on his hands, for
the man who had attacked him was no mean antagonist. But, after the
first real clash, Prale had no fear of the outcome. The man was brutal,
but he had no skill. He delivered blows that would have felled any
one--but they did not reach their objective.

Then a second man crashed down through the brush and joined in the
attack. Sidney Prale realized in that moment that the attack had been
premeditated and the fight forced upon him purposely. It fed fuel to the
flames of his wrath. He did not know whether this was the work of some
of his unknown enemies or whether these thugs were mere robbers intent
upon getting his wallet and watch. It made little difference to him
which they were.

With his back against the side of the gulch, he fought with what skill
he could, trying to stand off both of them. The attack had come with a
rush, and all this had occupied but a few seconds.

Presently a human whirlwind appeared and took part in the battle. There
was an angry roar from a human throat, a raucous curse, a rushing body,
the thuds of swift, hard blows. Mr. Murk had reached the scene!

The battle immediately became two-fold. Murk fought as these thugs
fought, disregarding the finer rules of combat, seeking only to put his
opponent out, no matter by what means. Murk was not unaccustomed to
fighting of that character, and he was doubly formidable now, for he was
angry at the attack on Sidney Prale. Murk had been too far away to hear
what had been said when the trouble started, but he had seen, and he
guessed immediately that some of Sidney Prale's enemies were engaged in
the attempt.

Murk went after his opponent with determination if not with skill. He
fought him down the path, and there the fellow rallied from the surprise
and rushed back. But Murk was not the sort to give ground. In a fight, a
man should stand up to another until one of them was whipped, Murk
thought.

He knew how to give blows, but not how to guard against them. He was
marked, and marked well, before the battle was a minute old, but he had
the satisfaction of seeing blood on the face of his antagonist. Foot to
foot they stood and hammered each other, and gradually Murk began
wearing the other man down.

As for Sidney Prale, now that he had but the one thug against him, he
fought with skill and cunning, knowing that the other was a bit the
stronger, but realizing that he would be victor if he used reasonable
care.

His flare of ang