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 a stabbing pain entered his side and
stayed apparently tangled in splintered bone. He
paused for a moment, and all three fell upon him,
beating, clubbing, kicking. He fought on, now

[[65]]

p064 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p065w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p066

v?