“Manzanita,” Falcon the Flunky said, “I don’t know what to say or think. We shouldn’t have fled this way. I——”
“We did exactly right,” she interposed. “I know our boys and the desert rats generally about here. Dal Collins, the stage driver, was an old-timer in the country and liked by everybody who knew him.”
“But the deputies——”
“They would have been helpless. It would be almost impossible for Pa Squawtooth to tell them that he had imprisoned you without the desert folks getting wind of it. They might have taken the law into their own hands. Anyway, I was taking no chances. This is safer.”
“But where are we going? What are we to do?”
“I know where to go to hide until we can think the matter over and decide upon a plan of action. I know where to go, all right. They’ll never find us.”
“Where?”
“Up in the mountains. Mart and I found the place. We’ve kept it a secret. We were going to run away once, and we planned to hide there till the hue and cry had died down. Then we played outlaw there once. Weren’t we the silly kids? That was years and years ago.”
“How many?” he asked.
“I won’t tell you!” she shot back. “It’s not fair to ask.”