Five Mile Beach weekly journal., 1922-05-26

MIN every moment, controller nv ono
dominating purpose to make tbat
dancing figure take the dust.
Olay ives cool, quite master of him
SELF. Before the fight had gone three
minutes he knew that, barring a
chance blow, some foul play, or a bit
OF a luck, he would win. He was
covering up, letting the pugilist wear
hlmselr out, and taking only the pun
lsnIhent he must. But he was getting
nome SOM heavy body blows that
We're playing the mischief with Jerry's
wind.
Inc New Yorker, putting like a sea
lion, came out of a rally winded and
spent. Instantly Clay took the Of
fenslve. He was a trained boxer as
well as a fighter, and he had been
taught how to make every ounce of his
weight count. Ripping in a body blow
as a feint, he brought down Durand's
guard. A straight left crashed home
between the eyes and a heavy solar
plexus shook the man to the heels.
Durand tried to close with him. An
uppercut jolted him back. He plunged
forward again. They grappled, knock
ing over chairs as they threshed across
the room. When they went down
Clay was underneath, but as they
struck the floor he whirled and landed
on top.
The man below fought ~furiously to
regain his feet. Clay's arm worked
like a piston rod with short-arm jolts
against the battered face. Gasping for
breath, Durand suddenly collapsed.
Clay got to his feet and waited for
him to rise. His enemy rolled over
and groaned.
Had enough?" demanded the west
erner.
No answer came, except the heavy,
irregular breathing of the man on the
floor, who was clawing for air In his
lungs.
"Tll ask you once more where Kitty
Mason is. And you'll tell me unless
you want me to begin on you all over
again"
The beaten pugilist sat up, leaning
dSolLoI llIC wall. 4IC LCll dSIldll6u anu
disgraced by his defeat. Life for him
had lost its SAVIOR, for he had met his
master.
"She-got away"
"How?"
"They turned her loose, to duck the
bulls" came the slow, sullen answer.
"Where?"
"In Central park"
Probably this was the truth, Clay
reflected. He could take the mans
word or not as he pleased. There was
no way to disprove it now.
He recovered his revolver, threw the
automatic out of the window and
walked to the door.
"Joe's tied up In a back room,D he
said over his shoulder.
Thirty seconds later Clay stepped
into the street. He walked across to
a subway station and took an uptown
train.
Men looked at him ~curiously. His
face was bruised and bleeding, his
clothes disheveled, his hat torn. Clay
grinned and thought of the old answer
They'd ought to see the other
One young fellow, apparently Il col
boy, who had looked upon the
wine when It was red, was moved to
come over and offer coincidence.
Say, l don't want to butt in or ans
thing, but-he didn't do a thing to you,
did he?"
II hit the edge of a door in the
dark" explained Clay solemnly.
THAT door must have had several
edges" The youth made a confiden-
iial admission. 1--WE got an edge on
myself. sol Of"
Not really?" murmured Clay po-
litely.
"Surest thing you know. Say, vas
it a good scrap?"
I'D hate to mix in a better one"
"Wish I'd been there" The student
fumbled for a card. Didn't catch
your name?"
Clay had no intention of giving his
name just now to any casual stranger.
He laughed and hummed the chorus of
an old range ditty.