snuffed the flaming eye from the right to the left side of the
face that grinned at him, then with another shot sent it back again.
He smashed a few clay pipes by way of variety. To finish off with he
scored six center shots in a target and rang a bell each time. Not one
single bullet had failed to reach its mark.

The New York gunman had never seen such speed and accuracy. He was
impressed in spite of the insolent sneer that still curled his lip.

"Got a six-shooter--a fohty-five?" asked Clay of the owner of the
gallery.

"No."

"Sorry. I'm not much with a rifle, but I'm a good average shot with a
six-gun. I kinda take to it natural."

They turned and walked back to the cab. Collins fell into the Bowery
strut.

"Tryin' to throw a scare into me," he argued feebly.

"Me? Oh, no. You mentioned soft music and the preacher. Mebbeso.
But it's liable to be for you if you monkey with the buzz-saw. I'm no
gun-sharp, but no man who can't empty a revolver in a shade better than
two seconds and put every bullet inside the rim of a cup at fifteen
yards wants to throw lead at me. You see, I hang up my hat in Arizona.
I grew up with a six-gun by my side."

"I should worry. This is little old New York, not Arizona," the
gangman answered.

"That's what yore boss Durand thought. What has it brought him but
trouble? Lemme give you something to chew on. New York's the biggest
city of the biggest, freest country on God's green footstool. You
little sewer rats pull wires and think you run it. Get wise, you poor
locoed gink. You run it about as much as that fly on the wheel of yore
taxi drives the engine. Durand's the whole works by his way of it, but
when some one calls his bluff see where he gets off."

"He ain't through with you yet," growled "Slim" Jim sulkily.

"Mebbe not, but you--you're through with Annie." Clay caught him by
the shoulder and swung him round. His eyes bored chilly into the other
man. "Don't you forget to remember not to forget that. Let her alone.
Don't go near her or play any tricks to hurt her. Lay off for good.
If you don't--well, you'll pay heavy. I'll be on the job personal to
collect."

Clay swung away and strode down the street, light-heeled and lithe, the
sap of vital youth in every rippling muscle.

"Slim" Jim watched him, snarling hatred. If ever he got a good chance
at him it would be curtains for the guy from Arizona, he swore savagely.

CHAPTER XXV

JOHN