landed upon Robard's face, and the Austrian suddenly collapsed in a
heap. Still fighting mad, Uncle John whirled upon the other three, who
now closed with him.

A right-handed jolt caught one of them flush on the jaw and he toppled
over backwards without so much as a groan. The other brought a fist
heavily to Uncle John's nose, bringing blood, but before he could repeat
the blow, Uncle John had placed him hors de combat with a terrific
left-handed punch to the abdomen.

Then the third man drew back and presented his revolver, but Uncle John
sprang forward with a cry and before the man's finger could press the
trigger, Uncle John had seized him about the middle. Raising him high in
the air, he swung him to one side, and the man's head struck the wall
with a crunch even as the revolver exploded.

Uncle John dropped the limp body and surveyed the field. His anger had
departed and he was again a cool and self-possessed American gentleman of
middle age.

"There's that temper of mine again," he said reprovingly to himself.
"Why, I might have killed somebody. After all these years I should
have it under control. I guess I'll be moving before some one makes me
real mad."

He stooped and picked up his hat, which had fallen on the floor, took one
last look at his fallen foes, and opened the door and passed out.

Down the street he saw a solitary figure sitting upon the steps in front
of a large stone house, and he walked in the other direction.