uerrilla warfare, emerging in sudden dashes to overwhelm isolated
enemies. Half a dozen special policemen, hired by the Weasel Park
management, received an impartial trouncing from both sides.

"Nobody's the friend of a policeman," Bert chortled, dabbing his
handkerchief to his injured ear, which still bled.

The bushes crackled behind him, and he sprang aside to let the locked
forms of two men go by, rolling over and over down the hill, each
striking when uppermost, and followed by a screaming woman who rained
blows on the one who was patently not of her clan.

The judges, in the second story of the stand, valiantly withstood
a fierce assault until the frail structure toppled to the ground in
splinters.

"What's that woman doing?" Saxon asked, calling attention to an elderly
woman beneath them on the track, who had sat down and was pulling from
her foot an elastic-sided shoe of generous dimensions.

"Goin' swimming," Bert chuckled, as the stocking followed.

They watched, fascinated. The shoe was pulled on again over the bare
foot. Then the woman slipped a rock the size of her fist into the
stocking, and, brandishing this ancient and horrible weapon, lumbered
into the nearest fray.

"Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" Bert screamed, with every blow she struck "Hey, old
flannel-mouth! Watch out! You'll get yours in a second. Oh! Oh! A peach!
Did you see it? Hurray for the old lady! Look at her tearin' into 'em!
Watch out, old girl!... Ah-h-h."

His voice died away regretfully, as the one with the stocking, whose
hair had been clutched from behind by another Amazon, was whirled about
in a dizzy semicircle.

Vainly Mary clung to his arm, shaking him back and forth and
remonstrating.

"Can't you be sensible?" she cried. "It's awful! I tell you it's awful!"

But Bert was irrepressible.

"Go it, old girl!" he encouraged. "You win! Me for you every time! Now's
your chance! Swat! Oh! My! A peach! A peach!"

"It's the biggest rough-house I ever saw," Billy confided to Saxon. "It
sure takes the Micks to mix it. But what did that dude wanta do it for?
That's what gets me. He wasn't a bricklayer--not even a workingman--just
a regular sissy dude that didn't know a livin' soul in the grounds. But
if he wanted to raise a rough-house he certainly done it. Look at 'em.
They're fightin' everywhere."

He broke into sudden laughter, so hearty that the tears came into his
eyes.

"What is it?" Saxon asked, anxious not to miss anything.

"I