thrill! Here are two guys, perfectly matched, each around two hundred pounds of Grade-A fightin' machinery and fightin' blood, each a terrific hitter and a good boxer, each with murder in his heart. Sock, bam, biff, crunch! And all the time them angry waves is comin' in—higher and higher. Inside of ten minutes, they're flounderin' around in foamin' salt water swirlin' at their knees, battered, pantin' and bloody, but neither can land a decisive blow and neither will quit! Driven back to higher ground by Mr. Ocean, me, Logan and Ptomaine yells for them to call it off before they get drowned. They don't give us a tumble. A half dozen times both slipped to their knees in a desperate clinch and rolled around in the sand to be buried from sight by a extra big wave which left 'em spittin' water and gaspin' for breath when they stumbled dizzily to their feet, but—still fightin'!
The end come about five minutes after I sent Ptomaine runnin' to the casino for help to go in and tear 'em apart before they got swept out to sea. The water is now comin' above their hips with each inrush of waves. The ring posts has been uprooted and with the ropes tangled around 'em swishin' back and forth in the water to one side. Kid Roberts can only see out of his left eye, which is cut and bleedin', the right bein' closed as tight as a drum. Daniels is a sight which only a hospital interne could appreciate. He would have to be introduced to his own mother, because his face would mean nothin' to her in the shape it was in now!
As the mob from the casino come streamin' over
