Red Lodge daily news combined with Carbon County news., 1934-03-14
CHAPTER xI--contInued

ward into q chair. II splintered
and Peter caromed into the wall.
But his fall had been broken. Pant
Ing, he struggled to his feet. Now,
for the first time his opponent was
between him and the light. Peter
could see him there, crouching over
the chair, cropping frenziedly into
the blackness to find him. Choking
back his sobblng breath, Peter adj
vanced cautiously. Now was bis
.chancel
The man Strengthened up just as
Peter hurled himself through the
air In a flying tackle. He struck his
antagonist just above the knees,
the impact numblng his shoulder.
But Peter did not care. The man
was down. Peter was confident of
his ability to fight on more than
even terms. once he came to grips
with the fellow. Peter Cardigan
was more than six feet tall, with a
lean fianked hardness that did not
belle the power of his well-trained
muscularity. Releasing his grip
on the fellows legs, Peter aimed a
vicious blow to the abdomen, intent
on ending the struggle as promptly
as possible. The blow missed its
mark, glancing too high, against the
ribs. He drew back his arm for
another blow. but there was no
time. His antagonist gripped him
about the body, crushing him down.
There was no room for a blow now.
Locked In each others arms, they
rolled, painting, acros the floor.
Each was seeking for an opening
that the other was too cautious to
grant.
They crashed into the table.
There was a tinkle OF broken glass.
Once Peter got the palm of his
hand under his antagonists chin.
He gritted his teeth and put all
his strength into the effort as he
forced the others head back. His
breath was whistling painfully
through his nostrils. There was an n
describable agony In his chest, as
though some tremendous weight
were crushing out his breath. Still
he forced back that head. It would
soon be owe now. He was only
vaguely conscious Of the blows
which battered at his face. The
fellow must give In soon. He tried
to force new energy into his flag
ging muscles, drained of much of
their strength by the punishment
he had absorbed during the strug-
gle.
Somehow his hold had been
broken. For the first time a feel
ing of hopelessness engulfed Peter.
He was very tired, almost at the
end of his strength. His opponent
must be tired, too. With the en-
ergy of despair he flung himself
into a new attack. His arms
seemed light. like cushions that he
a pushing forward with tremen-
dous effort. OF what use were blows
F. like that7 He must hit harder
Harderi Harderi
Still his blows seemed only to
float through space. From some
where, far off, something was beat
Ing at him, steadily. Was 1t the
throb in his head? Or were they
blows? They no longer seemed to
hurt. He seemed to be sinking,
sinking-now he could just drift
away, comfortably, into forgetful-
ness. He tried to remember dazed-
ly, why he should keep on strug-
Cling. There was some reason for
1t, but 1t kept eluding him. Then
q blow In the abdomen hurt.
Once more he remembered. He
was fighting--ighting for his life
with Jim Franklin's murderer. They
were on their feet again. He could
not remember getting up. But here
they were. That blurred weaving
shadow was the man he had come
here to get. He knew he must
end 1t soon, or he would lack the
strength to end 1t, ever.
Once more Peter dove at his OBJ
ponent, putting all his ebbing pow
err into the tackle. Together they
tottered backward, but the wall
broke their fall. Dimly Peter heard
the crash Of breaking glass. 1t
seemed far away. A rush of cool
er air cleared the mists from his
mind. His enemy's shoulder had
shattered the window pane.
One last effort now. Peter lunged
again, almost missed. His fingers
clutched at the fellows coat. But
he was falling. He tried to catch
himself, but his fingers lacked
strength to grip the rough wool of
his antagonists clothing. Falling
falling The air was crisp and cool.
Then he remembered the broken
window. In his last desperate effort
to tackle the murderer. he had
missed, and lunged through the
window. II only he could have
chung to the fellows coat, he might
have saved himself.
Rough wool. Tweed. Curious how
the texture of the garment should