Alleys of Darkness | Page 7

I set to
work to hammer him to death, and though he was already senseless, I
would probably of continued indefinite, had not Dutch Steinmann
distracted my attention by smashing a chair over my head.
I riz through the splinters and caught him with a left hook that tore his
ear nearly off and stood him on his neck in a corner. I then looked for
Red Partland and seen him crawling out a winder which he'd tore the
shutters off of. He was a rooin; his clothes was nearly all tore offa him,
and he was bleeding like a stuck hawg and bawling like one, and Spike
didn't show no intentions of abandoning the fray. His jaws was locked
in what was left of Red's britches, and he had his feet braced against the
wall below the sill. As I looked, Red gave a desperate wrench and
tumbled through the winder, and I heered his lamentations fading into
the night.
SHAKING THE BLOOD and sweat outa my eyes, I glared about at the
battlefield, strewn with the dead and dying--at least with the
unconscious, some of which was groaning loudly, whilst others
slumbered in silence.
Glory was just getting up, dizzy and wobbly. Spike was smelling each
of the victims in turn, and Ace was begging somebody to let him loose.
Glory wobbled over to where he'd rolled offa the bench, and I followed
her, kinda stiffly. At least one of my ribs had been broke by a boot-heel.
My scalp was cut open, and blood was trickling down my side, where
Limey Teak had made a ill-advised effort to knife me. I also thought
one of them rats had hit me from behind with a club, till I discovered
that sometime in the fray I'd fell on something hard in my hip pocket.
This, I found, was Ace Bissett's pistol, which I'd clean forgot all about.
I throwed it aside with disgust; them things is a trap and a snare.
I blinked at Ace with my one good eye, whilst Glory worked his cords
offa him.
"I see I misjudged you," I said, lending her a hand. "I apolergize, and if

you want satisfaction, right here and now is good enough for me."
"Good Lord, man," he said, with his arms full of Glory. "I don't want to
fight you. I still don't know just what it was all about, but I'm beginning
to understand."
I set down somewhat groggily on a bench which wasn't clean busted.
"What I want to know is," I said, "what that paper was they was talkin'
about."
"Well," he said, "about a year ago I befriended a half-cracked Russian
scientist, and he tried in his crazy way to repay me. He told me, in
Galt's presence, that he was going to give me a formula that would
make me the richest man on earth. He got blown up in an explosion in
his laboratory shortly afterward, and an envelope was found in his
room addressed to me, and containing a formula. Galt found out about
it, and he's been hounding me ever since, trying to get it. He thought it
was all the Russian claimed. In reality it was merely the disconnected
scribblings of a disordered mind--good Lord, it claimed to be a process
for the manufacture of diamonds! Utter insanity--but Galt never would
believe it."
"And he thought I was dumb," I cogitated. "But hey, Glory, how'd you
know it was Galt hired Whithers to throw my fight to Leary?"
"I didn't," she admitted. "I just accused Galt of it to start you fellows
fighting among yourselves."
"Well, I'll be derned," I said, and just then one of the victims which had
evidently come to while we was talking, riz stealthily to his all fours
and started crawling towards the winder. It was Jed Whithers. I strode
after him and hauled him to his feet.
"How much did Galt pay you for throwin' the bout to Leary?" I
demanded.
"A thousand dollars," he stuttered.

"Gimme it," I ordered, and with shaking hands he hauled out a fold of
bills. I fluttered 'em and saw they was intact.
"Turn around and look out the winder at the stars," I commanded.
"I don't see no stars," he muttered.
"You will," I promised, as I swung my foot and histed him clean over
the sill.
As his wails faded up the alley, I turned to Ace and Glory, and said:
"Galt must of cleaned up plenty on this deal, payin' so high for his dirty
work. This here dough, though, is goin' to be put to a good cause. The
Old Man lost all his money account of Whithers' crooked decision. This
thousand bucks will save his ship. Now let's go. I wanta get hold of