Chapter 5

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_ CHAPTER V

An ominous murmur of voices, with a deep growling undertone, floated up from the improvised gymnasium in the basement as Captain Pott entered the swinging doors of Willow-Tree Inn. This was followed by a more ominous silence. The seaman bounded down the steps. The sight that met his gaze caused him to stop short. On each side of the low room men and boys were drawn up in lines, and the division was as clean cut as though chosen for a tug of war. The doors at the far end of the gymnasium swung back, and a stranger, stripped to the waist, stepped gingerly into the room. Sim Hicks met the man, and began to tie a pair of boxing gloves to his hands. While the Captain looked on in utter amazement, the doors again swung back, and Mack McGowan entered. He did not appear surprised at sight of the crowd, as large audiences had become quite the common thing during his boxing lessons. Hank Simpson came from out the shadows and reluctantly tied another pair of gloves to the hands of Mr. McGowan.

"What in tarnation is the meaning of this damn exhibition?" demanded the Captain, turning to Jud Johnson, the plumber.

"It means there's dirty work on."

"You mean there's been a crooked deal put over on Mack?"

The plumber nodded.

"Who in hell----"

"Swearing ain't going to do no good, Cap'n. The parson don't stand for it down here," cut in Jud.

"Whose doing is this?"

"We've got a pretty good idea who the cur is, but we ain't exactly sure."

"Where'd he come from?"

"The city."

"Who brung him in here?"

"We ain't just sure of that, yet."

"What in h---- What's he cal'lating to do?"

"He figures to lick the tar out of the parson. And by the blazes of the inferno, if he does----"

It was plain that civil war was to ensue if the contest went against Mr. McGowan.

"How'd he git into such a scrape?"

"It looks like the work of that d--I wish the parson would let me swear for once--Sim Hicks."

"You mean Hicks brought him in?"

"He come in here more'n a week ago and asked Mr. McGowan to give him some lessons. Now the devil's to pay, and if we ain't 'way off Hicks happens to be that devil."

"How----"

"For God's sake stop asking me questions or I'll cut loose and turn the air blue round here."

"There ain't a feller living that can fight Mack on a week of training," declared the seaman.

"No one said he'd had no more'n a week of training."

"I don't give a tinker's dam if he's had all the training in creation, he can't lick Mack McGowan and do it fair."

Jud shot the Captain a look of approval. "Them kind don't fight fair."

"But, Jud, I don't see the meaning of it, anyway."

"Then you're a heap sight blinder'n I thought. This thing's all fixed up to help Hicks get the parson out of town. When the news of this fight gets out into the church, they'll oust him like a shot from a cannon."

"Then why don't you fellers stop it afore it starts?" blazed the Captain.

"Stop nothing. Hank's tried it, already."

Hank Simpson came across the room to where the Captain stood, looking woe-begone.

"The minister says our fears ain't got no foundation about that feller being crooked, and he won't listen to reason," declared the dejected Hank.

"By the Almighty, he'll listen to me!" exclaimed the Captain.

"He wouldn't listen to his own mother if she was here. He says if what we suspect is true, he couldn't show the white feather now. He's the best sport I've ever seen, and I hate to see him beat up by that white-livered slugger."

"I sha'n't see it!"

Captain Pott started toward the ring that was rapidly forming about the boxers. He caught the minister's glance. He halted. In that glance there was an expression which the Captain had come to recognize and respect. Mack McGowan was going to take his medicine, or give it, and no one was to interfere during the dose. The seaman dropped back into the shadow of the stair.

The boxers faced each other. There was no doubt left in the minds of the onlookers as to the profession of the stranger as he squared off for action. The minister recognized, too, the trap that had been set for him, but he gave no evidence of worry. He met the malicious grin of the other with a friendly, but grim smile.

The stranger lost no time in preliminaries. He thought himself in full possession of the minister's boxing ability, and he showed a great amount of over-confidence. He had studied the other's speed, he had spied into his style, he had tested his reach. Certainly, with all this knowledge, he should have a picnic. He had been very careful on all occasions to appear as nothing more than a novice. He was not unmindful of the other's endurance, but hoping to make a quick end of the matter, he tried to force the minister under full headway at once. He went at him in a whirlwind rush. It seemed to the observers that Mr. McGowan must certainly be swept from the floor.

But the minister was not caught off his guard. He quickly guessed the other's intention. With a swiftness that took the breath of the onlookers, he stepped aside, drew in his left toe under his right heel, and faced to the right. It was done in a flash! With one long step he swung out to the left of his adversary. Out of the range of terrific blows, he smiled and made a closer study of his opponent, eye and brain alert for information. It took but a moment, and he was facing the stranger before the man was ready to meet him.

The Captain had never seen his young friend box with greater ease, although the odds were against him in weight. He warded off blow after blow with a precision that was maddening to the other. His foot-work was as quick as that of a cat, and as sure. Again and again the stranger would rush in with deadly intent, only to find himself blocked, or to back away severely punished.

A breathless suspense hushed all rooting. The minister had dropped his guard! Even the other boxer hesitated, as though he could not believe his own eyes. Mr. McGowan had thrown back his head and shoulders as though he had partially lost his foothold. The city boxer rushed in and swung for the other's heart with all his weight behind the blow. When it was too late he saw his mistake. He had been led into a trap, and the very movement which had drawn the blow made it ineffective. With lightning-like swiftness the minister stepped forward, delivered three blows on his opponent's head with bewildering rapidity, and recovered himself with ease and without exertion. The stranger recoiled, and for an instant appeared to be under the impulse to run. But blind rage seized him as his unexpected punishment began to sting, and he came back like a madman. Mr. McGowan shoved aside or blocked the terrific shower of fists with a coolness and precision that drove the stranger momentarily insane. He bellowed like a mad bull. He began to slug with the force of a pile-driver without any pretense to fairness. He leaped from left to right, and back again, like an orangutan stirred to frenzied anger. Mr. McGowan tried to stop him by calling time, but with a foul oath he shot a stiff arm into the minister's abdomen. Decidedly jarred, Mr. McGowan swayed back under the impact of the foul, but recovered his footing in time to meet the other with a blow full in the face. The stranger rushed in again, but Mr. McGowan ducked, landed his glove with a heavy jar on his adversary's body, and cut the man's lip with a right swing as he sprang to safety.

The sight and smell of his own blood sent the city pugilist into a crazed frenzy. He threw his elbow into the minister's throat and hurled him against the wall. Holding him there as though in a vise he landed a wicked hook under the left ear. Sim Hicks gave an immoderate laugh. A shout went up from the few who favored the stranger. A deep growl was the answer from Hank Simpson and his following as they sprang forward. They seized Mr. McGowan, tore him away from the maddened pugilist, and led him to a box. Hank steadied him while Jud Johnson massaged the bruised neck and bathed the bleeding ear. Sim Hicks crossed to where they were at work.

"Have you got enough?" he asked with a sneer.

"No! And by thunder, you ain't got all that's coming to you, neither," growled Jud.

Mr. McGowan leaned heavily against Hank Simpson. As it was apparent that his mind was beginning to clear, Sim Hicks came closer.

"Are you ready to call quits and stop your damned meddling in my affairs?" persisted the Innkeeper.

Mr. McGowan shook his head, slowly. Then, with a start, he straightened. Between the uprights of the stair-banister he had see two faces peering down into the room. As his vision cleared a little more he saw that one face was set between silky chops.

Captain Pott had not taken his eyes from the minister's face, but now he followed the direction of his startled gaze.

"If it ain't that damned menagerie, Fox and Beaver!"

One of the two figures slipped up and out. The other, deeply engrossed, did not budge. The Captain gave a mirthless chuckle and quietly crept up the stair. He seized the heels of Mr. Beaver, dragged him bumping down the stair, and dropped him beneath one of the lights. He gripped the little man's collar, glanced menacingly into the distorted face, and remarked:

"Paying off some of them infernal debts you spoke of?"

"L-Let m-m-me g-go! L-Looking's f-f-free, ain't it?" His thin voice rose with each word till it reached a hissing shriek.

"Yes, the show seems to be free. And if I'm any judge, it's just begun, so you may as well come down for it all."

Sim Hicks was swearing so loudly that the seaman turned in that direction. The Innkeeper was shaking his fist in the minister's face. Captain Pott dragged the squirming Beaver across the room.

"See here, Sim, you'd best shet that trap-door of yours, it's letting out too much blue smoke, and the dominee don't permit swearing among the boys. Cal'late I can give you some assistance if you're needing it," said the seaman, coming uncomfortably near. "As for that there slugger of yourn, he's nothing but a white-livered cur of a coward."

"You take back those words, or I'll make you swallow them one at a time!"

The threat came from the city pugilist, and the Captain swung about to face him.

"This here is my friend you hurt,"--the seaman's eyes flashed with fury as he jerked his thumb toward the minister,--"and I cal'late you'd best apologize for what you've done to him."

"Why, you doddering old idiot! If you didn't want your little pet hurt, you'd best have kept him home. I understand he's your special hobby."

"You'd best apologize," repeated the Captain in dangerous calm.

The pugilist laughed hoarsely. "When I do it will be in a hotter place than where we are to-night. I did nothing----"

"Don't lie to me! I see what you done. Either you fight like a man,--even if you ain't one,--or by the lord Harry----"

For emphasis he clutched the collar he still held, and Mr. Beaver squirmed as though in fear of being hurled bodily into the face of the city boxer. Sim Hicks sprang at the Captain's throat with a fierce leap and an angry growl. But Sim picked himself up from a corner and rubbed the blood from his streaming nose. The sight of the cringing Innkeeper seemed to have a temporary effect upon the pugilist, but he quickly recovered and bristled defiantly.

"You damned city cur! If you don't fight fair I'll measure you out on the same spot!"

"You go to the devil!" said the man with a sneer.

"When I do I'll take a white-livered, yellow-haired cur along. You take that grin off your face and stand up to Mack like a man. I'll act as pilot from now on, and if I sight any more of your dirty tricks, may the Lord have mercy on you, for I won't. Pitch in!"

The two men obeyed and faced each other. Except for a slight tightening of the lips, Mr. McGowan gave no sign of having suffered from the severe punishment because of the other man's foul. Those who had been standing about the box, now jostled the other faction out of the ring, and pressed closely about the Captain.

During the next fifteen minutes the boxers worked swiftly. Although the stranger had publicly defied the seaman's orders to fight fair, yet it was apparent to all that he was obeying them. Only once did he attempt a foul. The Captain's quick eyes saw, and with a thundering command that shook the room he checked the pugilist's stiff arm movement to the throat. Then the end came. Mr. McGowan brought forward his head and shoulders with his usual lightning-like swiftness in order to draw a lead before the other was prepared for it, and at the same time he accompanied the movement with a quick jerking back of his left hand as though suddenly changing his mind. The city man did the rest. He halted. Mr. McGowan stepped to the left just as the other delivered his spent blow, and with the added weight of his moving body landed his right glove against the stranger's ear. This was quickly followed with a crashing upper-cut to the heavy jaw. There was a loud rending and ripping of splintered wood as the big man fell through one of the thin panels of the partition. He slid to the floor and lay motionless amidst the wreckage.

Sim Hicks bawled at him to get up and go on with the fight. Mr. Beaver squirmed and whined under the tightening grip like a beaten pup. The crowd stood dumb with amazement. Few of those present had ever witnessed the effect of a knock-out blow.

Mr. McGowan was the first to the side of the prostrate man. He lifted him to his feet, and began walking him about. As the stranger regained his senses, he smiled faintly at Hicks' repeated requests that the fight be finished.

"How long was I out?" asked the pugilist.

Sim caught the savage glare in the Captain's eyes, and reluctantly admitted that it had been over a minute.

"But this ain't no regular match!" he shouted.

The pugilist looked in the direction of the Captain as he drew away from the minister and steadied himself against an upright.

"I guess we'll have to call it regular enough to go by rules," declared the city boxer. "I'm beaten, Hicks."

"I was sorry to do it, but there seemed no other way. There was too much at stake to run the risk of losing," said the minister. "May I say, sir, that you are a good boxer?"

"Mr. McGowan,"--the stranger extended his hand with unaffected cordiality,--"it's great of you to say that after what I tried to do to you. I refused to apologize when that old fellow tried to make me, but I do it now. I'm ashamed of the way I lost my head. If you'll accept my apology, I'll accept your compliment."

"Gladly!" exclaimed the minister.

Beneath the rough exterior of this savage fighter there was the spirit of the true sportsman. The two men removed their gloves and gripped bare hands in a warm grasp.

"The fact of the matter is, you had me outclassed at every turn. Any man who could do what you have done to-night, after I'd thought I'd spied on you long enough to secure the key to all your strong points, could make his fortune in the ring. I'm heartily ashamed that I made myself a party to this plot to put you out. What your old friend has said is true: I'm a cur and a white-livered coward to sneak in on you the way I did."

"See here!" shouted Sim Hicks, abandoning all caution, "ain't you going to finish this little job you've been paid for?"

"It is finished, but it wasn't stipulated in the contract as to who was going to do the finishing."

"You----"

"Shet that trap of yours, Sim. If you don't it's li'ble to get another catch," threatened the Captain.

Hicks eyed the seaman, rubbed his swollen nose, and backed away.

Mr. Beaver did a corkscrew dance, and tried in vain to release the hold on his collar.

"Cap'n Pott!" exclaimed the surprised minister who noticed for the first time that the seaman was holding Mr. Beaver. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Well, this little shrimp was mighty interested in the boxing, and I thought he might as well come down for a few lessons that he wouldn't forget right off. I cal'lated to give him a few myself."

Mr. Beaver's face was purple. His words would probably have been of the same hue had there been any possibility of releasing them.

"Let him go, Cap'n, you're strangling him."

"He'd otter be choked, if he's as deep in this thing as I think he is. But he ain't in no condition for a lesson to-night, he's a mite too worked up. Harry, I'll let you off, but if this here yarn gets out into the church through you or through the rest of the menagerie, we'll give you the little lesson I spoke about, and it will stick like glue to your anatomy. Now, you run along to Eadie, she'll be missing you, and I'd hate to send you home mussed up."

Mr. Beaver ran. With a dart he shot for the stair.

The members of the club escorted Mr. McGowan to the Captain's home. As he said good night, Hank Simpson came forward.

"Mr. McGowan, the fellers want to know if you'll be one of our members in regular standing."

Mr. McGowan expressed his delight, and declared he would like nothing better.

"He's 'lected, fellers!" shouted Hank.

A ringing cheer went up from the crowd. The Captain said to Elizabeth the next morning, when recounting what had taken place, "I was 'feared that Mack would be mad as hops the way them fellers carried on, but he wa'n't, not a mite. He seemed tolerable pleased about it. When the fellers asked a lot of foolish questions as to what was the matter with Mr. McGowan, and then answered them by saying that he was all right, Mack looked as happy as a school kid."

Hank once more whispered to the minister. The answer was apparently satisfactory, for the boys gave a parting cheer, declaring that they would all be present in church the following Sunday. _

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