CHAPTER XXIV
CLAY LAYS DOWN THE LAW
Tim Muldoon, in his shirt-sleeves, was busy over a late breakfast whenhis mother opened the door of the flat to let in Clay Lindsay.
The policeman took one look at the damaged face and forgot the plate ofham and eggs that had just been put before him.
"Yuh've been at it again!" he cried, his Irish eyes lighting up withanticipatory enjoyment.
"I had a little set-to with friend Jerry last night," the Westernerexplained.
"Another?"
"Now don't you blame me. I'm a peaceful citizen--not lookin' fortrouble a li'l' bit. But I don't aim to let this Durand comb my hairwith a rake."
"What's the trouble now?"
"You heard about the girl abducted in an auto from the Bronx?"
"Uh-huh! Was Jerry in that?"
"He was. I'll tell you the whole story, Tim."
"Meet my mother first. Mother--Mr. Lindsay. Yuh've heard me talk avhim."
Mrs. Muldoon's blue Irish eyes twinkled. She was a plump and amplewoman, and her handshake was firm and strong.
"I have that. Tim thinks yuh a wonder, Mr. Lindsay."
"Oh, he's prejudiced. You see he doesn't like the Big Mogul Jerry."
"Well, he's sure a booster for yuh."
Clay told the story of his encounter with Durand on the train and ofhis subsequent meetings with him at the Sea Siren and on the night ofthe poker party. He made elisions and emendations that removed thebedroom scene from the tale.
"So that's when yuh met Annie Millikan," Tim said. "I was wonderin'how yuh knew her."
"That's when I met her. She's one fine girl, Tim, a sure-enoughthoroughbred. She has fought against heavy odds all her life to keepgood and honest. And she's done it."
"She has that," agreed Mrs. Muldoon heartily. "Annie is a good girrl.I always liked her."
"I'd bet my last chip on Annie. So last night I went straight to her.She wouldn't throw down 'Slim' Jim, but she gave me an address. I wentthere and met Durand."
"With his gang?" asked Tim.
"No; I waited till they had gone. I locked myself in a room alone withhim. He took eight shots at me in the dark and then we mixed."
"Mother o' Moses!" exclaimed the policeman. "In the dark?"
"No. I had switched the lights on."
"You bate him! I can see it in your eye!" cried Muldoon, pounding thetable so that the dishes jumped.
"You'll have to ask him about that." Clay passed to more importantfacts. "When I reached home Kitty was there. They had dropped her inthe Park to make a safe getaway."
"That's good."
"But Tim--when Annie Millikan gave me the address where Jerry Durandwas, the driver of my taxi saw her. The man was 'Slim' Jim."
Muldoon sat up, a serious look on his face. "Man, yuh spilt the beansthat time. How'd you ever come to do it? They'll take it out onAnnie, the dogs." The eyes of the policeman blazed.
"Unless we stand by her."
"Sure, and we'll do that. But how?"
"First we've got to get her away from there to some decent place whereshe'll be safe."
Mrs. Muldoon spoke up. "And that's easy. She'll just take our sparebedroom and welcome."
Tim put an arm caressingly over his mother's shoulders. "Ain't she thebest little sport ever, Mr. Lindsay?" he said proudly.
Clay smiled. "She sure enough grades 'way up."
"It's blarney yuh're both talkin'," snorted Mrs. Muldoon. "Sure thegirrl needs a mother and a home. An' I don't doubt she'll pay her way."
"Then that's settled. Will you see Annie, Tim? Or shall I?"
"We'll both see her. But there's another thing. Will she be safehere?"
"I'm goin' to have a talk with 'Slim' Jim and try to throw a scare intohim. I'll report to you what he says."
They took a trolley to the lodging-house where Annie lived.
The girl looked pale and tired. Clay guessed she slept little. Thememory of "Slim" Jim's snarling had stood out in the darkness at thefoot of her bed.
"Is this a pinch?" she asked Tim with a pert little tilt to her chin.
"Yuh can call it that, Annie. Mother wants yuh to come and stay withus."
"And what would I do that for, Mr. Tim Muldoon?" she asked promptly,the color flushing her cheeks.
"Because you're not safe here. That gang will make yuh pay somehow forwhat yuh did."
"And if your mother took me in they'd make her pay. You'd maybe loseyour job."
"I'd find another. I'm thinkin' of quittin' anyhow."
"Say, whadya think I am? I'll not go. I can look out for myself."
"I don't think they'd get Tim," put in Clay. "I'm goin' to see Collinsand have a talk with him."
"You can't salve Jim with soft soap."
"Did I mention soft soap?"
"I heard some one most killed Jerry Durand last night," said Annieabruptly, staring at Lindsay's bruised face. "Was it you?"
"Yes," said the Arizonan simply.
"Did you get the girl?"
"They dropped her to save themselves. My friend found her with a manand took her from him."
"I hope you did up Jerry right!" cried Annie, a vindictive flash in herdark eyes.
"I haven't called him up this mo'nin' to see how he's feelin'," saidClay whimsically. "Miss Annie, we're worried some about you. Mrs.Muldoon is right anxious for us to get you to come and stay awhile withher. She's honin' to have a li'l' girl to mother. Don't you reckonyou can go?"
"I--I wish yuh'd come, Annie," blurted out Tim, looking down his nose.
Tears brimmed in Annie's eyes. To Clay it seemed there was somethinghungry in the look the girl gave Muldoon. She did not want his pityalone. She would not have their hospitality if they were giving it toa girl they despised and wanted to reform.
"I'm an alley cat you're offerin' to take in and feed, Tim Muldoon,"she charged suspiciously.
"Yuh're the girl--my mother loves." He choked on the impulsive avowalhe had almost made and finished the sentence awkwardly. It wasimpossible for him to escape the natural male instinct to keep hisfeelings out of words.
The girl's face softened. Inside, she was a river of tendernessflowing toward the Irishman. "I'll go to your mother, Tim, if shereally wants me," she cried almost in a murmur.
"You're shoutin' now, Miss Annie," said Clay, smiling. "She sure wantsyou. I'll hit the trail to have that talk with Jim Collins."
He found "Slim" Jim at his stand. That flashily dressed young crookeyed him with a dogged and wary defiance. He had just come from a callat the bedside of Jerry Durand and he felt a healthy respect for theman who could do what this light-stepping young fellow had done to thechampion rough-houser of New York. The story Jerry had told was of anassault from behind with a club, but this Collins did not accept atpar. There were too many bruises on his sides and cuts on his face tobe accounted for in any way except by a hard toe-to-toe fight.
"Mo'nin', Mr. Collins. I left you in a hurry last night and forgot topay my bill. What's the damage?" asked Clay in his gently ironic drawl.
"Slim" Jim growled something the meaning of which was drowned in anoath.
"You say it was a free ride? Much obliged. That's sure fair enough,"Clay went on easily. "Well, I didn't come to talk to you about that.I've got other business with you this mo'nin'."
The chauffeur looked at him sullenly and silently.
"Suppose we get inside the cab where we can talk comfortably," Clayproposed.
"Say, I'll stay right where I'm at," announced "Slim" Jim.
The cattleman opened the cab door. "Oh, no, we'll go inside," he saidsoftly.
The men looked at each other and battled. The eye is a more potentweapon than the rapier. The shallow, shifty ones of the gunman fellbefore the deep, steady ones of the Arizonan. "Slim" Jim, with a touchof swagger to save his face, stepped into the cab and sat down. Clayfollowed him, closing the door.
"Have
you seen Jerry Durand this sunny mo'nin'?" asked Lindsay withsurface amiability.
"Wot's it to you?" demanded Collins.
"Not a thing. Nothin' a-tall," agreed Clay. "But it may be somethin'to you. I'm kinda wonderin' whether I'll have to do to you what I didto him."
"Slim" Jim was not a man of his hands. He could use a gun on occasion,if the advantage was all in his favor, but he strictly declinedpersonal encounters at closer quarters. Now he reached for the doorhastily.
A strong, sinewy hand fell on his arm and tightened, slightly twistingthe flesh as the fingers sank deeper.
Collins let out a yell. "Gawd! Don't do that. You're killin' me."
"Beg yore pardon. An accident. If I get annoyed I'm liable to hurtwithout meanin' to," apologized Clay suavely. "I'll come right down tobrass tacks, Mr. Collins. You're through with Annie Millikan.Understand?"
"Say, wot t'ell's this stuff you're pipin'? Who d' you t'ink youseare?"
"Never mind who I am. You'll keep away from Annie from nowon--absolutely. If you bother her--if anything happens to her--well,you go and take a good long look at Durand before you make anymistakes."
"You touch me an' I'll croak you. See!" hissed Collins. "It won't berough-house stuff with me. I'll fix youse so the gospel sharks'll singgather-at-the-river for you."
"A gun-play?" asked Clay pleasantly. "Say, there's a shootin'-galleryround the corner. Come along. I wantta show you somethin'."
"Aw, go to hell!"
The sinewy hand moved again toward the aching muscles of the gunman.Collins changed his mind hurriedly.
"All right. I'll come," he growled.
Clay tossed a dollar down on the counter, took a .32, and aimed at therow of ducks sailing across the gallery pool. Each duck went down asit appeared. He picked up a second rifle and knocked over seven oreight mice as they scampered across the target screen. With a thirdgun he snuffed the flaming eye from the right to the left side of theface that grinned at him, then with another shot sent it back again.He smashed a few clay pipes by way of variety. To finish off with hescored six center shots in a target and rang a bell each time. Not onesingle bullet had failed to reach its mark.
The New York gunman had never seen such speed and accuracy. He wasimpressed in spite of the insolent sneer that still curled his lip.
"Got a six-shooter--a fohty-five?" asked Clay of the owner of thegallery.
"No."
"Sorry. I'm not much with a rifle, but I'm a good average shot with asix-gun. I kinda take to it natural."
They turned and walked back to the cab. Collins fell into the Bowerystrut.
"Tryin' to throw a scare into me," he argued feebly.
"Me? Oh, no. You mentioned soft music and the preacher. Mebbeso.But it's liable to be for you if you monkey with the buzz-saw. I'm nogun-sharp, but no man who can't empty a revolver in a shade better thantwo seconds and put every bullet inside the rim of a cup at fifteenyards wants to throw lead at me. You see, I hang up my hat in Arizona.I grew up with a six-gun by my side."
"I should worry. This is little old New York, not Arizona," thegangman answered.
"That's what yore boss Durand thought. What has it brought him buttrouble? Lemme give you something to chew on. New York's the biggestcity of the biggest, freest country on God's green footstool. Youlittle sewer rats pull wires and think you run it. Get wise, you poorlocoed gink. You run it about as much as that fly on the wheel of yoretaxi drives the engine. Durand's the whole works by his way of it, butwhen some one calls his bluff see where he gets off."
"He ain't through with you yet," growled "Slim" Jim sulkily.
"Mebbe not, but you--you're through with Annie." Clay caught him bythe shoulder and swung him round. His eyes bored chilly into the otherman. "Don't you forget to remember not to forget that. Let her alone.Don't go near her or play any tricks to hurt her. Lay off for good.If you don't--well, you'll pay heavy. I'll be on the job personal tocollect."
Clay swung away and strode down the street, light-heeled and lithe, thesap of vital youth in every rippling muscle.
"Slim" Jim watched him, snarling hatred. If ever he got a good chanceat him it would be curtains for the guy from Arizona, he swore savagely.
The Big-Town Round-Up Page 25
