oor. "I've got enough," he
remarked; "I'm going to quit."

"You got enough, all right," Em agreed. "Now, how'd you like to have a
real good time?" She disposed herself upon her elbow, so that the sagging
bulk of her body was emphasized through its straining apparel; one leg,
incredible, leviathan, was largely visible.

"I've had enough," Gordon repeated; "I'll be moving."

Em rose quickly, losing her air of coquetry. Gordon was facing the men,
and was unprepared for the heavy blow she dealt upon the back of his neck.
"Hang it on him, Otty!" she cried excitedly.

Mr. Ottinger shoved the card table from his path. It was now evident that
it was, precisely, to "hang it on" whoever might be elected for that
delicate attention which formed Otty's purpose, profession, preoccupation,
in life. He was, for a heavy man, active; and, before Gordon Makimmon
could put out a protective arm, he returned the latter to the
perpendicular with a jarring blow on the chin. Jake whipped out from a
place of concealment on his person a plaited leather weapon with a
globular end.

It was Jake, Gordon instinctively knew, who threatened him most; he could
easily stop the hulking shape before him. He regained his poise, and
returned blow for blow with Mr. Ottinger; neither man guarded, both were
solely intent upon marking, crippling, the other. A chair fell, sliding
across the floor; a washstand collapsed with a splintering crash of china,
a miniature flood. Em stood on the outskirts of the conflict, armed with
the whisky bottle; Jake crouched watchful with the leather club. Gordon
cut his opponent's face with short, vicious jabs; he was, as customary,
cold--he saw clearly where every blow fell; he saw Otty's nose grotesquely
shapeless and blackened; he felt Otty's teeth cut the skin of his knuckles
and break off; he heard his involuntary gasp as he struck him a
hammer-like blow over the heart.

Mr. Ottinger, in return, hit him frequently and with effect. Gordon was
conscious of a warm, gummy tide spreading over his face, he saw with
difficulty through rapidly closing eyes. "For Cri's sake," Otty gasped,
"get to him, the town'll be on us."

Em made an ineffectual lunge with the bottle. Gordon swung the point of
his elbow into her side, and she sat on the bed with a "G-G-God!" Jake hit
him with the club on the shoulder blade; numbness radiated from the struck
point; there was a loss of power in the corresponding arm. Jake hit him
again, and