heir feet they rocked--to their knees!
Faces grinding into the earth they strained and broke away. And always
Harrigan came back and found him, blindly. Once his hairy hands
searched O'Mara's face and O'Mara's forehead went wet with the agony of
fingers tearing at his eye-sockets. Dropping he escaped that gouging
grip, coming up he caught Harrigan's chin and turned him over backward.

Harrigan squandered his strength in drunken rushes, his breath in
screams of hate. He tore forward when the other had already stepped
aside, and Steve, shaking away the blood that was trickling rivulets
into his eyes, met him returning. There came a time when Harrigan's
enveloping arms found him less readily; came a change when Harrigan had
to stand up and fight. And then, with deadly, insensate purpose which
made the other's madness a wild and futile thing, Stephen O'Mara set
himself to chop his face to pieces. Flail-like blows he side-stepped,
and whipped to the other's eyes. That open guard he feinted wider and
laid flesh open raw. Harrigan could no longer curse, for his lips were
puffy things pulped between his own teeth and those merciless knuckles.
He could only sob, great groaning gasps for breath--and then he
couldn't see!

And now Steve was laughing aloud. He knew that _she_ was watching;
knew what loathing was in her eyes. And he--he was a riverman!
Sobbing himself for air, dripping crimson from forehead and shoulder,
he set himself and swung from the waist. Like a pole-axed ox, Harrigan
stopped as he was lurching in. His mouth sagged; his eyes flew wide in
a fixed and stupid stare. Then his legs folded under him and he swayed
limply down. But that blast of wrath would not let him lie! It raised
him and beat him down again; raised him and beat him down. By his
throat Steve swung him up--by throat and buckled belt. High over his
head he swung that bulk and lashed forward from his heels. And
Harrigan went back to his panting followers; twisting and spinning, his
body swept Shayne and Fallon to the ground.

Allison had not stirred, nor putty-faced Wickersham, nor the girl who
stood with hands at breasts. And now toward them Stephen O'Mara
wheeled. His legs would fail him, and he steadied them; blood blinded
him, and he wiped it away. Swaying giddily, he managed, somehow, a
smile.

"Wickersham, I have met the man whom you hired to fight for you," he
called clearly, "and he has earned his wage! Are you man e