the hat from the tramp's head and
sailed it to a place of safety. With the other hand he grabbed the
attacker's ankle before the foot hit him and with a jerk he laid the
tramp on his back.

The victim fell so helplessly that the concussion knocked the breath and
a groan out of him.

The man of the brown eyes had moved languidly and had talked languidly
till then. When he grabbed the foot he moved with a sort of steel-trap
efficiency and quickness. He promptly straddled his victim, seated
himself on the protruding abdomen, and began to beat the man's face. He
battered the flabby cheeks and punched his fists into the pulpy neck. He
ground his knees against the fat flanks and redoubled his blows when the
tramp struggled. After the squalling falsetto had implored for a long
time, the assailant at last gave over the exercise.

"Are you licked?" he asked.

"Yes," whined the tramp.

"You have stolen--in most dirty style. I whipped you for that job. Now
will you stay licked for some time?"

"Yes."

"You'll go on about your own business, will you, without any more
foolish talk about those garments?"

"Yes."

"Are you sorry you stole from that good woman who fed you?"

"Yes."

The man of the brown eyes swung himself off his prostrate victim, as a
rider dismounts from a horse, and the tramp sat up, moaning and patting
his purple face.

"I never had no luck, never," he blubbered. "I was kicked out of jail
before the weather got warmed up, I was thrown in last fall just when
the Indian summer was beginning. When other fellows get hand-outs of pie
I get cold potatoes and bannock bread. I have to walk when other fellows
ride. I'm too fat for the trucks and they can always see me on the blind
baggage. I'll keep on walking. I never had no luck in all my life."

He rolled upon his hands and knees and then stood up. He started away,
wholly cowed, whining like a quill-pig, bewailing his luck.

"Luck!" the man of the brown eyes shouted after him in a tone which
expressed anger and regret. "What do you know about luck, you animated
lard-pail? A thing like you is in luck when he is in jail where there
is no workshop. Better luck than that is too good for you. Hold on one
minute! Turn around and look at me."

The tramp obeyed. The stranger pounded one of those hard fists on his
own breast.

"I say look at me! No matter what I was once! But to-day you found me
cooking bacon over three sticks and ready to fight for another