“It’s as easily downed as the idea that those two held up the stage, then deliberately came back here to return to work—mules or no mules.”
“I can’t agree.”
“In defending this pair,” said Hunt Mangan, “you may not know that I am passing up an opportunity to further my own wishes, Mr. Canby. But my sense of justice and the proportion of things makes me say what I have said.”
“What d’ye mean by that?”
“If I could think Falcon the Flunky guilty—and help to prove him guilty—I’m sure your daughter would have nothing more to do with him. And that is what I selfishly want. I love Manzanita, Mr. Canby.”
The fierce blue eyes of Squawtooth filled unexpectedly.
“I know that, Hunt,” he said. “I—I’m glad. She’s young and crazy with the heat—plumb loco!—that’s all’s the matter with the girl. Lack o’ years and experience. I’d like fer ye to marry her, Hunt, once she gets outa this scrape. She’s just a kid without a mother—she don’t savvy. But I’m scared—Lord, I’m scared! That low-down c’y-ote will——”
“Again I can’t agree,” Mangan stopped him. “Mr. Canby, I’ve handled men as you’ve handled cattle. I’ve employed hundreds and hundreds—no, thousands and thousands. I’m naturally a pretty good judge of them. This Falcon the Flunky is no reprobate, I’m positive.”
“What is he, then?”
“That I can’t say. I know no more about him than you do—except instinctively.”