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Updated: June 16, 2025
Somehow she could not look upon him as a stranger. She had given him food; she had talked to him; she had even laughed with him. He was not like those dead she had seen in her reportorial days. Her orbit and Johnny Two-Hawks' had indeterminately touched; she had known old Gregory, or Gregor, who had been this unfortunate young man's friend. And he had hoped they might never meet again!
Who he was and what he was, by a simple turn of the wrist. It was Cutty's affair now, not hers. He had a legal right to examine the contents. He was an agent of the Federal Government. The drums of jeopardy and Stefani Gregor and Johnny Two-Hawks, all interwoven. She had waited in vain for Cutty to mention the emeralds. What signified his silence?
Now she had been given a speaking part; and she would be down stage for a moment or two dusting the furniture while the stars were retouching their make-up. It was not the thought of Cutty, of Gregor, of Johnny Two-Hawks, of hidden treasure; simply she had arrived somewhere in the great drama. When she reached the office she had a hard time of it to settle down to the day's work.
Nor could she tell how the struggle was going. Indeed until the idea came that they might be trampling Johnny Two-Hawks there was no coherent thought in her head, only broken things. She ran to the soapbox and kicked it aside. She saw Hawksley on his face, motionless. At least they should not trample his dead body.
She saw the edges of money and documents; but she did not touch anything. There was no need. She knew it belonged to Johnny Two-Hawks. Of course there was an appalling attraction. The wallet was, figuratively, begging to be investigated. But resolutely she closed the flap. Why?
This Johnny Two-Hawks, as Kitty persisted in calling him, was going to reach his Montana ranch. His friend Cutty would take it upon himself to see to that. It struck him that after all he would have to play the game as he had planned it. Those gems falling into the hands of the Federal agents would surely bring to light Hawksley's identity; and Hawksley should have his chance.
Nevertheless, she would go into the streets with Johnny Two-Hawks. "But are you strong enough to venture on the streets?" "Rot! Dash it all, I'm no mollycoddle! All nonsense to keep me pinned in like this. Will you go with me be my guide?" "Yes!" She shot out the word and crossed the Rubicon before reason could begin to lecture.
He must act at once, before the desecration could be consummated. Two-Hawks Hawksley hereafter, for the sake of convenience had an equity in the gems; but what of that? In smuggling them in and how the deuce had he done it? he had thrown away his legal right to them. Cutty kneaded his conscience into a satisfactory condition of quiescence and went on with his planning.
But we women often go to pieces over nothing, without any logical reason. Ready to face murder and battle and sudden death; and then to blow up, as you men say it, over nothing. I had to move, go somewhere, do something; so I came here. But I came on what do you call it? official business. Here!" She offered him the wallet. "What's this?" "Belongs to Johnny Two-Hawks.
The torch of liberty in the hands of Anarch! Johnny Two-Hawks. Somehow even if she never saw him again she knew she would always remember him by that name. Phases of the encounter began to return. Fine hands; perhaps he painted or played. The oblong head of well-balanced mentality. A pleasant voice. Breeding. To be sure, he had laughed at that fan popping out. Anybody would have laughed.
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