Greek squarely on the half-open mouth, splitting
the thick lip wide and causing a red stream to spurt from the gash.
Sabota staggered back and, would have fallen had he not crashed against
the hardwood bar.

As the Greek reeled away from the garter the Ramblin' Kid stooped
quickly forward, picked up the elastic and dropped it again into his
pocket.

With a roar like a mad bull Sabota rushed his slight antagonist. Lunging
forward, blind with rage, he aimed a murderous blow at the head of the
Ramblin' Kid. The cowboy ducked, but not in time to escape the wide
swing of the massive, hairy fist. The Greek's knuckles raked the side of
the Kid's face and the blood rained down his cheek from a cruel cut
under the eye. The Ramblin' Kid spun around like a top and for the
fraction of a second stood swaying uncertainly.

For a moment they faced each other, crouching, watching for an opening.
Sabota's great hands worked convulsively, eager to grasp and crush his
wiry opponent; the Ramblin' Kid, with lips curled back from white teeth,
like a pure-bred terrier circling a mastiff, bent forward, every muscle
tense as drawn copper, his eyes cold as a rattler's as he searched for a
place to strike!

The crowd in the pool-room instinctively kept far back and gave the
unequal combatants ample room.

From Sabota's lips poured a steady torrent of blasphemy. The Ramblin'
Kid made no sound as, with body swaying slowly from side to side, his
shoulders heaved with the full, heavy breaths that reached to the bottom
of his lungs.

Suddenly, like some wild beast, Sabota sprang forward. The Ramblin' Kid
met him--in mid-air--right and left jolting, almost at the same
instant, into the beefy jaws of the Greek. At the impact a claw-like
hand shot out and the gorilla fingers of the left hand of the brute-man
the Ramblin' Kid fought, closed over the throat of the cowboy. Sabota
threw his right arm around the back of his antagonist, gripping the
shoulder on the far side of his body and drew the slender form toward
him--pinning the Ramblin' Kid's left arm and hand to his side.

Skinny's hand dropped to the butt of his gun and rested there.

The Ramblin' Kid struggled desperately in the strangling grasp of the
crazed Greek. The two reeled back and forth, crashing chairs and tables
to the floor, and lunged against the bar. The Ramblin' Kid's gun fell
from its scabbard at the side of the brass foot-rail. Sabota's eyes
glared down into the face of the