He had been an accidental and entirely disinterested witness. He knew
neither of the men; he had merely happened along just when the row
began, and had lingered in the shadows to see it through. Twelve, yes,
even six months before, he would have mixed in at once; that had always
been his way in the States. Not that he was a quarrelsome fellow; on the
contrary he was fond of peace, was Johnny, in spite of the fact that he
carried on his person various medals for rather more-than-good
feather-weight fighting. He loved peace so much that he was willing to
lick almost anyone in order to make them stop fighting. That was why he
had joined the American army, and allowed himself to be made part of the
Expeditionary force that went to the Pacific coast side of Siberia.

But twelve months in Siberia had taught him many things. He had learned
that he could not get these Russians to stop quarreling by merely
whipping them. Therefore, since these men were both Russians, he had let
them fight.

The tall, slender man had started it. He had rushed at the short, square
shouldered one from the dark. The square shouldered one had flashed a
knife. This had been instantly knocked from his grasp. By some chance,
the knife had dropped only an arm's length from the doorway into which
Johnny had dodged. Johnny now held the knife discreetly behind his
back.

Yes, Johnny trembled. There was a reason for that. The tall, slender man
had gained the upper hand. He was stretched across the prone form of his
antagonist, his slim, horny hands even now gliding toward the other's
throat. And, right there, Johnny had decided to draw the line. He was
not going to allow himself to witness the strangling of a man. That
wasn't his idea of fighting. He would end the fight, even at the expense