The Ely miner., 1922-09-01

mosphere Of barr0Oms and 10 the soft
living of the great city. found his
nerve beginning 10 crack under the
strain. What kind of man was his
enemy 10 lie there in the black silence
and not once give sign of where he
was. in spite of crushing bullets? Was
il possible that he could have killed
the fellow at the first shot? The COM
fort of this thought whispered hope in
the ear of the ex-prize-fghter.
A chair crashed wildly. Durand
fired again and yet again, his nerves
giving way TO panic that carried him
TO swift action. He could not have
stood another moment without scream
ing.
There came the faint sound Of a
hand cropping on the wall, and imme-
diately after flood of light filed the
room.
Clay stood by the door. His revol-
yer covered the crouching gang leader.
His eyes were hard and pitiless.
TRY another shot," he advised IRON
ically.
Jerry did. A harmless click was all
the result he got. He knew now that
the cownan had tempted him TO waste
his last shots at bit of furniture
flung across the room.
You'll tell me what you did with
Kitty Mason" said Clay in his low,
persuasive voice, just as though there
had been no intermissipn of flying bull
lets since he had mentioned the girl
before.
You can't kill me, when 1 haven't
loaded gum" Durand answered be-
tween dry lips.
The other man nodded an admission
of that point. That's an advantage
you've got of me- You could kill me IL
l didn't have a gun, because you're
yellow wolf. But / can't kill you.
That's right. But can beat h-Il out
of you, and I'm sure goin' to do it."
Talks cheap, when you've got
loaded six-gun in your fist" jeered
Jerry.
With fiirt of his hand Clay tossed
the revolver to the top of bookcase,
out of easy reach of a man standing
on the floor. He ripped open the but
tons of his overcoat and slipped out of
it, then moved forward with elastic
step.
Its you or me now, Jerry Du-
rand"
The prize-fghter gave a snort of de-
risive triumph. you d-n fool I'll
eat you alive"
"Mebbeso. / reckon my system can
assimilate any whalin' you're liable to
hand me. Go to it."
Durand had the heavy shoulders and
swelling muscles that come from years
of training for the ring. Like most
pugilists out of active service he had
taken on flesh. But the extra weight
was not fat, for Jerry kept always in
good condition. He held his leader
ship partly at least because of his
physical prowess. No tough in New
York would willingly have met him in
a rough-and-tumble fight.
The younger man was more slightly
built. He was a Hermes rather than
Hercules. His muscles flowed.
1uey ulu uOL DulSt. Dul "neQ Ne
moved it was with the litheness of a
panther. The long lines of shoulder
and loin had the flow of tigerish grace.
The clear eyes in the brown face told
of a soul indomitable in a perfectly
synchronized body.
Durand lashed out with a swinging
left, all the weight of his body behind
the blow. Clay stepped back, shot a
hard straight right to the cheek and
ducked the counter. Jerry rushed him,
failing at his foe blow on blow, intend
ing to wear him out by sheer hard
hammering. He butted with his head
| and knee, used every foul trick he had
learned in his rotten trade of prize
| fighting. Active as a wild cat, the
Arizonan side-stepped, scored left
on the eye, ducked again and fought
back the furious attack
The gangman came out Of the rally
winded, perplexed and disturbed. His
cheek was bleeding, one eye was in
distress, and he had hardly touched
his agile opponent.