hatton Construction Company, from Texas—was the first of many to arrive. Others came from Utah, Colorado, and Washington—and it was rumored that eventually the biggest of them all would come from Minneapolis—the main contract company, Demarest, Spruce & Tillou, a concern that handled millions.
Furthermore, every train that came into Opaco brought tramps and tramps and tramps. Some of them were shipped in; others just came. For the first time Opaco learned that tramps really hunt for work; because all that arrived went shambling to the temporary office which Mr. Hunter Mangan had set up, and came away examining meal tickets and speculating with one another on the job-to-be, somewhere out there in the land of the horned toad and the venomous sidewinder, and the little desert owl called tecolote.