medals for rather more-than-good
feather-weight fighting. He loved peace so much that he was willing to
lick almost anyone in order to make them stop fighting. That was why he
had joined the American army, and allowed himself to be made part of the
Expeditionary force that went to the Pacific coast side of Siberia.

But twelve months in Siberia had taught him many things. He had learned
that he could not get these Russians to stop quarreling by merely
whipping them. Therefore, since these men were both Russians, he had let
them fight.

The tall, slender man had started it. He had rushed at the short, square
shouldered one from the dark. The square shouldered one had flashed a
knife. This had been instantly knocked from his grasp. By some chance,
the knife had dropped only an arm's length from the doorway into which
Johnny had dodged. Johnny now held the knife discreetly behind his
back.

Yes, Johnny trembled. There was a reason for that. The tall, slender man
had gained the upper hand. He was stretched across the prone form of his
antagonist, his slim, horny hands even now gliding toward the other's
throat. And, right there, Johnny had decided to draw the line. He was
not going to allow himself to witness the strangling of a man. That
wasn't his idea of fighting. He would end the fight, even at the expense
of being mussed up a bit himself, or having certain of his cherished
plans interfered with by being dragged before a "Provo" as witness or
participant.

He was counting in a half-audible whisper, "Forty-one, forty-two,
forty-three." It was a way he had when something big was about to
happen. The hand of the slender man was at the second button on the
other's rough coat when Johnny reached fifty. At sixty it had come to
the top button. At sixty-five his long finger-tips were doubling in for
the fatal, vice-like grip. Noiselessly, Johnny laid the knife on a cross
bar of the door. Knives were too deadly. Johnny's "wallop" was quite
enough; more than enough, as the slender one might learn to his sorrow.

But before Johnny could move a convulsion shot through the prostrate
fighter. He was again struggling wildly. At the same instant, Johnny
heard shuffling footsteps approaching around the corner. He was sure he
did not mistake the tread of Japanese military police who were guarding
that section of the city. For a moment he studied the probabilities of
the short one's power of endurance, then, deciding it sufficient t