ulch, the sides of
which were banked with bushes. Squirrels scampered and birds chattered
at him, but Prale saw none of them.

He was trying to explain to himself why Kate Gilbert had warned him to
leave New York, why she had interested herself in his affairs at all,
asking himself for the thousandth time what species of net it was in
which he suddenly had found himself enmeshed without knowing the reason
for it.

He had demanded information and it had not been given him. She had said
nothing at all that gave him an inkling as to the nature of what seemed
to be a plot against him. He had been as firm as he dared, he told
himself. A man could not threaten a woman, could not use violence in an
attempt to make her speak and reveal secrets.

"We'll have to work from another corner," Sidney Prale told himself. "I
can't threaten a woman, but I can pummel a man; and if I meet George
Lerton again, I am liable to forget what Jim Farland told me and use my
own methods."

He walked on through the tiny ravine. He came to a cross path, and a man
lurched down it and against him.

"Beg pardon!" Prale murmured.

"Wonder you wouldn't look where you're going!" the other exclaimed. "Got
an idea you own the whole Park, or something like that? Men like you
shouldn't be running around loose!"

"You ran into me, not I into you," Prale reminded him.

As he spoke, he looked at the other closely. He saw a gigantic man who
had the general appearance of a thug, whose chin was thrust forward
aggressively, and whose hands were opening and closing as if he wished
they were around Sidney Prale's throat.

"I've a notion to smash you one!" the fellow said, advancing toward
Prale a bit.

Prale's temper flamed at once. His own chin was shot forward, and his
own hands closed.

"If that is the way you feel about it, start in!" Prale said. "Perhaps I
can teach you to act decently and keep a civil tongue in your head!"

The man before him made no comment--he simply launched himself forward
like a thunderbolt. Sidney Prale darted quickly to one side, and tossed
his hat and stick on the ground. He did not have time to get off his
coat; he could not even remove his gloves.

The other, missing him in that first rush, turned and came back,
swinging his fists. Prale did not dart aside now. He put himself on
guard, braced himself against the side of the little gulch, and waited
for the attack.

They clashed, and Prale knew that he had a real fight