Adventure, January 20, 1922 — page 168: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

166 Mora’s hand had dropped to his belt- buckles, but now he stopped and stared at Frenchy’s face, then at the hand before him which was opening and shutting nervously. He hesitated. Would he give up his gun to the sheriff? His hand jerked nervously away from his belt-buckle as he looked at Frenchy’s hand. Others watched the hand, but Blaze watched Frenchy’s right hand, which had gripped the butt of his pistol, ready for a draw. Then Mora shook his head. “All right. takes it.” He handed Frenchy the belt and gun, little thinking how close he had come to missing his fight with Sales. Blaze stepped forward and faced the crowd. “Gents, this is going to be a fair fight. When a man goes down the other stays off and gives him a chance to come back. They fight only on their feet: Understand?” Sales, stripping off his shirts, flashed Blaze a look of gratitude. It gave him a chance against this ape-man. Men threw chairs and tables aside, clearing a large space. Word of the battle traveled fast, and in a few moments there was a steady stream of men trying to claw their way in- side to see the fight. A man offered big odds on Mora, but there were no takers. Nobody considered that Sales had a chance. “He can’t reach Mora’s head!” yelled a voice. “Put Chuck on a chair!” yelled another. “We want to see what he looks like.” The men stripped quickly. Mora was even more ape-like, stripped. His body was corded with muscles and his skin was a deep bronze. Sales was broad of shoulder, narrow of waist and hip and his muscles were small compared with those of his antagonist, but Blaze noticed that Sales’ muscles were long and supple, while Mora’s were corded. There was no time lost in preliminaries. Mora was ready first, moving to the center of the cleared space. His head was hunched forward on his short neck, his big hands opening and shutting as he waited for a chance to wipe out the insult. Sales sized Mora up and then shot a glance around the room. “Come on!” growled Mora, like a hungry bear. Sales laughed and stepped forward, I don’t care a —— who Adventure slightly crouched, both arms swinging easily, hands half-open. His long muscles rippled easily with the swing of his arms. Mora stepped to meet him and quick as a flash Sales slapped him across the mouth with his open hand. The blow had been cat-like in its speed and it cut Mora’s lips. Before Mora could recover, Sales slapped him across the bare chest. It was as if Sales was playing tag with him. Mora cursed and launched a mighty blow at Sales, but it passed over Sales’ head, cleverly ducked. Men crowded closer, mut- tering. This was not according to their calculations, but there was no cheering. The two men were circling each other now. ‘Blaze noticed that Sales kept a per- - fect balance, while Mora seemed more clumsy, top-heavy. Mora swung again, a wide sweeping smash. Sales blocked it with the point of his elbow, catching Mora’s swinging arm between elbow and wrist. It seemed to take all the power from Mora’s arm for a moment, and Sales shot a straight right to his mouth. Mora retreated slowly, his face con- torted with rage. Then he sprang forward like a tiger, seeking to circle Sales with his long arms. Instead of evading them, Sales lunged forward to meet the attack. Sales’ right hand flashed forward and upward, with the weight of his body behind it, and buried itself at the point of Mora’s breast- bone. The circling arms slithered weakly off his shoulders, as Mora lopped forward from the waist, staggering blindly. By super- human effort he kept his feet, but his sway- ing face was a green mask of agony, his mouth stretched wide for air. Sales moved swiftly, uppercutting with both hands to Mora’s face. Measuring his distance, keeping pace with the backward moving Mora, he smashed in short-arm uppercuts, with the regularity of a machine; uppercuts which did not paralyze, but cut and bruised. Sales was marking Mora for life. He drove Mora through the crowd until he backed him against the wall. Then Sales set himself for the final punch, while Mora, sobbing, slobbering, tried to cover his face with helpless arms. But the final blow was never struck. As Sales swung forward, a heavy bottle whizzed across the room and crashed against his head. Sales dropped like a log and over him fell Mora, blubbering for mercy. COmMiICLoooks (C@)