Clay laughed. He liked the insolent little twist to her mouth. She
made one strong appeal to him. This bit of a girl, so slim that he
could break her in his hands, was game to the core. He recognized it
as a quality of kinship.
"This is my busy night. When I've got more time I'll think of it.
Right now--"
She took the subject out of his mouth. "Listen, how do you know the
girl ain't a badger-worker?"
"You'll have to set 'em up on the other alley, Miss," the Westerner
said. "I don't get yore meanin'."
"Couldn't she 'a' made this date to shake you down? Blackmail stuff."
"No chance. She's not that kind."
"Mebbe you're right. I meet so many hop-nuts and dips and con guys and
gun-molls that I get to thinkin' there's no decent folks left," she
said with a touch of weariness.
"Why don't you pull yore picket-pin and travel to a new range?" he
asked. "They're no kind of people for you to be knowin'. Get out to
God's country where men are white and poor folks get half a chance."
The girl shrugged her shoulders. "Little old New York is my beat.
It's the biggest puddle in the world and I'll do my kickin' here."
Abruptly she switched the talk back to his affairs. "You wantta go
slow when you tackle Jerry Durand. I can tell you one thing. He's in
this business up to the neck. I seen his shadow Gorilla Dave comin'
outa the house next door twice to-day."
"Seen anything of the girl?"
"Nope. But she may be there.
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