Denny, the operator at Stanwood, wired,
saying:
Party here anxious to get through to Manzanita quick. Could auto make
upper desert?
No (clicked Banneker in response). Describe party.
The answer came back confirming his suspicion:
Thin, nice-spoken, wears goggles, smokes cork-tips. Arrived Five from
Angelica held here.
Tell impossible by any route (instructed Banneker). Wire result.
An hour later came the reply:
Won't try to-night. Probably horse to-morrow.
Here was a problem, indeed, fit to chill the untimely
self-congratulations of Banneker. Should the reporter come in--and come
he would if it were humanly possible, by Banneker's estimate of him--it
would be by the only route which gave exit to the west. On the other
side the flooded arroyo cut off escape. To try to take Io out through
the forest, practically trackless, in that weather, or across the
channeled desert, would be too grave a risk. To all intents and purposes
they were marooned on an island with no reasonable chance of
exit--except! To Banneker's feverishly searching mind reverted a local
legend. Taking a chance on missing some emergency call, he hurried over
to the village and interviewed, through the persuasive interpretation of
sundry drinks, an aged and bearded wreck whose languid and chipped
accents spoke of a life originally far alien to the habitudes of the
Sick Coyote where he was fatalistically awaiting his final attack of
delirium tremens.
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