The Holbrook news., 1922-08-04

mosphere of barrooms and to the soft living of the great city, found his nerve beginning to crack under the strain. What kind of a man was his enemy to lie there in the black silence and not once give sign of where he was, in spite of crashing bullets? Was it 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 groping on the wall, and imme- diately after flood of light filled 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 cOwman had tempted him to waste his last shots at a 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 hol haop m intarpn;cciop nf Ax,ipD h,,1 lets since he had mentioned the girl before.
 You can't kill me, when I haven't a loaded gun," 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 if 1 didn't have a gun, because you're a yellow wolf. But I can't kill you. That's right. But can beat h-ll out of you, and I'm sure goin' to do it."
 'Talk's cheap, when you've got loaded six-gun in your fist" jeered Jerry.
 With a f1irt of his hand Clay tossed the revolver to the top of bookcase. out of easy reach of 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 snort of de- risive triumph You d-n fOoli I'll eat you alive"
 "Mebbeso. I 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 rough-and-ttmble fight.
 The younger man was more slightly built. He was Hermes rather than Hercules. His muscles flowed. They did not bulge. But when he 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 dashed 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.