Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 6, 1923 — page 58: what you’re looking at

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

840 sharp, stinging blows that did not even jar the big lad, yet which by their snappy delivery gradually began to slash his face, which kept his nose bleeding in a steady trickle, half closed one eye, cut a lip, caused him to grunt when his stomach was the target. In a regulation ring, with gloves, it would have been a short bout. With the Slapper having to guard against the treacherous footing, and in a confined space, it lasted longer. But to offset this, his knuckles cut deeper than gloves, and soon Micah’s face looked so ghastly that most of the women turned away. But the men, breathing deep, clenching their fists and teeth in unconscious sympathy, grunting with each blow, never batted an eye; and the small boys huddled in an adoring band, shrill yells rewarding each effort of their big playmate. One of Micah’s eyes was now completely closed, and the Slapper was beginning to work on the other. Micah was not even breathing hard, had not been dazed by any of the buffets he had suffered, and yet was being scientifically cut to pieces by a trained butcher upon whose features no mark yet showed. But the Slapper was breathing through his mouth. Perspiration rolled down his face; unless he could stop the other pretty quick, he would collapse from sheer fatigue; and then Micah would prob- ably stave his ribs in! He managed to work on Micah’s blind side, to keep him in the sun; but blind, bleeding, mutilated, the village boy was no quitter, and kept coming back for more, and as the Slapper well knew, you may block a lot of blows, but you can’t stop them all! The champions can’t do that. Even as the thought crossed his mind, Micah lunged in, swinging his right arm from a point far behind his shoulder. It fairly whistled as it came. Instead of leap- ing back, or ducking, the Slapper took a chance and stepped in, letting the blow pass around his head, the crook of Micah’s el- bow catching him in the neck, and causing him to see stars; but at the same instant, or a bit before, the Slapper started a short uppercut, rising from his toes. His left caught Micah on the tip of the chin; and because he had been fighting with tongue ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. between his teeth, it caused him nearly to bite that unruly member in two. The agony made even the infuriated boy cringe and falter for an instant; tears gushed from his eyes in a blinding rain. Then the Slapper deliberately and calculat- ingly drove his right into the good optic. Micah staggered back, sightless and help- less. The Slapper stepped away, smiled, and dropped his arms. “He’s all in,” he panted. “ He’s done his stuff, and it ain’t good enough!” This noble attitude, the failure to take advantage of a helpless man’s condition, won practically everybody over. They could not know that the Slapper might hammer away the rest of the evening at Micah, and never knock him out; they only Saw a great fighter evincing magnanimity. Micah’s fellows led him away to the pond and began to wash his bloody face and to call for court plaster and bandages. The Slapper’s urchins restored to him his clothes, fetched a basin of clean water and washed his hands of the blood of his rival, and shrilly debated the affair. Little was said as the beach wagon jogged homeward. Tucker had shaken hands with him; but the men of the Pine Tree State are taciturn. Between them and the hero- kissing French is a great eulf fixed; yet both are he-men, counting not the costs when a job has to be done. Mother Tucker seemed a little disappointed not to find some slight abrasion, some scratch to which to apply her infallible salve. Letty said nothing be- yond the merest commonplaces; Slapper wondered if she were sore because he had fought! Then, when they parted early to go to their rooms, everybody tired after the long, strenuous day, she turned back, threw her arms about his neck, and kissed him. Not once, but repeatedly, and upon his mouth. And she was crying! Could you beat it? “TI was so scared that he would kill you, Joe!’’ she whispered from the refuge of his shoulder. ‘“ Who—that big ashcan? Not a chance! He couldn’t keep outa the way of his own feet, to say nothin’ of my fists!”’ That night again, the Slapper dreamed COMmMicloOoe (©