Chapter Six
_The New York Trail_
On the train to New York that night they carefully summed up theirprospects and what they had gained.
"We started at pretty near nothing," said Ronicky. He was aprofessional optimist. "We had a picture of a girl, and we knew shewas on a certain train bound East, three or four weeks ago. That's allwe knew. Now we know her name is Caroline Smith, and that she liveswhere she can see the East River out of her back window. I guess thatnarrows it down pretty close, doesn't it, Bill?"
"Close?" asked Bill. "Close, did you say?" "Well, we know the trail,"said Ronicky cheerily. "All we've got to do is to locate the shackthat stands beside that trail. For old mountain men like us that oughtto be nothing. What sort of a stream is this East River, though?"
Bill Gregg looked at his companion in disgust. He had become soused to regarding Doone as entirely infallible that it amazed anddisheartened him to find that there was one topic so large about whichRonicky knew nothing. Perhaps the whole base for the good cheer ofRonicky was his ignorance of everything except the mountain desert.
"A river's a river," went on Ronicky blandly. "And it's got a townbeside it, and in the town there's a house that looks over the water.Why, Bill, she's as good as found!"
"New York runs about a dozen miles along the shore of that river,"groaned Bill Gregg.
"A dozen miles!" gasped Ronicky. He turned in his seat and stared athis companion. "Bill, you sure are making a man-sized joke. Thereain't that much city in the world. A dozen miles of houses, one rightnext to the other?"
"Yep, and one on top of the other. And that ain't all. Start about thecenter of that town and swing a twenty-mile line around it, and theend of the line will be passing through houses most of the way."
Ronicky Doone glared at him in positive alarm. "Well," he said,"that's different."
"It sure is. I guess we've come on a wild-goose chase, Ronicky,hunting for a girl named Smith that lives on the bank of the EastRiver!" He laughed bitterly.
"How come you know so much about New York?" asked Ronicky, eager toturn the subject of conversation until he could think of something tocheer his friend.
"Books," said Bill Gregg.
After that there was a long lull in the conversation. That nightneither of them slept long, for every rattle and sway of the train wastelling them that they were rocking along toward an impossible task.Even the cheer of Ronicky had broken down the next morning, and,though breakfast in the diner restored some of his confidence, he wasnot the man of the day before.
"Bill," he confided, on the way back to their seats from the diner,"there must be something wrong with me. What is it?"
"I dunno," said Bill. "Why?"
"People been looking at me."
"Ain't they got a right to do that?"
"Sure they have, in a way. But, when they don't seem to see you whenyou see them, and when they begin looking at you out of the cornerof their eyes the minute you turn away, why then it seems to me thatthey're laughing at you, Bill."
"What they got to laugh about? I'd punch a gent in the face thatlaughed at me!"
But Ronicky fell into a philosophical brooding. "It can't be done,Bill. You can punch a gent for cussing you, or stepping on your foot,or crowding you, or sneering at you, or talking behind your back, orfor a thousand things. But back here in a crowd you can't fight a gentfor laughing at you. Laughing is outside the law most anywheres, Bill.It's the one thing you can't answer back except with more laughing.Even a dog gets sort of sick inside when you laugh at him, and a manis a pile worse. He wants to kill the gent that's laughing, and hewants to kill himself for being laughed at. Well, Bill, that's a gooddeal stronger than the way they been laughing at me, but theydone enough to make me think a bit. They been looking at threethings--these here spats, the red rim of my handkerchief sticking outof my pocket, and that soft gray hat, when I got it on."
"Derned if I see anything wrong with your outfit. Didn't they tell youthat that was the style back East, to have spats like that on?"
"Sure," said Ronicky, "but maybe they didn't know, or maybe they gowith some, but not with me. Maybe I'm kind of too brown and outdoorslooking to fit with spats and handkerchiefs like this."
"Ronicky," said Bill Gregg in admiration, "maybe you ain't read apile, but you figure things out just like a book."
Their conversation was cut short by the appearance of a drift ofhouses, and then more and more. From the elevated line on which theyran presently they could look down on block after block of roofspacked close together, or big business structures, as they reached theuptown business sections, and finally Ronicky gasped, as they plungedinto utter darkness that roared past the window.
"We go underground to the station," Bill Gregg explained. He wasa little startled himself, but his reading had fortified him to acertain extent.
"But is there still some more of New York?" asked Ronicky humbly.
"More? We ain't seen a corner of it!" Bill's superior information madehim swell like a frog in the sun. "This is kinder near One HundredthStreet where we dived down. New York keeps right on to First Street,and then it has a lot more streets below that. But that's just theIsland of Manhattan. All around there's a lot more. Manhattan ismostly where they work. They live other places."
It was not very long before the train slowed down to make GrandCentral Station. On the long platform Ronicky surrendered his suitcase to the first porter. Bill Gregg was much alarmed. "What'd you dothat for?" he asked, securing a stronger hold on his own valise andbrushing aside two or three red caps.
"He asked me for it," explained Ronicky. "I wasn't none too set ongiving it to him to carry, but I hated to hurt his feelings. Besides,they're all done up in uniforms. Maybe this is their job."
"But suppose that feller got away out of sight, what would you do?Your brand-new pair of Colts is lying away in it!"
"He won't get out of sight none," Ronicky assured his friend grimly."I got another Colt with me, and, no matter how fast he runs, aforty-five slug can run a pile faster. But come on, Bill. The word inthis town seems to be to keep right on moving."
They passed under an immense, brightly lighted vault and then wriggledthrough the crowds in pursuit of the astonishingly agile porter. Sothey came out of the big station to Forty-second Street, where theyfound themselves confronted by a taxi driver and the question:"Where?"
"I dunno," said Ronicky to Bill. "Your reading tell you anything aboutthe hotels in this here town?"
"Not a thing," said Bill, "because I never figured that I'd be foolenough to come this far away from my home diggings. But here I am, andwe don't know nothing."
"Listen, partner," said Ronicky to the driver. "Where's afair-to-medium place to stop at?"
The taxi driver swallowed a smile that left a twinkle about his eyeswhich nothing could remove. "What kind of a place? Anywhere from fiftycents to fifty bucks a night."
"Fifty dollars!" exclaimed Bill Gregg. "Can you lay over that,Ronicky? Our wad won't last a week."
"Say, pal," said the taxi driver, becoming suddenly friendly, "I canfix you up. I know a neat little joint where you'll be as snug as youwant. They'll stick you about one-fifty per, but you can't beat thatprice in this town and keep clean."
"Take us there," said Bill Gregg, and they climbed into the machine.
The taxi turned around, shot down Park Avenue, darted aside into thedarker streets to the east of the district and came suddenly to ahalt.
"Did you foller that trail?" asked Bill Gregg in a chuckling whisper.
"Sure! Twice to the left, then to the right, and then to the leftagain. I know the number of blocks, too. Ain't no reason for gettingrattled just because a joint is strange to us. New York may betolerable big, but it's got men in it just like we are, and maybe alot worse kinds."
As they got out of the little car they saw that the taxi driver hadpreceded them, carrying their suit cases. They followed up a steeppitch of stairs to the first floor of the hotel, where t
he landing hadbeen widened to form a little office.
"Hello, Bert," said their driver. "I picked up these gentlemen atGrand Central. They ain't wise to the town, so I put 'em next to you.Fix 'em up here?"
"Sure," said Bert, lifting a huge bulk of manhood from behind thedesk. He placed his fat hands on the top of it and observed his guestswith a smile. "Ill make you right to home here, friends. Thank you,Joe!"
Joe grinned, nodded and, receiving his money from Bill Gregg, departeddown the stairs, humming. Their host, in the meantime, had picked uptheir suit cases and led the way down a hall dimly lighted by twoflickering gas jets. Finally he reached a door and led them into aroom where the gas had to be lighted. It showed them a cheerlessapartment in spite of the red of wall paper and carpet.
"Only three bucks," said the proprietor with the air of one bestowingcharity out of the fullness of his heart. "Bathroom only two doorsdown. I guess you can't beat this layout, gents?"
Bill Gregg glanced once about him and nodded.
"You come up from the South, maybe?" asked the proprietor, lingeringat the door.
"West," said Bill Gregg curtly.
"You don't say! Then you boys must be used to your toddy at night,eh?"
"It's a tolerable dry country out there," said Ronicky withoutenthusiasm.
"All the more reason you need some liquor to moisten it up. Wait tillI get you a bottle of rye I got handy." And he disappeared in spite oftheir protests.
"I ain't a drinking man," said Gregg, "and I know you ain't, but it'ssure insulting to turn down a drink in these days!"
Ronicky nodded, and presently the host returned with two glasses,rattling against a tall bottle on a tray.
"Say, when," he said, filling the glasses and keeping on, in spite oftheir protests, until each glass was full.
"I guess it looks pretty good to you to see the stuff again," hesaid, stepping back and rubbing his hands like one warmed by theconsciousness of a good deed. "It ain't very plentiful around here."
"Well," said Gregg, swinging up his glass, "here's in your eye,Ronicky, and here's to you, sir!"
"Wait," replied Ronicky Doone. "Hold on a minute, Bill. Looks to melike you ain't drinking," he said to the proprietor.
The fat man waved the suggestion aside. "Never touch it," he assuredthem. "Used to indulge a little in light wines and beers when thecountry was wet, but when it went dry the stuff didn't mean enough tome to make it worth while dodging the law. I just manage to keep alittle of it around for old friends and men out of a dry country."
"But we got a funny habit out in our country. We can't no ways drinkunless the gent that's setting them out takes something himself. Itain't done that way in our part of the land," said Ronicky.
"It ain't?"
"Never!"
"Come, come! That's a good joke. But, even if I can't be with you,boys, drink hearty."
Ronicky Doone shook his head. "No joke at all," he said firmly."Matter of politeness that a lot of gents are terrible hard set on outwhere we come from."
"Why, Ronicky," protested Bill Gregg, "ain't you making it a littlestrong? For my part I've drunk twenty times without having the gentthat set 'em up touch a thing. I reckon I can do it again. Here'show!"
"Wait!" declared Ronicky Doone. And there was a little jarring ringin his voice that arrested the hand of Bill Gregg in the very act ofraising the glass.
Ronicky crossed the room quickly, took a glass from the washstand and,returning to the center table, poured a liberal drink of the whiskyinto it.
"I dunno about my friend," he went on, almost sternly, to thebewildered hotel keeper. "I dunno about him, but some gents feel sostrong about not drinking alone that they'd sooner fight. Well, sir,I'm one of that kind. So I say, there's your liquor. Get rid of it!"
The fat man reached the center table and propped himself against it,gasping. His whole big body seemed to be wilting, as though in aterrific heat. "I dunno!" he murmured. "I dunno what's got into youfellers. I tell you, I never drink."
"You lie, you fat fool!" retorted Ronicky. "Didn't I smell yourbreath?"
Bill Gregg dropped his own glass on the table and hurriedly came toconfront his host by the side of Ronicky.
"Breath?" asked the fat man hurriedly, still gasping more and moreheavily for air. "I--I may have taken a small tonic after dinner. Infact, think I did. That's all. Nothing more, I assure you. I--I haveto be a sober man in my work."
"You got to make an exception this evening," said Ronicky, morefiercely than ever. "I ought to make you drink all three drinks forbeing so slow about drinking one!"
"Three drinks!" exclaimed the fat man, trembling violently. "It--itwould kill me!"
"I think it would," said Ronicky. "I swear I think it would. And maybeeven one will be a sort of a shock, eh?"
He commanded suddenly: "Drink! Drink that glass and clean out the lastdrop of it, or we'll tie you and pry your mouth open and pour thewhole bottle down your throat. You understand?"
A feeble moan came from the throat of the hotel keeper. He castone frantic glance toward the door and a still more frantic appealcentered on Ronicky Doone, but the face of the latter was as cold asstone.
"Then take your own glasses, boys," he said, striving to smile, as hepicked up his own drink.
"You drink first, and you drink alone," declared Ronicky. "Now!"
The movement of his hand was as ominous as if he had whipped out arevolver. The fat man tossed off the glass of whisky and then stoodwith a pudgy hand pressed against his breast and the upward glance ofone who awaits a calamity. Under the astonished eyes of Bill Gregg heturned pale, a sickly greenish pallor. His eyes rolled, and his handon the table shook, and the arm that supported him sagged.
"Open the window," he said. "The air--there ain't no air. I'mchoking--and--"
"Get him some water," cried Bill Gregg, "while I open the window."
"Stay where you are, Bill."
"But he looks like he's dying!"
"Then he's killed himself."
"Gents," began the fat man feebly and made a short step toward them.The step was uncompleted. In the middle of it he wavered, put out hisarms and slumped upon his side on the floor.
Bill Gregg cried out softly in astonishment and horror, but RonickyDoone knelt calmly beside the fallen bulk and felt the beating of hisheart.
"He ain't dead," he said quietly, "but he'll be tolerably sick for awhile. Now come along with me."
"But what's all this mean?" asked Bill Gregg in a whisper, as hepicked up his suit case and hurried after Ronicky.
"Doped booze," said Ronicky curtly.
They hurried down the stairs and came out onto the dark street. ThereRonicky Doone dropped his suit case and dived into a dark nook besidethe entrance. There was a brief struggle. He came out again, pushinga skulking figure before him, with the man's arm twisted behind hisback.
"Take off this gent's hat, will you?" asked Ronicky.
Bill Gregg obeyed, too dumb with astonishment to think. "It's the taxidriver!" he exclaimed.
"I thought so!" muttered Ronicky. "The skunk came back here to waittill we were fixed right now. What'll we do with him?"
"I begin to see what's come off" said Bill Gregg, frowning into thewhite, scowling face of the taxi driver. The man was like a rat, but,in spite of his fear, he did not make a sound.
"Over there!" said Bill Gregg, nodding toward a flight of cellarsteps.
They caught the man between them, rushed him to the steps and flunghim headlong down. There was a crashing fall, groans and then silence.
"He'll have a broken bone or two, maybe," said Ronicky, peering calmlyinto the darkness, "but he'll live to trap somebody else, curse him!"And, picking up their suit cases again, they started to retrace theirsteps.