in, Val wriggled his way around the platform. In a
minute he would be able to see the Boss and Red. He gripped the club.

Then Jeems stared straight into his face. But the swamper gave no sign
of seeing Val. And that, to the boy's mind, was the greatest feat of all
that afternoon. For Val knew that if he had been in Jeems' place he
would have betrayed them both in his surprise.

The others were at last visible, their backs to Val. Nervously he sized
them up. The Boss was tall and thin, but his movements suggested
possession of wiry strength. Red, his brick-colored hair making him easy
to identify, was shorter and thick across the shoulders, but his
waistline was also thick and the boy thought that his wind was bad. Of
the two, the Boss was the more dangerous. Red might lose his head in a
sudden attack, but not the Boss. Val decided to tackle the latter.

Slowly he got from his knees to his feet. After the first quick glance,
Jeems hadn't looked at him, but Val knew that the swamper was ready and
waiting to take advantage of any diversion he might make.

"Three minutes are up, swamper. So yuh've decided to be tough, eh?"

"Whatta yo' wanna know?" Jeems' question was silly but it held their
attention.

"We have told you several times," answered the Boss, his temper
beginning to fray visibly. "What is the trick of getting into that
house?"

"Well," Jeems raised his hand to rub his ear, "yo' turn to the left--"

So he agreed with the listener. Val was to take the Boss on his left. He
gathered his feet under him for the leap which he hoped would land him
full upon the invader.

"Yes?" prompted the man impatiently as Jeems hesitated. At that moment
Val sprang.

But his game leg betrayed him again. Instead of landing cleanly upon the
other, he came down draggingly across the Boss' shoulders. The gun
roared and then the attacked man lashed back a vicious blow which split
the skin over Val's cheek-bone.

For the next three minutes Val was more than occupied. His opponent was
a dirty fighter, and when he had recovered from his surprise he was more
than the boy could handle. Val's club was twisted out of his hands, and
he found himself fighting wildly to keep the man's clawing fingers from
his eyes. They were both rolling on the ground, flailing out at each
other. Twice Val tasted his own blood when one of the enemy's vicious
jabs glanced along his face. Either blow would have finished Val had it
landed clean.

Then