onscientious duty this fine morning.

"Clay ain't one o' the common run of cowpunchers, ma'am. You bet you,
by jollies, he ain't. Clay he owns a half-interest in the B-in-a-Box.
O' course it ain't what he's got, but what he is that counts. He's the
best darned pilgrim ever I did see."

"He's all right, Johnnie," the girl admitted with an odd little smile.
"Do you want me to tell him that I'll be glad to drop our family
friends to meet his approval? I don't suppose he asked you to speak to
me about it, did he?"

The little range-rider missed the irony of this. "No, ma'am, I jest
butted in. Mebbe I hadn't ought to of spoke."

The frank eyes of the girl met his fairly. A patch of heightened color
glowed in her soft cheeks. "That would have been better, Johnnie. But
since you have introduced the subject, I'll tell you that Mr. Lindsay
and I are friends. Neither of us has the slightest intention of being
anything more. You may not understand such things."

"No'm," he admitted humbly. "I reckon I'm a plumb idjit."

His attitude was so dejected that she relented.

"You needn't feel badly, Johnnie. There's no harm done--if you don't
say anything about it to Mr. Lindsay. But I don't think you were
intended for a match-maker. That takes quite a little finesse, doesn't
it?"

The word "finesse" was not in Johnnie's dictionary, but he acquiesced
in her verdict.

"I reckon, ma'am, you're right."

CHAPTER XII

CLAY READS AN AD AND ANSWERS IT

Clay was waiting for lunch at a _rotisserie_ on Sixth Avenue, and in
order to lose no time--of which he had more just now than he knew what
to do with--was meanwhile reading a newspaper propped against a
water-bottle. From the personal column there popped out at him three
lines that caught his attention:

If this meets the eye of C. L. of Arizona
please write me. Box M-21, The Herald.
Am in trouble. KITTY M.

He read it again. There could be no doubt in the world. It was
addressed to him, and from Kitty. While he ate his one half spring
chicken Clay milled the situation over in his mind. She had been on
the lookout for him, just as he had been searching for her. By good
luck her shot at a venture had reached him. He remembered now that on
the bus he had casually mentioned to her that he usually read the
"Herald."

After he had eaten, Clay walked down Broadway and left a note at the
office of the "Herald" for Kitty.

The