, a fairly hard man to beat.

"Now, stand up, boy," ordered the saloon keeper, advancing. "And
take back the crack you passed to me."

"Let's have it," taunted Dick, throwing himself on the defensive.

Miller aimed a vicious blow but did not land. Instead, Prescott
hit him on the short ribs.

"If you're going to fight, stand up and take your medicine!" roared
Miller, in a rage.

"Handle your own foot-work to suit yourself!" Dick retorted.
"I'll do the same. But you can't fight, anyway!"

That taunt threw the liquor seller into a still greater rage.
With a yell he sprang at Prescott. But again Dick failed to
be there.

The high school boy was not having an easy time, however. Miller's
strength was formidable, and Dick knew that he could not stop
many straight blows from his opponent without disaster.

Two merely glancing blows scraped the lad, who had landed four
blows on Miller. The big fellow, however, seemed able to endure
a lot of punishment.

"I didn't come out here to run a race!" Miller insisted, as he
tried hard to corner the boy.

"Then stand still, and I won't hit you so hard!" mocked Prescott,
as he struck the man again on the short ribs.

Then, of a sudden, Prescott hit the earth. He had miscalculated,
and Miller's left fist had landed on his nose.

With a hoarse laugh Miller started to follow up the advantage
with a kick.

"Here! Come back! None of that!" shouted a citizen, throwing
his arms around Miller's neck. "Let the boy get to his feet.
Fight fair or---we'll lynch you when it's over!"

But Dick was up, the blood flowing freely from his nose. Yet
he was hardly less cool as Miller was released and the two again
faced each other.

"Finish him up, Miller, and we'll get back to pleasure!" laughed
one of the drunkards in maudlin glee.

"The boy has no show. This is an outrage!" protested an indignant
citizen. "It ought to be stopped."

As the two sparred Dick suddenly saw his chance to get in under
the powerful guard of his antagonist and landed a hard blow on
his solar plexus.

"Umph!" grunted Miller, as he partly doubled up under the force
of the blow.

That instant was enough for Prescott to drive in a blow that nearly
closed one of the big fellow's eyes.

"Stop this fight!" yelled the same citizen.

"Don't you do it!" warned another. "The boy is taking care of
himself all right. Let him wind the bruiser up."

Now Miller, smarting and fearing accidental defea