Argosy All-Story Weekly, February 4, 1922 — page 90: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

400 ‘‘ Forty-four and one-quarter—”’ A wild yell burst from the throng below the platform, louder far than the thunder of the steel. Sissek lifted Davies in his arms. Griffith pushed Hugh back upon the bench, holding a cup of water in his hand. In a moment the platform was covered by a ‘swarming mass of men. p ’ The championship would stay in Hobart for another year. At evening there was music in the town, and presently a demonstration yelling and barking as the painted-Piutes leaped about a huge bonfire built on the street. A glare of rockets rose against the sky; reverberat- ing detonations of exploded giant powder rolled and crashed among the hills. The street was jammed with a moving mass of Hobart’s population in whom the carnival spirit was flowing at high tide. Davies had refused to remain at the com- pany hospital, where an admiring surgeon had set his arm, but Hugh had finally been able to persuade him that the Horseshoe Club was not the place to carry a broken bone. Davies, not without some grumbling, accompanied by Hugh McGregor and Wil- liam, who trailed along, decided at last to go to his room at the hotel while the night was young. They arrived together at the foot of the stairway leading upward to the hotel. They stood talking for a moment; the noise of the celebration reached them only as a subdued murmur from a distance. A group of roysterers, singing and jab- bering in a foreign tongue, approached on the road that would take them to the smel- ter. There were five men in the group, each, apparently, carrying all the liquor that his skin would hold. Near the stairway they stopped to en- gage in drunken disputation. One, it would seem, was demanding that his companions ascend to the hotel. They approached the foot of the stairway indirectly. William was jostled by one of the drunk- en men—not so drunk as his speech would indicate. Then he was looking into the face of Kowalski, and in his hand Kowalski held a knife. Kowalski’s attention was not ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. for William, but directed at Davies, pushed against the railing of the stairway. Hugh was occupied with affairs of his own. William struck the man who had jostled him; that man staggered, and came back again. No one, certainly, had ever taught William to fight as he fought now, with feet and hands and shoulders, teeth, if possible— but William had never fought for life be- fore. CHAPTER VIII. THE END OF A PERFECT DAY. E opened with a drop-kick at Kowal- ski; heavy miner’s boot ‘reached Kowalski’s elbow; the knife, released, leaped into the air, and falling, found a crack between the planking of the stairway. Davies finished that with a smashing blow from his good left arm that caught Kowal- ski midships and tied him in a knot. Hugh ‘heaved one man over the railing bodily; William, meanwhile, had troubles of his own. A living catapult caught him as he kicked, and William fell, squirming and twisting like a cat; it was some time before he could use his arms again except by way of protection for his head. At last he man- aged to roll over, and there were blows re- ceived and returned with usurious interest. Then a hand gripped at the collar of his foe; as the man rose, William struck again; there was no need to strike a second time. And it was all over, with one man running rapidly away with infinitely better leg-con- trol than that same man had displayed on arrival, Davies acknowledged a _ knife- thrust in his shoulder that had done little more than tear the skin; Hugh was un- touched; William was a much battered young man. Kowalski, recovering, had crept away. The man whom William had last struck showed signs of regaining consciousness. Beneath the stairway that assailant who had been tossed from the railing sat up in the weeds with a broken collar-bone. ‘““Let ’em go,” said Hugh. they’ve had enough.” Davies laughed. “‘ Ah’ll gi’ ye odds Ko- oA “T guess COmiclboooks.Gom