I walked back to the Blight and the
little sister and both of them looked very
serious and frightened.

``I don't think I want to see a real fight,
after all,'' said the Blight. ``Not this
afternoon.''

It was a little singular and prophetic,
but just as the words left her lips one of
the Police Guard handed me a piece of
paper.

``Somebody in the crowd must have
dropped it in my pocket,'' he said. On the
paper were scrawled these words:

``_Look out for the Wild Dog!_''

I sent the paper to Marston.





VII

AT LAST--THE TOURNAMENT

At last--the tournament!