a girl. The lean forearm, which
showed bare to the elbow when she raised it to draw the kimono closer
round her, told Clay that she was none too well nourished.

"I'll listen now to your fairy tale, Mr. Gumshoe Guy, but I wantta wise
you that I'm hep to men. Doncha try to string me," she advised.

Clay did not. It had occurred to him that she might give him
information of value. There was something friendly and kindly about
the humorous little mouth which parroted worldly wisdom so sagely and
the jargon of criminals so readily. He told her the story of Kitty
Mason. He could see by the girl's eyes that she had jumped to the
conclusion that he was in love with Kitty. He did not attempt to
disturb that conviction. It might enlist her sympathy.

"Honest, Annie, I believe this guy's on the level," the young woman
said aloud as though to herself. "If he ain't, he's sure a swell
mouthpiece. He don't look to me like no flat-worker--not with that mug
of his. But you never can tell."

"I'm not, Miss. My story's true." Eyes clear as the Arizona sky in a
face brown as the Arizona desert looked straight at her.

Annie Millikan had never seen a man like this before, so clean and
straight and good to look at. From childhood she had been brought up
on the fringe of that underworld the atmosphere of which is miasmic.
She was impressed in spite of herself.

"Say, why don't you go into the movies and be one of these here screen
ideals? You'd knock 'em dead," she advised flippantly, crossing her
bare ankles.

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