The articles called for both men to finish their trainin' on the battle ground and we got our outfit set up in the suburbs of Tia Juana with Ptomaine Joe in charge of the handlers. Bob Young is workin' out at the other end of the slab. Both camps is drawin' big crowds daily and a couple of weeks before the fight Young was only a 6 to 5 favorite over Kid Roberts, in spite of the fact that Bob was champion.
The gils which was promotin' the big fracas had been havin' plenty trouble with the Mexican authorities. I suppose they neglected to sugar the right people or somethin'—anyways, a few days before the mill was due to take place somebody pitched a monkey wrench into the machinery and official sanction was absolutely refused. It looked like everything was goin' to be a terrible bust, but the frantic promoters still had hopes of comin' to terms with the authorities and insisted on the fighters continuin' trainin', as advertised.
Kid Roberts is out doin' road work early one mornin' with me and Ptomaine Joe, when all of a sudden a woman's shriek spears the hot, dusty air it come from the woods which fringed the side of the road and it was just packed with "S. O. S." The three of us stopped dead, looked at each other in amazement, and then tore into the woods, with Kid Roberts in the lead. The scene which met our eyes was so exceedin'ly movie that the first thing I done was to look around for a camera. The first thing Kid Roberts done was to snatch up a big piece of rock and let fly at a ugly-lookin' snake which was menacin' one of the prettiest members of the indispensable sex that ever
