CHAPTER XV
THE GANGMAN SEES RED
Exactly thirty minutes after Clay had left him to break into the house,Johnnie lifted his voice in a loud wail for the police. He had readsomewhere that one can never find an officer when he is wanted, but theBull-of-Bashan roar of the cowpuncher brought them running from alldirections.
Out of the confused explanations of the range-rider the first policemanto reach him got two lucid statements.
"They're white-slavin' a straight girl. This busher says his pal wentin to rescue her half an hour ago and hasn't showed up since," he toldhis mates.
With Johnnie bringing up the rear they made a noisy attack on the frontdoor of Number 121. Almost immediately it was opened from the inside.Four men had come down the stairs in a headlong rush to cut off theescape of one who had outwitted and taunted them.
Those who wanted to get in and those who wanted to get out all tried totalk at once, but as soon as the police recognized Jerry Durand theygave him the floor.
"We're after a flat-worker," explained the ex-pugilist. "He must betryin' for a roof getaway." He turned and led the joint forces back upthe stairs.
Thugs and officers surged up after him, carrying with them in theirrush the Runt. He presently found himself on the roof with thoseengaged in a man-hunt for his friend. When Clay shattered the windowand disappeared inside after his escape from the roof, Johnnie gave adeep sigh of relief. This gun-play got on his nerves, since Lindsaywas the target of it.
The bandy-legged range-rider was still trailing along with the partyten minutes later when its scattered members drew together in tacitadmission that the hunted man had escaped.
"Did youse get a look at his mug, Mr. Durand?" asked one of theofficers. "It's likely we've got it down at headquarters in thegall'ry."
Durand had already made up his mind on that point.
"We didn't see his face in the light, Pete. No, I wouldn't know himagain."
His plug-uglies took their cue from him. So did the officers. IfDurand did not want a pinch there would, of course, not be one.
The gang leader was in a vile temper. If this story reached thenewspapers all New York would be laughing at him. He could appeal tothe police, have Clay Lindsay arrested, and get him sent up for a termon the charge of burglary. But he could not do it without the wholetale coming out. One thing Jerry Durand could not stand was ridicule.His vanity was one of his outstanding qualities, and he did not want itwidely known that the boob he had intended to trap had turned thetables on him, manhandled him, jeered at him, and locked him in a roomwith his three henchmen.
Johnnie Green chose this malapropos moment for reminding the officersof the reason for the coming to the house.
"What about the young lady?" he asked solicitously.
Durand wheeled on him, looked him over with an insolent, malevolenteye, and jerked a thumb in his direction. "Who is this guy?"
"He's the fellow tipped us off his pal was inside," answered one of thepatrolmen. He spoke in a whisper close to the ear of Jerry. "Likelyhe knows more than he lets on. Shall I make a pinch?"
The eyes of the gang leader narrowed. "So he's a friend of thissecond-story bird, is he?"
"Y'betcha!" chirped up Johnnie, "and I'm plumb tickled to take his dusttoo. Now about this yere young lady--"
Jerry caught him hard on the side of the jaw with a short arm jolt.The range-rider hit the pavement hard. Slowly he got to his feetnursing his cheek.
"What yuh do that for, doggone it?" he demanded resentfully. "Me, Iwasn't lookin' for no trouble. Me, I--"
Durand leaped at him across the sidewalk. His strong fingers closed onthe throat of the bow-legged puncher. He shook him as a lion does hiskill. The rage of the pugilist found a vent in punishing the friend ofthe man he hated. Johnnie grew black in the face. His knees saggedand his lips foamed.
The officers pried Jerry loose from his victim with the greatestdifficulty. He tried furiously to get at him, lunging from the men whowere holding his arms.
The puncher sank helplessly against the wall.
"He's got all he can carry, Mr. Durand," one of the bluecoats saidsoothingly. "You don't wantta croak the little guy."
The ex-prize-fighter returned to sanity. "Says I'm white-slavin' agirl, does he? I'll learn him to lie about me," he growled.
Johnnie strangled and sputtered, fighting for breath to relieve histortured lungs.
"Gimme the word, an' I'll run him in for a drunk," the policemansuggested out of the corner of a whispering mouth.
Jerry shook his head. "Nope. Let him go, Pete."
The policeman walked up to the Runt and caught him roughly by the arm."Move along outa here. I'd ought to pinch you, but I'm not gonna do itthis time. See? You beat it!"
Durand turned to one of his followers. "Tail that fellow. Find outwhere he's stayin' and report."
Helplessly Johnnie went staggering down the street. He did notunderstand why he had been treated so. His outraged soul protested atsuch injustice, but the instinct of self-preservation carried him outof the danger zone without argument about it. Even as he wobbled awayhe was looking with unwavering faith to his friend to right his wrongs.Clay would fix this fellow Durand for what he had done to him. BeforeClay got through with him the bully would wish he had never lifted ahand to him.