Argosy All-Story Weekly, 4 February 1922 — page 136: what you’re looking at

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

| Seemed iucked away in a little corner of the corral, it was he who was to decide the destiny of that. fight. To Kirbie the conflict meant a good deal more. She had staked everything. She did not know that Jug Trilles was to end that mad, barbaric spectacle. All she knew was that she had started it. It was an ab- horrent thing to her, and yet as she heard the frantic yells of the crowd and got the dust in her mouth when she herself screamed, she began to thrill to the glo- rious side of it. She could see the big, looming giant of a man standing crouched in the center of the ring, and, circling about him, another form, slender, lithe, which danced about his adversary with the agility of a puma lion. On this gray, lithe image she based every hope and desire within her. She Screamed with joy when he jabbed out his lightning hooks against the gray giant; and she gasped with pain when she heard the thud of fists against the youth’s body. But it was a curious sort of pain—something in it was soul-satisfying. It was a pain which she felt for some one else! As for Jim Quade, when the iron fists. of his enemy crashed up against his ribs, his chest, his heart, he felt no pain at ali. The joy of the combat was like an ecstasy when there is no physical feeling—when it is only a transport of joy, abandon, a rapture. Even a bone-crashing blow against his mouth could not wipe away his furious ardor. Quade fell. He knew that. And he heard a thunder of shouts and howling, but he was up again, springing backward on his feet io avoid another smash. He regained his balance, circled slowly about, staying outside of Taurog’s reach, and waiting for an opening. Taurog rushed him. Quade covered his head and let his enemy close in, pounding him mercilessly again in the sides, back, and stomach. Quade took his punishment, staking that much loss on the chance of a hook to the jaw. And then the chance came. Taurog felt that he was winning until he was shattered by that left hook timed on the side of his head. He tottered back, and the shouting suddenly dwindled. ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, Taurog fell smashing against the paling of logs, and Quade followed him, hooking him on the neck and face. The giant tumbled into his arms and clung frantically as Quade threw him around to the center of the ring. This respite was long enough to come out of his daze, and Taurog broke, windmill- ing his arms and yelling like a wounded ox. His fury and his next onslaught brought the crowd out of its. stunned si- lence, and Taurog was inspired again by the thunderous applause of his subjects. But the thunder was choked off as pre- cipitously as before, and the giant felt his teeth smash together and his brain whirl dizzily in a white light of bewilderment. ’ The corral ground heaved under him and boiled up clouds like a steaming sea. He saw the faces of his subjects circling past him as if they were flying. And that other face—the bleeding, streaked face of the devil in front of him—was bobbing up closer. He must avoid that face, Taurog knew with a sudden panic. He brought his arms up to cover his eyes, and backed away. The distant thunder of his men had softened to a curious, thrum- ming noise—like the thrumming of guitars. He realized then that they thought he was losing. That must not be. He could not have his subjects see him beaten by a man ——and in his own corral—in the crater! It was his crater—and these were his sub- jects. They were men who belonged to his kingdom. He let down one of his arms, as he was backing around the ring, and fumbled frantically for his revolver. But he could only clutch his thigh. A convul- sion of madness swept over him, and he rushed into the fight again. The face of the demon before him was floating away, then back again, malicious, bleeding, the black eyes smirched with blood but gleaming white fire. Taurog pounded at it, only lurching forward into the air. “God! Why doesn’t Jug Trilles come through?” he cried. “ He thinks I’m win- ning, that’s why—and damn it, I am! I am winning! I’m goin’ to kill you with this here fist. It’s worse’n lead any day. You're goin’ to lie daid when this hooks into your teeth. There you go—” comicbooks.com |