his weight, this victory was due to his splendid
back and abdominal lifting muscles. Immediately after this, however, he
was brought to grief by Mark Hall's sister, a strapping young amazon in
cross-saddle riding costume, who three times tumbled him ignominiously
heels over head in a bout of Indian wrestling.

"You're easy," jeered the Iron Man, whose name they had learned was Pete
Bideaux. "I can put you down myself, catch-as-catch-can."

Billy accepted the challenge, and found in all truth that the other was
rightly nicknamed. In the training camps Billy had sparred and clinched
with giant champions like Jim Jeffries and Jack Johnson, and met the
weight of their strength, but never had he encountered strength like
this of the Iron Man. Do what he could, Billy was powerless, and twice
his shoulders were ground into the sand in defeat.

"You'll get a chance back at him," Hazard whispered to Billy, off at one
side. "I've brought the gloves along. Of course, you had no chance with
him at his own game. He's wrestled in the music halls in London with
Hackenschmidt. Now you keep quiet, and we'll lead up to it in a casual
sort of way. He doesn't know about you."

Soon, the Englishman who had tossed the caber was sparring with the
dramatic critic, Hazard and Hall boxed in fantastic burlesque, then,
gloves in hand, looked for the next appropriately matched couple. The
choice of Bideaux and Billy was obvious.

"He's liable to get nasty if he's hurt," Hazard warned Billy, as he tied
on the gloves for him. "He's old American French, and he's got a devil
of a temper. But just keep your head and tap him--whatever you do, keep
tapping him."

"Easy sparring now"; "No roughhouse, Bideaux"; "Just light tapping, you
know," were admonitions variously addressed to the Iron Man.

"Hold on a second," he said to Billy, dropping his hands. "When I get
rapped I do get a bit hot. But don't mind me. I can't help it, you know.
It's only for the moment, and I don't mean it."

Saxon felt very nervous, visions of Billy's bloody fights and all the
scabs he had slugged rising in her brain; but she had never seen her
husband box, and but few seconds were required to put her at ease. The
Iron Man had no chance. Billy was too completely the master, guarding
every blow, himself continually and almost at will tapping the other's
face and body. There was no weight in Billy's blows, only a light and
snappy tingle; but their incessant iteration told on