town train.

Men looked at him curiously. His face was bruised and bleeding, his
clothes disheveled, his hat torn. Clay grinned and thought of the old
answer:

"They'd ought to see the other man."

One young fellow, apparently a college boy, who had looked upon the
wine when it was red, was moved to come over and offer condolence.

"Say, I don't want to butt in or anything, but--he didn't do a thing to
you, did he?"

"I hit the edge of a door in the dark," explained Clay solemnly.

"That door must have had several edges." The youth made a confidential
admission. "I've got an edge on myself, sort of."

"Not really?" murmured Clay politely.

"Surest thing you know. Say, was it a good scrap?"

"I'd hate to mix in a better one."

"Wish I'd been there." The student fumbled for a card. "Didn't catch
your name?"

Clay had no intention of giving his name just now to any casual
stranger. He laughed and hummed the chorus of an old range ditty:

"I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
I'm a poor lonesome cowboy,
And a long way from home."

CHAPTER XXIII

JOHNNIE COMES INTO HIS OWN

When Clay shot off at a tangent from the car and ceased to function as
a passenger, Johnnie made an effort to descend and join his friend, but
already the taxi was traveling at a speed that made this dangerous. He
leaned out of the open door and shouted to the driver.

"Say, lemme out, doggone you. I wantta get out right here."

The chauffeur paid not the least attention to him. He skidded round a
corner, grazing the curb, and put his foot on the accelerator. The car
jumped forward.

The passenger, about to drop from the running-board, changed his mind.
He did not want to break a bone or two in the process of alighting.

"'F you don't lemme off right away I'll not pay you a cent for the
ride," Johnnie shouted. "You got no right to pack me off thisaway."

The car was sweeping down the wet street, now and again skidding
dangerously. The puncher felt homesick for the security of an outlaw
bronco's back. This wild East was no place for him. He had been
brought up in a country where life is safe and sane and its inhabitants
have a respect for law. Tame old Arizona just now made a big appeal to
one of its sons.

The machine went drunkenly up the street, zigzagging like a
homeward-bound reveler. It swung into Fourth Avenue, slowing to take
the curve. At the widest sweep of the arc