. And he
didn't peep about what he was up to."

"Forget Jim while you're thinkin' about this. You don't owe Jerry
Durand anything, anyhow. Where would he have Kitty taken? You can
give a guess."

She had made her decision before she spoke. "Gimme paper and a pencil."

On Clay's notebook she scrawled hurriedly an address.

"Jim'd croak me if he knew I'd given this," she said, looking straight
at the cattleman.

"He'll never know--and I'll never forget it, Annie."

Clay left her and turned to the driver. From the slip of paper in his
hand he read aloud an address. "Another five if you break the speed
limit," he said.

As Clay slammed the door shut and the car moved forward he had an
impression of something gone wrong, of a cog in his plans slipped
somewhere. For Annie, standing in the rain under a sputtering misty
street light, showed a face stricken with fear.

Her dilated eyes were fixed on the driver of the taxi-cab.

CHAPTER XXI

AT THE HEAD OF THE STAIRS

The cab whirled round the corner and speeded down a side street that
stretched as far as they could see silent and deserted in the storm.

The rain, falling faster now, beat gustily in a slant against the left
window of the cab. It was pouring in rivulets along the gutter beside
the curb. Some sixth sense of safety--one that comes to many men who
live in the outdoors on the untamed frontier--warned Clay that all was
not well. He had felt that bell of instinct ring in him once at Juarez
when he had taken a place at a table to play poker with a bad-man who
had a grudge at him. Again it had sounded when he was about to sit
down on a rock close to a crevice where a rattler lay coiled.

The machine had swung to the right and was facing from the wind instead
of into it. Clay was not very well acquainted with New York, but he
did know this was not the direction in which he wanted to go.

He beat with his knuckles on the front of the cab to attract the
attention of the driver. In the swishing rain, and close to the throb
of the engine, the chauffeur either did not or would not hear.

Lindsay opened the door and swung out on the running-board. "We're
goin' wrong. Stop the car!" he ordered.

The man at the wheel did not turn. He speeded up.

His fare wasted no time in remonstrances. A moment, and the chauffeur
threw on the brake sharply. His reason was a good one. The blue nose
of a revolver was jammed hard against his ribs. He