ow belonged to that face had beaten him into a pulp.
And then, one way or the other, he would have rest. But to quit,--for
him, Martin, to quit,--that was impossible!

Came the day when he dragged himself into the Enquirer alley, and there
was no Cheese-Face. Nor did Cheese-Face come. The boys congratulated
him, and told him that he had licked Cheese-Face. But Martin was not
satisfied. He had not licked Cheese-Face, nor had Cheese-Face licked
him. The problem had not been solved. It was not until afterward that
they learned that Cheese-Face's father had died suddenly that very day.

Martin skipped on through the years to the night in the nigger heaven at
the Auditorium. He was seventeen and just back from sea. A row started.
Somebody was bullying somebody, and Martin interfered, to be confronted
by Cheese-Face's blazing eyes.

"I'll fix you after de show," his ancient enemy hissed.

Martin nodded. The nigger-heaven bouncer was making his way toward the
disturbance.

"I'll meet you outside, after the last act," Martin whispered, the while
his face showed undivided interest in the buck-and-wing dancing on the
stage.

The bouncer glared and went away.

"Got a gang?" he asked Cheese-Face, at the end of the act.

"Sure."

"Then I got to get one," Martin announced.

Between the acts he mustered his following--three fellows he knew from
the nail works, a railroad fireman, and half a dozen of the Boo Gang,
along with as many more from the dread Eighteen-and-Market Gang.

When the theatre let out, the two gangs strung along inconspicuously on
opposite sides of the street. When they came to a quiet corner, they
united and held a council of war.

"Eighth Street Bridge is the place," said a red-headed fellow belonging
to Cheese-Face's Gang. "You kin fight in the middle, under the electric
light, an' whichever way the bulls come in we kin sneak the other way."

"That's agreeable to me," Martin said, after consulting with the leaders
of his own gang.

The Eighth Street Bridge, crossing an arm of San Antonio Estuary, was the
length of three city blocks. In the middle of the bridge, and at each
end, were electric lights. No policeman could pass those end-lights
unseen. It was the safe place for the battle that revived itself under
Martin's eyelids. He saw the two gangs, aggressive and sullen, rigidly
keeping apart from each other and backing their respective champions; and
he saw himself and Cheese-Face