nding health and strength
that come from life in the open. The odds against the city boy were
heavy, but he stood up gamely.

Jabe rushed in upon him and struck with all his might. Percy
side-stepped, and the blow went harmlessly by, while his assailant's
rush carried him to the other side of the ring. Whirling about with a
cry of rage, he came back, swinging his arms like a windmill.

"Now, Jabe! Now, Jabe!" rose the cry.

Again Percy leaped aside, and his right arm shot out. The blow caught
his foe fairly under the left ear, and he went sprawling; but he was
down only for a moment. Springing to his feet, he hurled himself into
the fray with redoubled fury. Again he was knocked down, and again he
renewed the battle, with more strength than before.

The fight could not last long. It was muscle against science, and in the
end muscle won. Percy began to tire and to grow short of breath. He had
smoked too many cigarettes to be able to keep up such a whirlwind pace
for many minutes. Though he landed five blows to his enemy's one, the
latter's one did more damage than his five.

For the first time in the contest Jabe used his head. Hitherto he had
struck straight for the mark each time. Now he feinted with his right
for his foe's body. Percy dropped his guard somewhat wearily. Before he
realized what was happening, Jabe's left, sent in with tremendous force,
hit him a smashing blow squarely on the nose, knocking him over
backward.

It was the beginning of the end. Percy tottered up, blood spurting from
his nose, his head spinning. He saw Jabe preparing for another rush and
knew it would be the last one. He stiffened himself to receive the
knock-out.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure broke through the circle.

"What's the trouble here?"

It was Spurling's voice. His glance took in the situation.

"That'll be about all," he said. "Come away, Whittington!"

A bullet-headed, shirt-sleeved man bristled up defiantly. It was Jabe's
father.

"Guess we'll let 'em fight it out," he observed.

His boy was winning.

"No," said Jim. "It's gone far enough."

"Not looking for trouble, are you?"

"No," remarked Jim, easily. "I don't want any trouble with you, and you
don't want any with me."

The shirt-sleeved man glanced appraisingly at his square shoulders and
strongly knit figure.

"Right you are, George!" he laughed. "I don't want any trouble with you.
You must be a mind-reader. You call off your dog and I'll call