CHAPTER I
CONCERNING A STREET TWELVE MILES LONG
"I like yore outfit," Red Hollister grumbled. "You're nice boys, andgood to yore mothers--what few of you ain't wore their gray hairs tothe grave with yore frolicsome ways. You know yore business and yougot a good cook. But I'm darned if I like this thing of two meals aday, one at a quarter to twelve at night and the other a quarter pasttwelve, also and likewise at night."
A tenderfoot might have thought that Hollister had some grounds forcomplaint. For weeks he had been crawling out of his blankets in thepre-dawn darkness of 3 A.M. He had sat shivering down beside acamp-fire to swallow a hurried breakfast and had swung into the saddlewhile night was still heavy over the land. He had ridden after cattlewild as deer and had wrestled with _ladino_ steers till long after thestars were up. In the chill night he had eaten another meal, rolled upin his blankets, and fallen into instant heavy sleep. And five minuteslater--or so at least it seemed to him--the cook had pounded on thetriangle for him to get up.
None the less Red's grumbling was a pretense. He would not have beenanywhere else for twice the pay. This was what he lived for.
Johnnie Green, commonly known as "the Runt," helped himself to anotherflank steak. He was not much of a cow-hand, but when it came to eatingJohnnie was always conscientiously on the job.
"These here New Yorkers must be awful hardy," he ventured, apropos ofnothing. "Seems like they're night birds for fair. Never do go tobed, far as I can make out. They tromp the streets all day and danceat them cabby-rets all night. My feet would be all wore out."
Stace Wallis grinned. "So would my pocketbook. I've heard tell how afellow can pay as high as four or five dollars for an eat at themplaces."
"Nothin' to it--nothin' a-tall," pronounced Red dogmatically.Hollister always knew everything. Nothing in the heavens above or theearth below could stump him. The only trouble with his knowledge wasthat he knew so much that wasn't true. "Can't be did. Do you reckonany o' them New Yorkers could get away with five dollars' worth of hamand aigs? Why, the Runt here couldn't eat more'n a dollar's worth."
"Sure," assented Johnnie. It was the habit of his life to agree withthe last speaker. "You're damn whistlin', Red. Why, at the HarveyHouse they only charge a dollar for a square, and a man couldn't get abetter meal than that."
"Onct in Denver, when I went to the stock show, I blowed myself for ameal at the Cambridge Hotel that set me back one-fifty," said SlimLeroy reminiscently. "They et dinner at night."
"They did?" scoffed Johnnie. "Don't they know a fellow eats dinner atnoon and supper at night?"
"I ain't noticed any dinner at noon for se-ve-real weeks," Hollistercontributed.
"Some feed that," ruminated Leroy, with memories of the Cambridge Hotelstill to the fore.
"With or without?" questioned Red.
"I reckon I had one li'l' drink with it. No more."
"Then they stung you," pronounced Hollister.
"Mebbeso, and mebbe not. I ain't kickin' none. I sure was in tonysociety. There was fellows sittin' at a table near us that had on themswallow-tail coats."
Johnnie ventured a suggestion. "Don't you reckon if a fellow et acouple o' plates of this here cavi-eer stuff and some ice cream andcake, he might run it up to two bucks or two and a half? Don't youreckon he might, Clay?"
Clay Lindsay laughed. "You boys know a lot about New York, just aboutas much as I do. I've read that a guy can drop a hundred dollars anight in a cabaret if he has a friend or two along, and never make aripple on Broadway."
"Does that look reasonable to you, Clay?" argued Red. "We're nottalkin' about buckin' the tiger or buyin' diamonds for no actresses.We're figurin' on a guy goin' out with some friends to eat and take afew drinks and have a good time. How could he spend fifty dollars--letalone a hundred--if he let the skirts and the wheel alone and didn'ttamper with no straight flushes?"
"I'm tellin' you what I read. Take it or leave it," said Clay amiably.
"Well, I read there's a street there twelve miles long. If a fellowstarted at one end of that street with a thirst he'd sure be salivatedbefore he reached the other end of it," Stace said with a grin.
"Wonder if a fellow could get a job there. They wouldn't have no usefor a puncher, I reckon," Slim drawled.
"Betcha Clay could get a job all right," answered Johnnie Greenpromptly. "He'd be top hand anywhere, Clay would."
Johnnie was the lost dog of the B-in-a-Box ranch. It was his nature tofollow somebody and lick his hand whenever it was permitted. Thesomebody he followed was Clay Lindsay. Johnnie was his slave, the echoof his opinions, the booster of his merits. He asked no greaterhappiness than to trail in the wake of his friend and get a kind wordoccasionally.
The Runt had chosen as his Admirable Crichton a most engaging youth.It never had been hard for any girl to look at Clay Lindsay. Hissun-tanned, good looks, the warmth of his gay smile, the poise and theeasy stride of him, made Lindsay a marked man even in a country wheremen of splendid physique were no exception.
"I'd take a li'l' bet that New York ain't lookin' for no champeenropers or bronco-busters," said Stace. "Now if Clay was a cabby-retdancer or a Wall Street wolf--"
"There's no street in the world twelve miles long where Clay couldn'trun down and hogtie a job if he wanted to," insisted Johnnie loyally."Ain't that right, Clay?"
Clay was not listening. His eyes were watching the leap of the fireglow. The talk of New York had carried him back to a night on theround-up three years before. He was thinking about a slim girlstanding on a sand spit with a wild steer rushing toward her, of herwarm, slender body lying in his arms for five immortal seconds, of herdark, shy eyes shining out of the dusk at him like live coals. Heremembered--and it hurt him to recall it--how his wounded pride hadlashed out in resentment of the patronage of these New Yorkers. Theyounger man had insulted him, but he knew in his heart now that thegirl's father had meant nothing of the kind. Of course the girl hadforgotten him long since. If he ever came to her mind as a fugitivememory it would be in the guise of a churlish boor as impossible as hisown hill cattle.
"Question is, could you land a job in New York if you wanted one,"explained Stace to the dreamer.
"If it's neck meat or nothin' a fellow can 'most always get somethin'to do," said Lindsay in the gentle voice he used. The vague impulsesof many days crystallized suddenly into a resolution. "Anyhow I'mgoin' to try. Soon as the _rodeo_ is over I'm goin' to hit the trailfor the big town."
"Tucson?" interpreted Johnnie dubiously.
"New York."
The bow-legged little puncher looked at his friend and gasped. Denverwas the limit of Johnnie's imagination. New York was _terraincognita_, inhabited by a species who were as foreign to him as ifthey had dwelt in Mars.
"You ain't really aimin' to go to New York sure enough?" he asked.
Clay flashed on him the warm smile that endeared him to all hisfriends. "I'm goin' to ride down Broadway and shoot up the town,Johnnie. Want to come along?"