s attainments in that respect. His business
required that he should always carry a revolver, and when he placed his
hand on his hip at sight of Mike Murphy's personal danger, the action was
instinctive, but he instantly gave up all thought of using so deadly a
weapon. He was certain there was no necessity for it; he had no more
doubt of his mastery of the bulky brute, who was equally confident, than
he had of his ability to handle any one of the three lads who were his
companions.

CHAPTER VII

SCIENCE VERSUS STRENGTH

Had the large man undergone the scientific training of the smaller one,
he might have overcome him, for, as has been said, he was immensely
powerful and must have been a third heavier than Stockham Calvert. But he
was out of condition, and, worse than all for him, had not the slightest
knowledge of the "manly art." When he doubled his huge hairy fists, he
charged upon the detective like a roaring bull, expecting to beat down
his smaller antagonist as if he were pulp.

The pose of the defendant was perfect. Resting easily on his right foot,
the left advanced and gently touching the ground, he could leap forward,
backward or to one side with the agility of a panther. The left fist was
held something more than a foot beyond the chest, the elbow slightly
crooked, while the right forearm crossed the breast diagonally at a
distance of a few inches. This is the true position, and the combatant
who knows his business always looks straight into the eyes of his
opponent. The arms and body are thus in his field of vision, whereas if
he once glances elsewhere he lays himself open to a sudden blow.

With that alertness which becomes second nature to a pugilist, Calvert
saw before the first demonstration that his foe had no knowledge whatever
of defending himself. He allowed him to make a single rush, his big fists
and arms sawing space like a windmill. He struck twice, swishing the air
in front of Calvert's face, and gathered himself to strike again,
when----

Not one of the three spectators could ever describe how it was done, for
the action was too quick for the eye to follow. But, all the same, that
metal-like left fist shot forward with the speed of lightning, and
landing on the point of the chin, the recipient went down like an ox
stricken by the axe of a butcher. Rather curiously, he did not fall
backward, but lurched forward and lay senseless, knocked out in the first
round.

"You have killed h