t of--the devil!" Lefty Joe sputtered the words. "And after you
cleaned up my crowd, ain't it natural and good sense for you to go on
and try to clean up on me?"

"Sounds like it."

"But I figured to beat you to it. I cut in on your trail, Donnegan, and
before I leave it you'll know a lot more about me."

"You're warning me ahead of time?"

"You've played this game square with me; I'll play square with you.
Next time there'll be no slips, Donnegan. I dunno why you should of
picked on me, though. Just the natural devil in you."

"I haven't picked on you," said Donnegan.

"What?"

"I'll give you my word."

A tingle ran through the blood of Lefty Joe. Somewhere he had heard, in
rumor, that the word of Donnegan was as good as gold. He recalled that
rumor now and something of dignity in the manner with which Donnegan
made his announcement carried a heavy weight. As a rule, the tramps
vowed with many oaths; here was one of the nights of the road who made
his bare word sufficient. And Lefty Joe heard with great wonder.

"All I ask," he said, "is why you hounded my gang, if you wasn't after
me?"

"I didn't hound them. I ran into Suds by accident. We had trouble. Then
Levine. Then Kennebec Lou tried to take a fall out of me."

A note of whimsical protest crept into the voice of Donnegan.

"Somehow there's always a fight wherever I go," he said. "Fights just
sort of grow up around me."

Lefty Joe snarled.

"You didn't mean nothing by just 'happening' to run into three of my
boys one after another?"

"Not a thing."

Lefty rocked himself back and forth in an ecstasy of impatience.

"Why don't you stay put?" he complained. "Why don't you stake out your
own ground and stay put in it? You cut in on every guy's territory.
There ain't any privacy any more since you hit the road. What you got? A
roving commission?"

Donnegan waited for a moment before he answered. And when he spoke his
voice had altered. Indeed, he had remarkable ability to pitch his voice
into the roar of the freight train, and above or beneath it, and give it
a quality such as he pleased.

"I'm following a trail, but not yours," he admitted at length. "I'm
following a trail. I've been at it these two years and nothing has
come of it."

"Who you after?"

"A man with red hair."

"That tells me a lot."

Donnegan refused to explain.

"What you got against him--the color of his hair?"

And Lefty roared contentedly at his own stale jest.