In the corral she caught her own mare and saddled her, then essayed to catch another horse—the only other one in the corral fit for the saddle—a roan that Limpy Pardoe had broken only that spring. Time and again the roan evaded her. At last she got her rope from her saddle, and, though it was dark, managed to cast the noose over his head after many attempts, which took a great deal of precious time.
Despite his protests, she saddled him, and, after wrapping her collection of articles in the blankets and tying them on behind, she led him and her pinto to the kitchen door.
She was obliged to tie the roan, and this, too, took time. Her heart was pounding now, for she imagined she heard the rumble of hoofs.
After a desperate search she found the ax, hurried in, and began belaboring the panels of the pantry door. When they had given way before her onslaught, she crawled through with the bread knife and severed the rawhide lariat that held Falcon the Flunky so helplessly on the floor.
With Manzanita dragging at him, they crawled out just as Mrs. Ehrhart, in a long white nightdress, appeared with a small glass bedroom lamp and stood gazing with wide eyes.
“Get on the mare!” ordered Manzanita outside.
“I won’t run away,” The Falcon protested. “I’ll face this thing. I’m innocent. I won’t desert Halfaman.”
“You must—now—for the present! They’re coming! Get on! Later we can think. Now we must get away. You must! To protect me, if for no other reason.”
From the desert there came plainly now the thunder of hoofs.
Manzanita’s last words decided Falcon the Flunky.