the other young man whom Chick recognized as his friend of the
afternoon.

"Drunk or no drunk, he can't call me a liar!" yelled Sheeley, and the
next instant Chick, with his heart pounding madly between him and the
floor, was in his element. It was a fight! A real one, in which the
hero of Billy-goat Hill held his own against two opponents.

The tumblers and the whisky bottles went first, the liquor dripping
from the table to floor; then a chair was overturned, and a window-
pane shattered to the ground below.

The thin young man hadn't sense to stop; again and again he flung his
insults at the infuriated Sheeley, impatiently fighting off the
efforts of his companion who sought to part them. Suddenly Chick saw
him step back, while the others were grappling, and fumble in his rear
pocket. He saw him steady himself against the door jamb, not four feet
away, and raise a pistol. There was a sharp report, a smothered groan,
then a heavy fall.

The man with the pistol flung it through the broken window, then
staggered to the table where he sank down with his head on his arms.

What had happened in the corner, Chick could not tell, but in a few
minutes _his_ young man came swiftly into his line of vision, and
shook the limp figure half lying on the table.

"Get up, Dill! For God's sake! Are you too drunk to crank up your
machine? As soon as I can get that blood stopped I must go for a
doctor."