Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume], August 18, 1922, Image 3

About Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925

Image provided by: Wisconsin Historical Society

                
ANNIE MILLIKAN
SYNOPSIS.—A foreword tellg this:
Motoring through Arizona, a ,'party
of easterners, father and daughter
and a male companion, stop to wit
ness a cattle round up. The girl
leaves the car and is attacked by
a wild steer. A masterpiece of
riding on the part of one of the
cowboys saves her life. Then the
story begins: Clay Lindsay, range
rider on an Arizona ranch, an
nounces his intention to visit the
"big town,” New York. On the
train Lindsay becomes interested in
a young woman, Kitty Mason, on
her way to New York to become
a motion-picture actress. She Is
marked as fair prey by a fellow
traveler, Jerry Durand, gang politi
cian and ex-prize fighter. Perceiving
his intentions, Lindsay provokes a
quarrel and throws Durand from
the train. On his first day In New
York Lindsay is splashed with wa
ter by a Janitor. That Individual
the range-rider punishes sumrparily
and leaves tied to a fire hydrant.
A young woman who sees the oc
currence invites Clay into her
house and hides him from the po
lice. Clay’s “rescuer” introduces
herself as Beatrice Whitford. Lind
say meets her father, Colin Whit
ford, and is invited to visit them
again. He meets Kitty Mason by
accident, d'he has been disappointed
in tier stage aspirations, and to
support herself is selling cigarettes
in a cabaret. Clay visits her there.
Kitty is insulted by a customer.
Clay punishes the annoyer. After
a lively mixup Lindsay escapes.
Outside, he is attacked by Jerry
Durand and a companion and
beaten insensible. Lindsay’s ac
quaintance with Beatrice Whitford
ripens. Through her he is intro
duced into “society.” His “side
partner” on the Arizona ranch,
Johnnie Green, comes to the “big
town.” The two take an apartment
together. Kitty Mason gets word
to Clay that she is in trouble. He
goes to a house where she is sup
posed to be shut up. He goes to
the rescue.
CHAPTER Vll—Continued.
— s—
doin’, old-timer. This is
my job, and I don’t reckon I’ll let any
body else tackle It. MuCh obliged,
just the same. You’re one sure
enough white roan, Johnnie.”
The little feiuvw knew that the mat
ter was settled. Jlay had decided and
what he said was final. But John
nie worried about it all the way. At
the last moment, when they separated
at the street corner, he added one last
■word.
•“Don’t you be too venturesome, son.
If them guys got you it sure w r ould
break me all up.”
Clay smiled cheerfully. “They’re
not goin’ to get me, Johnnie. Don’t
forget to remember nbt to forget yore
part. under cover for thirty min
utes; then if I haven’t shown up,
holler yore head off for the cops.”
They were passing an alley as Clay
finished speaking. He slipped into its
friendly darkness and wns presently
lost to sight. It ran into an inner
court which was the center of tortu
ous passages. The cattleman stopped
to get his bearings, selected the likeli
est exit, and brought up in the shel
ter of a small porch. This, he felt
•ure, must be the rear of the house
he wanted.
i A strip of lattice work ran up the
aide of the entrance. Very carefully,
testing every slat with his weight be
fore trusting himself to it, he climbed
tip and edged forward noiselessly upon
the roof. On hands and knees he
crawled to the window and tried to
peer la
The blind was down, but he could
•ee that the room was dark. What
danger lurked behind the drawn blind
he could not guess, but after a mo
ent, to make sure that the revolver
beneath his belt was ready for in
•tant use, he put his hand gently on
the sash.
! His motions were soundless as the
fall of snowflakes. The window moved
•lowly, almost Imperceptibly, under the
pressure of his hands. Warily he lift
ed one leg Into the room. His head
followed, then the rest of his body.
He waited, every nerve tensed.
There came to him a sound that
sent cold finger-tips playing a tattoo
up and down his spine. It was the in
take of some one’s cautious breathing.
Hla hand crept to the butt of the
revolver. He crouched, poised for
ilther attack or retreat.
A bath of light flooded the room and
•wallowed the darkness. Instantly
Clay’s revolver leaped to the air.
CHAPTER VIII
A Late Evening Call.
A young women In an open-neck
titghtgown sat up in bed, a cascade of
black hair fallen over her white shoul
ders. Eyes like jet beads were fast
ened on him. In them he read indig
nation struggling with fear.
“Say, what are you anyhow—a moll
>uzzer? If you’re a porch-climber out
for the props you’ve sure come to the
wrong dump. I got nothin’ but bum
focks."
This was Greek to Clay. He did
pot know that she had asked him if he
Were a man who robs women, and that
•he had told him he could get no di
amonds there since hers were false.
The Arizonan guessed at once that
fee was not in the room mentioned in
the Ufttm. Mm flipped feds revolver
The Big-Town Round Up
By WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE
Copyright by William MacLeod Ralne
back into its place between shirt and
trousers.
“Is this house number 121?” he
asked.
“No, it’s 123. What of it?”
“It’s the wrong house. I’m ce’talnly
one chump.”
The black eyes lit with sardonic
mockery. “Say, do I look like one
of them born-every-minute kind?” she
asked easily. “Go ahead and spring
that old one on me about how you
got tanked at Tie club and come in
at the window on account o’ your wife
havin’ a temper somethin’ fierce.”
“No, I—l w r as lookin’ for someone
else. I’m awful sorry I scared you.
I’d eat dirt if it would do any good,
but it won’t. I’m Just a plumb idiot.
I reckon I’ll be pushin’ on my reins.”
He turned toward the window.
“Stop right there where you’re at,”
she ordered sharply. “Take a step
to that window and I’ll holler for a
harness bull like a Bowery bride get
tin’ a wallopin’ from friend husband.
I gotta have an explanation. And
who told you I was scared? Forget
that stuff. Take it from Annie that
she ain’t the kind that scares.”
"I came to see someone else, but I
got in the wrong house,” he explained
.again lamely.
“That’s twice I heard both them in
terestin’ facts. Who is this goil you
was cornin’ through a window to see
in the middle o’ the night. And what’s
that gat for if it ain’t to croak some
other guy? You oughtta be ashamed
of yourself for not pullin’ a better
wheeze than that on me.”
Clay blushed. In spite of the
slangy impudence that dropped from
the pretty red lips the girl was slim
and looked virginal.
“You’re ’way off. I w T asn’t callin’
on her to —” He stuck hopelessly.
“Whadya know about that?” she
came back with obvious sarcasm. “You
soitainly give me a pain. I’ll say you
weren’t callin’ to arrange no Sunday
school picnic. Listen. Look at that
wall a minute, will you?”
When he turned again at her order
she was sitting on the side of the bed
wrapped in a kimono, her feet in bed
room slippers. He saw now that she
was a slender-limbed slip of a girl.
The lean forearm, which shbwed bare
to the elbow when she raised it to
draw the kimono closer round her,
told Clay that she was none too well
nourished.
It occurred to him that she might
give him information of value. He
told her the story of Kitty Mason. He
could see by the girl’s eyes that she
had jumped to the conclusion that he
was in love with Kitty. He did not
attempt to disturb that conviction. It
might enlist her sympathy.
Annie Millikan had never seen a
man like this before, so clean and
straight and good to look at. From
childhood she had been brought up on
the fringe of that' underworld the at
mosphere of which is mlasmlc. She
was impressed in spite of herself.
“Say, why don’t you go into the
movies and be one of these here screen
ideals? You’d knock ’em dead,” she
advised flippantly, crossing her bare
ankles.
Clay laughed. He liked the Insolent
little twist to her mouth. She made
“Say, Why Don't You Go Into the
Movi&e and Be One of These Here
Screen Ideals?”
one strong appeal to him. This bit of
a girl, so slim that he could break her
In his hands, was game to the core.
He recognized it as a quality of kin
ship.
“How do you know the girl ain’t
a badger-worker? You wantta go slow
when you tackle Jerry Durand. I can
tell you one thing. He’s in this busi
ness up to the neck. I seen his
shadow, Gorilla Dave, cornin’ outa the
house next door twice today.”
“Seen anything of the girl?”
“Nope. But she may be there. Hon
est, you’re up against a tough game.
Why don’t you lay down on It?” she
asked, her frank eyes searching his.
“You soitainly will If you’ve got good
sanae.”
NORTHERN WISCONSIN ADVERTISER, WABENO, WIS.
“Im goin’ through.”
Her black eyes warmed. “Say, I’ll
bet you’re some guy when you get
started. Hop to it and I hope you get
Jerry good. Say, listen! I got a
hunch mebbe It’s a bum steer, but you
can’t be sure till you try it. Why
don’t you get in through the roof in
stead o’ the window?”
“Can I get in that way?”
“Surest think you know —if the trap
door ain’t latched. Say, stick around
outside my room half a sec, will you?”
The cattleman waited in the dark
ness of the passage. If his enemies
were trying to ambush him in the
house next door the girl’s plan might
save him. He would have a chance
at least to get them unexpectedly in
the rear.
It could have been scarcely more
than two minutes later that the young
woman joined him. They padded soft
ly along the corridor till they came to
a flight of stairs running up. The
girl led the way, taking the treads
without noise in her stockinged feet.
Clay followed w r ith the utmost caution.
She took him toward the rear to a
ladder which ended at a dormer half
door leading to the roof. Clay fumbled
with his fingers, found a hook, un
fastened it, and pushed open the trap.
He looked up into a starlit night and
a moment later stepped out upon the
roof. Presently the slim figure of the
girl stood beside him.
They moved across to a low wall,
climbed it and came to the dormer
door of the next house. Clay knelt
and lifted it an inch or two very slow
ly. He lowered it again and rose.
“I’m a heap obliged to you, Miss,”
he said In a low voice. “You’re a
game little gentleman.”
She nodded. “My name is Annie
Millikan.”
“Mine is Clay Lindsay. I want to
come and thank you proper some day.”
“I take tickets at Heath’s Palace
of Wonders two blocks down,” she
whispered. “Look out for yourself.
Don’t let ’em get you. Give ’em a
chance, and that gang would croak you
sure. You will be careful, won’t you?”
“I never threw down on myself yet.”
The girl’s flippancy broke out again.
“Say, lemme know when the weddln'
Is and I’ll send you a salad bowl,”
she flashed at him saucily as he turned
to go.
Clay was already busy with the door.
Darkness engulfed him as he closed
the trapdoor overhead. His exploring
feet found each tread of the ladder
with the utmost caution. Near the
foot of It he stopped to listen for any
sound that might serve to guide him.
None came. The passage was as
noiseless as It was dark.
Again he had that sense of cold
finger-tips making a keyboard of his
spine. But he trod down the panic
and set his will to carry on. He
crept forward along the passage. Ev
ery step or two he stopped to listen,
nerves keyed to an acute tension.
A flight of stairs brought him to
what he knew must be the second
floor. To him there floated a murmur
of sounds. He soft-footed It closer,
reached the door, and dropped noise
lessly to a knee. A key was in the
lock on the outside. With infinite
precaution against rattling he turned
it, slid it out, and dropped it in his
coat pocket His eye fastened to the
opening.
Three men were sitting round a
table. They were making a bluff at
playing cards, but their attention was
focused on a door that evidently led
Into another room. Two automatic
revolvers were on the table close to
the hands of their owners. A black
jack lay In front of the third man.
Clay recognized him as Gorilla Dave.
The other two were strangers to him.
Something evil in the watchfulness
of the three chilled momentarily his
veins. These fellows were the gun
men of New York he had read about
—paid assassins whose business it was.
to frame innocent men for the peniten
tiary or kill them in cold blood. They
were of the underworld, without con
science and without honor.
A soft step sounded in the corridor
behind the man at the keyhole. He
had not time to crawl away nor even to
rise before a man against
him.
Clay had one big advantage over
his opponent. He had been given
an instant of warning. His right
arm went up around the neck
of his foe and tightened there. His
left hand turned the doorknob. Next
moment the two men crashed into the
room together, the Westerner rising
to his feet as they came, with the body
of the other lying across his back from
hip to shoalder.
Gorilla Dave leaped to his feet. The
other two gunmen, caught at disad
vantage a few feet from the table,
dived for their automatics. They were
too late. Clay swung his body down
ward from the waist with a quick,
strong Jerk. The man on his back
shot heels over head as though he
had eeen hurled from a catapult,
crashed face up on the table, and
dragged it over with him In his for
ward plunge to the wall.
Before any one else could move or
speak, Lindsay’s gun was out.
“Easy now.” His voice was a gentle
drawl that carried a menace. “Lem
*m be hoes of the rodeo a while. No,
Gorilla, I wouldn’t play with that club
If I was you. Tm sure h —l-a-mile
on this gunstuff. Drop it I” The last
two words came sharp and crisp, for
the big thug had telegraphed an un
intentional warning of his purpose to
dive at the man behind the thirty
eight.
Gorilla Dave’s fingers opened and
the blackjack dropped from his hand
to the floor.
“For the love o’ Mike, who is this
guy?” demanded one of the other men.
“I’m the fifth member of our little
party,” explained Clay.
“Wot fell do youse mean? And
what’s the big idea in most killin’ the
chief?”
The man who had been flung across
the table turned over and groaned.
Clay would have known that face
among a thousand. It belonged to Jer
ry Durand.
“I came in at the wrong door and
without announcin’ myself,” said the
cattleman, almost lazily, the unhurried
indolence of his manner not shaken.
“You see I wanted to be on time so as
not to keep you waitin’. I’m Clay
Lindsay.”
The more talkative of the gunmen
from the East side flashed one look
at the two automatics lying on the
Cut Off From the Street, Clay Took
to the Roof Again.
floor beside the overturned table. They
might as well have been in Brazil for
all the good they were to him.
“Move over to the other side of the
room, Gorilla, and join yore two
friends,” suggested the master of cere
monies. “And don’t make any mis
take. If you do you won’t have time
to be sorry for it. I’ll ce’tainly shoot
to kill.”
The big-shouldered thug shuffled
over. Clay stepped sideways, watch
ing the three gunmen every foot of the
way, kicked the automatics into the
open, and took possession of them.
He felt safer with the revolvers in his
coat pocket, for they had been within
reach of Durand, and that member
of the party was showing signs of a re
turn to active interest in the proceed
ings.
“When I get you right I’ll croak you.
By G—d, I will,” the gang lead
er savagely, nursing his battered head.
“No big stiff from the bushes can
run anything over on roe.”
“I believe you,” retorted Clay easily.
“That is, I believe you’re tailin’ me
yore intentions straight. There’s no
news In that to write home about.
But you’d better make that if instead
of when. This is three cracks you’ve
had at me and I’m still a right healthy
rube.”
“Don’t bank on fool luck any more.
I’ll get you sure,” cried Durand sourly.
The gorge of the Arizonan rose.
“Mebbeso. You’re a dirty dog, Jerry
Durand. From the beginning you were
a rotten fighter—ln the ring and out of
it. You and yore strong-arm men I
Do you think I’m afraid of you be
cause you surround yoreself with dips
and yeggmen and hopnuts, all scum
of the gutter and filth of the earth?
Where I come from men fight clean
and out in the open. They’d stomp
you out like a rattlesnake.”
He whipped open the door, stepped
out, closed it, and took the key from
his pocket. A moment, and he had
turned the lock.
From within there came a rush that
shook the panels. Clay was already
busy searching for Kitty. He tore
open door after door, calling her loud
ly by name. Even In the darkness he
could see that the rooms were empty
of furniture.
There was a crash of splintering
panels, the sound of a bursting lock.
Almost as though It were an echo of
It came a heavy pounding upon the
street door. Clay guessed that the
thirty minutes were up and that the
Runt was bringing the police. He dived
back into one of the empty rooms
Just In time to miss a rush of men
pouring along the passage to the stairs.
Cut off from the street. Clay took
to the roof again. It would not do for
him te be caught in the house bjr the
police. He climbed the ladder, pushed
his way through the trapdoor opening,
and breathed deeply of the night air.
But he had no time to lose. Al
ready he could hear the trampling of
feet up the stairs to the second story.
Lightly he vaulted the wall and
came to the roof door leading down
to number 123. He found it latched.
The eaves of the roof projected so
far that he could not from there get
a hold on the window casings below.
He made a vain circuit of the roof,
then passed to the next house.
Again he was out of luck. The ten
ants had made safe the entrance
against prowlers of the night. He
knew that at any moment now the po
lice might appear in pursuit of him.
There was no time to lose.
He crossed ,to thfe last house in the
block—and found himself barred out.
as he rose from his knees he heard
the voices of men clambering through
the scuttle to the roof. At the same
time he saw that which brought him
to instant action. It was a rope clothes
line which ran from post to post, dan
gling from one corner of the building
to another and back to the opposite
one.
No man in Manhattan’s millions
knew the value of a rope or could
handle one more expertly than this
cattleman. His knife was open be
fore he had reached the nearest post.
One strong slash of the blade severed
it. In six long strides he was at the
second post unwinding the line. He
used his knife a second time at the
third post.
With deft motions Clay worked
swiftly. He was fastening che rope
to the chimney of the house. Every
instant he expected to hear a voice
raised in excited discovery of him
crouched in the shadows. But his
fingers were as sure and as steady as
though he had minutes before him In
stead of seconds.
“There’s the guy—over by the chim
ney.”
Clay threw the slack of the line from
the roof. He had no time to test the
strength of the rope nor its length.
As the police rushed him he slid over
the edge and began to lower himself
hand under hand.
The wide eaves protected him. A
man would have to hang out from
the wall above the ledge to see him.
Clay’s eyes were on the gutter above
while he jerked his way down a foot
at a time. A face and part of a body
swung out into sight.
‘ “We’ve got yuh. Come back, or I’ll
shoot,” a voice called down.
A revolver showed against the black
sky.
The man from Arizona did not an
swer and did not stop. He knew that
shooting from above is an art that few
men have acquired.
A bullet sang past his ear just as he
swung in and crouched on the window
sill. Another one hit the bricks ciose
to his head.
The firing stopped. A pair of uni
formed legs appeared dangling from
the eaves. A body and a head fol
lowed these. They began to descend
jerkily.
Clay took a turn at the gun-play.
He fired his revolver into the air. The
spasmodic jerking of the blue legs
abruptly ceased.
“Yuh’d better give up quietly. We’re
bound to get yuh,” an officer shouted
from the roof by way of parley.
The cattleman did not answer ex
cept by the smashing of glass. He had
forced his way into two houses within
the past hour. He was now busy
breaking into a third. The window had
not yielded to pressure. Therefore he
was knocking out the glass with the
butt of his revolver.
He crawled through the opening
just as someone sat up in bed with
a frightened exclamation.
“Who —is —s—s —s It?” a masculine
voice asked, teeth chattering.
Clay had no time to gratify idle
curiosity. He ran through the room,
reached the head of the stairs and
went down on the banister to the first
floor. He fled back to the rear of the
house and stole out by the kitchen
door.
The darkness of the alley swallowed
him, but he could still hear the shouts
of the men on the roof and answering
ones from new arrivals below.
Five minutes later he was on board
a street car. He was not at all par
ticular as to its destination. He want
ed to be anywhere but here. This
neighborhood was getting entirely too
active for him.
CHAPTER IX
The Gangman Sees Red.
Exactly thirty minutes after Clay
had left him to break Into the house,
Johnnie lifted his voice In a loud wail
for the police. He had read some
where that one can never find an
officer when he is wanted, but the
Bull-of-Bashan roar of the cowpuncher
brought them running from all direc
tions.
Out of the confused explanations of
the range-rider the first policeman to
reach him got two lucid statements.
“They’re white-slavin’ a straight
girl. This busher says his pal went in
to rescue her half an hour ago and
hasn’t showed op since,” he told his
mate*. ... ,
With Johnnie bringing up the rear
they made a noisy attack on the front
door of Number 121. Almost immedi
ately It wag opened from the Inside.
Four men had come down the stairs
in a headlong rush to cut off the es
cape of one who had outwitted and
taunted them.
Those who wanted to get In and
those who wanted to get out all tried
to talk at once, but as soon as the
police recognized Jerry Durand they
gave him the floor.
“We’re after a flat-w T orker,” ex
plained the ex-pugilist. “He must be
tryin’ for a roof getaway.” He turned
and led the joint forces back up the
stairs.
Thugs and officers surged up after
him, carrying with them In their rush
the Runt. He presently found himself
on the roof with those engaged in a
man-hunt for his friend. When Clay
shattered the window and disappeared
inside after his escape from the roof,
Johnnie gave a deep sigh of relief.
This gun-play got on his nerves, since
Lindsay was the target of it.
The bandy-legged range-rider was
still trailing along with the party ten
minutes later when its scattered mem
bers drew together in tacit admission
that the hunted man had escaped.
The gang leader was in a vile tem
per. If this story reached the news
papers all New York would be laugh
ing at him. He could appeal to the
police, have Clay Lindsay arrested, and
get him sent up for a term on the
charge of burglary. But he could not
do it without the whole tale coming
out. One thing Jerry Durand could
not stand was ridicule. His vanity
was one of his outstanding qualities,
and he did not want It widely known
that the boob he had intended to trap
had turned the tables on him, man
handled him, jeered at him and locked
him in a room with his three hench
men.
Johnnie Green chose this malapropos
moment for reminding the officers of
the reason for the coming to the
house.
“What about the young lady?” ha
asked solicitously.
Durand wheeled on him, looked him
over with an insolent, malevolent eyat,
and Jerked a thumb in his direction.
“Who is this guy?”
“He’s the fellow tipped us off his pal
was inside,” answered one of the pa
trolmen.' He ppoke in a whisper close
to the ear of Jerry. “Likely lie knows
more than he lets on. Shall I make a
pinch?”
The eyes of the gang leader nar
rowed. “So he’s a friend of this sec
ond-story bird, is he?”
“Y’betcha I” chirped up Johnnie,
“and I’m plumb tickled to take his
dust, too. Now, about this yere young
lady—”
Jerry caught him hard on the sids
of the jaw with a short-arm jolt The
range-rider hit the pavement hard.
Slowly he got to his feet nursing his
cheek.
“What yuh do that for, doggone it?”
he demanded resentfully. “Me, I
wasn’t lookin’ for no trouble. Me,
I—”
Durand leaped at him across the
sidewalk. His strong fingers closed
on the throat of the bow-legged
puncher. -j
The officers pried Jerry loose from
his victim with the greatest difficulty.
He tried furiously to get at him,
lunging from the men who were hold
ing his arms.
The puncher sank helplessly against
the wall.
“He's got all he can carry, Mr. Du
rand,” one of the bluecoats said, sooth
ingly. “You don’t wantta croak the
little guy. Gimme the word, an’ 111
run him in for a drunk.”
Jerry shook his head. “Nope. Let
him go, Pete.”
The policeman walked up to the
Runt and caught him roughly by the
arm. “Move along outa here. I’d
ought to pinch you, but I’m not gonna
do it this time, see? You beat it!”
Durand turned to one of his follow
ers. “Tail that fellow. Find out where
he’s stayin’ and report.”
Helplessly Johnnie went staggering
down the street. He did not under
stand why he had been treated so, but
the instinct of self-preservation car
ried him out of the danger zone with
out argument about it. Even as he
wobbled away he was looking with un
wavering faith to his friend to right
his wrongs. Clay would fix this fel
low Durand for what he had done ta
him.
Clay did his best under the handicap
of a lack of entente between him and
the authorities to search New York
for Kitty. He used the personal col
umns of the newspapers. He got la
touch with taxicab drivers, ticket-sel
lers, postmen, and station guards. All
the time he knew that in such t maze
as Manhattan It would be a miracle if
he found her.
“I’ll be sayin' good-by, Miss
Beatrice, until you send for me.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
The date U as essential an artlda
of diet to the Egyptian as rice to |
tha Chinese,