“It was wrapped right around an inside branch o’ that tumbleweed, I tell you,” he said forcibly. “It blew right into me, and I was just gonta throw it away and let the wind take it on when I see the note. Then I got a horse and started to Opaco to see you.”
“Good work!” was Blacky’s method of praising him. “Noon to-morrow, eh—or next day, or next,” he mused, after carefully reading the note again. “There won’t be anybody about Squawtooth then, I guess. They’ll all be out huntin’. I’ll say those birds’ll get their signal, Kid—what?”
Kid Strickland grinned understandingly.
“Now here’s what we gotta do, Kid: This note nor no part of it won’t go to this Winston in Los Angeles, o’ course. Nobody else’ll see any of it. We’ll just get word to the sheriff that we know for sure these birds will be comin’ outa their hidin’ place some time after noon to-morrow. And tell um if he’ll stick around he c’n get ’em. We can telephone and not let um know who’s talkin’—see? There’s a phone at Squawtooth. Maybe, while I’m there with the main squeeze, I’ll get a chance at her. We’ll be there soon; I’ll try it.”
“That’s the dope, Blacky. The wind’s blowin’ straight from the mountains, so the tumbleweed came from somewhere in that direction. I was just this side o’ the buttes when she blew into me, goin’ to Stlingbloke. So when you get to Squawtooth you c’n figger out about where they was in the mountains when they sent her out. And you c’n tell the sheriff, and have him be stickin’ around there somewhere. Savvy the burro?”
“You bet yer sweet life! We’ll pin it on that mysterious bird, all right. John Law is wise to him, anyway, I guess. Well, here comes the squeeze and the other two. We’ll be goin’ now. Leave it to me. See you at Stlingbloke to-morrow maybe.”
Blacky Silk tore the note into tiny bits and consigned them to the winds, then climbed into the car.
The two lying prone on the ground in the chaparral waited with bated breath for the verdict of the man who was looking into the arroyo for their footprints. They had not been down there, of course, so he would find none. Still, signs of water might lead to a search through the thicket, in which case the fugitives’ camp surely would be discovered.
“How ’bout it?” finally came the question from the man who was close at hand.