that we can tramp up and down along this here East River, and now
and then we'll talk to some taxi men that do most of their work from
stands in them parts of the town. Maybe we can get on her trail that
way. Anyways, it's an opening."

"Maybe," said Bill Gregg dubiously. He reached under his pillow. "But
I'm sure going to sleep with a gun under my head in this town!" With
this remark he settled himself for repose and presently was snoring
loudly.

Ronicky presented a brave face to the morning and at once started
with Bill Gregg to tour along the East River. That first day Ronicky
insisted that they simply walk over the whole ground, so as to become
fairly familiar with the scale of their task. They managed to make the
trip before night and returned to the hotel, footsore from the hard,
hot pavements. There was something unkindly and ungenerous in those
pavements, it seemed to Ronicky. He was discovering to his great
amazement that the loneliness of the mountain desert is nothing at all
compared to the loneliness of the Manhattan crowd.

Two very gloomy and silent cow-punchers ate their dinner that night
and went to bed early. But in the morning they began the actual work
of their campaign. It was an arduous labor. It meant interviewing in
every district one or two storekeepers, and asking the mail carriers
for "Caroline Smith," and showing the picture to taxi drivers. These
latter were the men, insisted Ronicky, who would eventually bring them
to Caroline Smith. "Because, if they've ever drove a girl as pretty as
that, they'll remember for quite a while."

"But half of these gents ain't going to talk to us, even if they