Chapter 21
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
- Writer
