ed
aloud as, his vision clearing a little, he saw Corrigan's mouth, weak,
open, drooling blood, and remembered that when Braman had tripped him
Corrigan had hardly been in shape to do much effective hitting. He
tottered away from Corrigan, taunting him, though afterwards he could not
remember what his words were. Also, he heard Corrigan cursing him, though
he could never remember _his_ words, either. He tried to swing his left
arm as Corrigan came within range of it, but found he could not lift it,
and so ducked the savage blow that Corrigan aimed at him and slipped
sideways, bringing his right into play. Several times as they circled he
uppercut Corrigan with the right, he retreating, side-stepping; Corrigan
following him doggedly, slashing venomously at him, hitting him
occasionally. Corrigan could not hurt him, and he could not resist
laughing at Corrigan's face--it was so hideously repulsive.

A man came out of the front door of Hanrahan's saloon across the street
from the bank building, and stood in the street for a moment, looking
about him. Had Miss Benham seen the man she would have recognized him as
the one who had previously come out of the saloon to greet the rider with:
"Well, if it ain't ol' 'Brand'!" He saw the black horse standing in front
of the bank building, but Trevison was nowhere in sight. The man mumbled:
"I don't want him to git away without me seein' him," and crossed the
street to the bank window and peered inside. He saw Braman peering through
a half-open door at the rear of the banking room, and he heard
sounds--queer, jarring sounds that made the glass window in front of him
rattle and quiver.

He dove around to the side of the building and looked in a window. He
stood for a moment, watching with bulging eyes, half drew a pistol,
thought better of the notion and replaced it, and then darted back to the
saloon from which he had emerged, croaking hoarsely: "Fight! fight!"

* * * * *

Trevison had not had the agility to evade one of Corrigan's heavy blows.
It had caught him as he had tried to duck, striking fairly on the point of
the jaw, and he was badly dazed. But he still grinned mockingly at his
enemy as the latter followed him, tensed, eager, snarling. He evaded other
blows that would have finished him--through instinct, it seemed to
Corrigan; and though there was little strength left in him he kept working
his right fist through Corrigan's guar