“You’ve heard about it, o’ course, Hunt?” Squawtooth began.
“Yes,” Mangan replied.
“I’ve come to ask a favor of ye,” said Squawtooth. “Me and my boys and the dep’ty sheriffs was out all night scourin’ the desert, and even made ’er up into the mountains a ways. Ain’t seen hide ner hair of ’em, and ain’t even struck their trail. The boys are restin’ up a bit at Squawtooth now; but I can’t rest with her out there in the wilderness somewhere, in that fella’s clutches. There’ll be murder when I find ’em, Hunter. But I come to ask ye if ye could le’ me have some men to help run ’em down. That is, till we c’n get the desert rats together and get at the business right. I’ll pay the men their reg’lar wages, o’ course, and’ll give the man that locates ’em five hundred dollars to slip in his jeans. And, o’ course, I’ll make it right with you, Hunt, for disturbin’ the course o’ yer work.”
“It’s all made right with me this moment, Mr. Canby,” Mangan feelingly told him. “I was going to look you up and offer my services as soon as I attended a pressing little matter up in the cut. I’m sorry you were obliged to hunt me up.
“Now, I’m going to give you twenty-five men. I’ve been looking into the matter, and can scout up that many who claim they can ride. We haven’t many saddles, and our stock’s not fast nor fit for such work; but we’ll strap blankets and sacks on some of our lightest mules and do the best we can.”
“I thank ye,” Squawtooth said simply. “I already sent word up in the mountains for Martin and Toddlebike to fetch down a string o’ hosses, and they oughta get in some time late this afternoon. We got a lot o’ saddles at the ranch, but mighty few mounts this time o’ year. I’ve phoned and sent messengers all over the desert hereabouts. By evenin’ at the latest we oughta have a hundred mounted men on their trail. What d’ye think o’ the proposition, anyway, Hunt? I’m plumb floored—can’t think, it seems.”
The contractor was careful with his reply.
“My advice, Mr. Canby,” he said, “would be for you not to take this matter too seriously. Your daughter——”
“Not take ’em seriously! Why, man, ain’t my only daughter—my poor, innocent, inexperienced little child—out there somewhere with that ruffian! Didn’t he coerce her into turnin’ him loose and gettin’ horses and runnin’ away with him? Serious—why——”
“Just a moment,” interposed Mangan. “I am positive that Falcon the Flunky is not a ruffian.”