Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1922-04-21
CHAPTER
A Street Twelve Miles Lono.

A Street Twelve Miles Long.
al like yore outfit" Red Hotlistei
grumbled. you're nice boys, and good
TO wore mothers-what few of you amt
wore their gray hairs to the grave
with yore frolicsome ways. You kno"
wore business and you got a good
cook. But I'm darned if l like this
thing of two meals a day, one at a
quarter to twelve at night and the
other a quarter past twelve, also and
likewise at night"
Reds grumbling was a pretense. He
would not have been anywhere else for
twice the pay. This was what he lived
for.
Johnnie Green, commonly known as
"the Runt," helped himself to another
flank steak. He was lot much of a
cow-hand, but when it came to eating
Johnnie was always con~scientiously on
the job.
'These here New Workers must be
awful hardy he ventured, apropos of
nothing. Seems like they're night
birds for fair. Never do go to bed, far
as l can make out. They tramp the
streets all day and dance at them cab
by-rets all night. My feet would be
all wore out"
STAGE Wallis grinned. $50 would my
pocketbook. I've heard tell how a fell
low can pay as high as four or five
dollars for an eat at them places"
Clay Lindsay laughed. you boys
know a lot about New York, just about
as much as l do. I've read that a
guy can drop a hundred dollars a night
In a cabaret if he has a friend or two
along, and never make a ripple on
Broadway"
well, l read there's a street there
twelve miles long. If a fellow started
at one end of that street with a thirst
he'd sure be salivated before he
reached the other end Of It," STAGE
said with a grin.
wonder if a fellow could get a job
there. They wouldn't be no use for a
puncher, 1 reckon" Slim drawled.
"Betcha Clay could get a job
all right" answered Johnnie Green
promptly. He'd be top hand any
where, Clay would"
Johnnie was the lost dog Of the
B-in-a-Box ranch. 1t was his nature to
follow somebody and lick his hand
whenever it was permitted. The some
body he followed was Clay Lindsay.
Johnnie was his slave, the echo of his
opinions, the booster of his merits.
He asked no greater happiness than to
trail in the wake of his friend and get
a kind word occasionally.
The Runt had chosen as his Admir-
able Crichton a most engaging youth.
1t never had been hard for any, girl
to look az Clay Lindsay. His sun
tanned good looks, the warmth of his
gay smile, the poise and the easy stride
Of him, made Lindsay a marked man
even in a country where men of splen-
did physique were no exception.
His eyes now were watching the leap
of the fire glow. The talk of New York
had carried him back to o night on the
roundup three years before. He was
thinking about a slim girl standing on
a sand spit with a wild steer rushing
toward her, of her warm, slender body
lying in his arms for five immortal
seconds, Of her dark, shy eyes shining
out of the dusk at him like live Goals.
He remembered-and it hurt him to
recall it-how his wounded pride had
dashed out in resentment of the patron
age Of these New Workers. The young
er man had insulted him, but he knew
In his heart now that the girls father
had meant nothing of the kind. OF
course the girl had forgotten him long
since.
Question is, could o land a job
in New York if you wanted one," ex-
planned STAGE to the dreamer.
"If it's neck meat or nothin' a fell
low can most always get somethin' to
do" said Lindsay in the gentle voice
he used. The vague impulses of many
days crystalized suddenly into a reso-
luton. anyhow I'm goin' to try. Soon
as the rodeo is over I'm goin' to hit
the trail for the big town."
'Tucson?" interpreted Johnnie dubi-
ously.
"New York"
The bow-legged little puncher looked
at his friend and gasped.
Clay flashed on him the warm smile
that endeared him to all his friends.
I'm goin' to ride down Broadway and
shoot up the town, Johnnie. Want to
come along?"
CHAPTER n