Clay came to a sudden alert attention. His eyes focused on a girl sitting on a back seat. In the pretty, childish face he read a wistful helplessness, a pathetic hint of misery that called for sympathy.
Arizona takes short cuts to its ends. Clay rose instantly, put his foot on the railing, and leaped across to the top of the bus rolling parallel with the one he was on. In another second he had dropped into the seat beside the girl.
"Glad to meet you again, Miss Kitty," he said cheerfully. "How's the big town been using you?"
The girl looked at him with a little gasp of surprise. "Mr. Lindsay!" Sudden tears filmed her eyes. She forgot that she had left him with the promise never again to speak to him. She was in a far country, and he was a friend from home.
The conductor bustled down the aisle. "Say, where do you get this movie-stunt stuff? You can't jump from the top of one bus to another."
Clay smiled genially. "I can't, but I did."
"That ain't the system of transfers we use in this town. You might 'a' got killed."
"Oh, well, let's not worry about that now."
"I'd ought to have you pulled. Three years I've been on this run and—"
"Nice run. Wages good?"