Part 28 (1/2)

”Nerves a bit rocky, eh?” Warrington laughed sardonically.

”You're screeching in the wrong jungle, Parrot, old top,” said Mallow, who, as he did not believe in ghosts, was physically nor morally afraid of anything. ”Though, you have my word for it that I'd like to see you lose every cent of your d.a.m.ned oil fluke.”

”Don't doubt it.”

”But,” Mallow went on, ”if you're wanting a little argument that doesn't require pencils or voices, why, you're on. You don't object to my friend Craig coming along?”

”On the contrary, he'll make a good witness of what happens.”

”The _chit_, boy!” Mallow paid the reckoning. ”Now, then, come on.

Three rickshaws!” he called.

”Make it two,” said Warrington. ”I have mine.”

”All fine and dandy!”

The barren plot of ground back of the dock was deserted. Warrington jumped from his rickshaw and divested himself of his coat and flung his hat beside it. Gleefully as a boy Mallow did likewise. Warrington then bade the coolies to move back to the road.

”Rounds?” inquired Mallow.

”You filthy scoundrel, you know very well that there won't be any rules to this game. Don't you think I know you? You'll have a try at my knee-pans, if I give you the chance. You'll stick your finger into my eyes, if I let you get close enough. I doubt if in all your life you ever fought a man squarely.” Warrington rolled up his sleeves and was pleased to note the dull color of Mallow's face. He wanted to rouse the brute in the man, then he would have him at his mercy. ”I swore four years ago that I'd make you pay for that night.”

”You sc.u.m!” roared Mallow; ”you'll never be a whole man when they carry you away from here.”

”Wait and see.”

On the way to the dock Warrington had mapped out his campaign. Fair play from either of these men was not to be entertained for a moment.

One was naturally a brute and the other was a coward. They would not hesitate at any means to defeat him. And he knew what defeat would mean at their hands: disfigurement, probably.

”Will you take a s.h.i.+lling for your fifty quid?” jeered Craig. He was going to enjoy this, for he had not the least doubt as to the outcome.

Mallow was without superior in a rough and tumble fight.

Warrington did not reply. He walked cautiously toward Mallow. This maneuver brought Craig within reach. It was not a fair blow, but Warrington delivered it without the least compunction. It struck Craig squarely on the jaw. Lightly as a cat Warrington jumped back. Craig's knees doubled under him and he toppled forward on his face.

”Now, Mallow, you and I alone, with no one to jump on my back when I'm looking elsewhere!”

Mallow, appreciating the trick, swore foully, and rushed. Warrington jabbed with his left and side-stepped. One thing he must do and that was to keep Mallow from getting into close quarters. The copra-grower was more than his match in the knowledge of those Oriental devices that usually cripple a man for life. He must wear him down scientifically; he must depend upon his ring-generals.h.i.+p. In his youth Warrington had been a skilful boxer. He could now back this skill with rugged health and a blow that had a hundred and eighty pounds behind it.

From ordinary rage, Mallow fell into a frenzy; and frenzy never won a ring-battle. Time after time he endeavored to grapple, but always that left stopped him. Warrington played for his face, and to each jab he added a taunt. ”That for the little Cingalese!” ”Count that one for Wheedon's broken knees!” ”And wouldn't San admire that? Remember her?

The little j.a.panese girl whose thumbs you broke?” ”Here's one for me!”

It was not dignified; but Warrington stubbornly refused to look back upon this day either with shame or regret. Jab-jab, cut and slas.h.!.+

went the left. There was no more mercy in the mind back of it than might be found in the sleek felines who stalked the jungles north.

Doggedly Mallow fought on, hoping for his chance. He tried every trick he knew, but he could only get so near. The ring was as wide as the world; there were no corners to make grappling a possibility.

Some of his desperate blows got through. The bezel of his ring laid open Warrington's forehead. He was brave enough; but he began to realize that this was not the same man he had turned out into the night, four years ago. And the pain and ignominy he had forced upon others was now being returned to him. Warrington would have prolonged the battle had he not seen Craig getting dizzily to his feet. It was time to end it. He feinted swiftly. Mallow, expecting a body-blow, dropped his guard. Warrington, as he struck, felt the bones in his hand crack. Mallow went over upon his back, fairly lifted off his feet. He was tough; an ordinary man would have died.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Battle.]