St. Tammany farmer., 1922-06-17
THE ST TAMMANY JUNE T. 1922
dancing figure take the dust.

dancing figure take the dust.
Clay was cool, quite master of him
self. Before the fight had gone three
minutes he knew that, barring
chance blow, some foul play, or bit
Of bad luck, he would win. He was
covering up, letting the pugilist wear
himself out, and taking only the pun
ishment he must. But he was getting
home some heavy body blows that
! were playing the mischief with Jerry's
wind.
The New Yorker, putting like a sea
lion, came out Of rally winded and
spent. Instantly Clay took the Of
fensive. He was a trained boxer as
well as fighter, and he had been
taught how to make every ounce Of his
weight count. Ripping in body blow
as a foint, he brought down Durand's
guard. A straight left crashed home
between the eyes and heavy solar
plexus shook the man to the heels.
Durand tried to close with him. An
uppercut jolted him back. He plunged
forward agaire 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 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 enoughr' 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
''Ill ask you once more where Kitty
Mason is. And you'n tell me unless
you want me to begin on you all over
again" .
The beaten pug1list sat up, leaning
against the wall. He felt ashamed and
disgraced by his defeat. Life for him
had lost It's SAVIOR, for he had met his
master.
"She-got away"
''HowT'
'*They turned her loose, to duck the
bulls" came the slow, sullen answer.
"Where?"
"In Central parh."
Probably this was the truth, Clay
reflected. He could take the mans
word or not as he pleased. There was
no way to disprove 1t now.
He recovered his revolver, threw the
automatic out OF the window and
walked to the door.
"Joe's tied up In back room," 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
man."
One young fellow, apparently a col
lege boy. WHO had looked upon the
wine when 1t was red was moved to
come over and offer coincidence.
Say, don't wunt to butt in or any
thing, but-he didn't do thing to you,
did her
II hit the edge OF door In the
dark explained Clay solemnly.
"That door must have had several
edges" The youth made confiden-
tial admission "1've got an edge on
myself, sort Of"
"Not really7" murmured Clay po-
litely.
"Surest thing you know. Say, was
1t a good scrapT
IT'D hate to mix In better one"
''Wtsh I'd been theres' The student
fumbled for a card. Didn't catch
your name2"
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.
CONTINUED next weekly