is hold on the Greek's wrist, however, and he had to fight
for another hold now--in the dark. Presently he captured it, twisted
the arm in the terrible hammer-lock, and broke it; then, while the
Greek lay writhing in agony, Mr. O'Leary leaped to his feet and
commenced to play with his awful boots a devil's tattoo on that
portion of his enemy's superstructure so frequently alluded to in
pugilistic circles as "the slats." After five or six kicks, however,
he paused, due to a difficulty in breathing; so he struck a match and
surveyed the stricken field.

The big mulatto and two Greeks, lay unconscious before him; in the
nickering light of the match, two blood-stained dirks gleamed in the
grass, so, with a minute attention to detail, Dirty Dan possessed
himself of these weapons, picked up his club, and, reasoning shrewdly
that Donald McKaye's enemies had had enough combat for a few weeks at
least, the dauntless fellow dragged the fallen clear of the path, in
order that his youthful master might not stumble over them on his way
home, and then disappeared into the night. Half an hour later, smeared
with dust and blood, he crawled up the steps of the Tyee Lumber
Company's hospital on his hands and knees and rapped feebly on the
front door. The night nurse came out and looked him over.

"I'm Dirty Dan O'Leary," he wheezed; "I've been fightin' agin."

The nurse called the doctor and two orderlies, and they carried him
into the operating-room.

"I'm not the man I used to be," Dirty Dan whispered, "but glory be, ye
should see the other fellers." He opened his hand, and two
blood-stained clasp-knives rolled out; he winked knowingly, and
indulged in humorous reminiscences of the combat while he was being
examined.

"You're cut to strings and ribbons, Dan," the doctor informed him,
"and they've stuck you in the left lung. You've lost a lot of blood.
We may pull you through, but I doubt it."

"Very well," the demon replied composedly.

"Telephone Judge Alton to come and get his dying statement," the
doctor ordered the nurse, but Dirty Dan raised a deprecating hand.

"'Twas a private, personal matther," he declared. "'Twas settled
satisfacthory. I'll not die, an' I'll talk to no man but Misther
Daney. Sew me up an' plug me lung, an' be quick about it, Docthor."

When Andrew Daney came, summoned by telephone, Dirty Dan ordered all
others from the room, and Daney saw that the door was closed tightly
after them. Then he bent ov