"
Before the man's companions realized what had happened
Billy had possessed himself of the fallen club and struck one
of them a blinding, staggering blow across the eyes. Then
number three pulled his gun and fired point-blank at Billy.
The bullet tore through the mucker's left shoulder. It would
have sent a more highly organized and nervously inclined
man to the pavement; but Billy was neither highly organized
nor nervously inclined, so that about the only immediate
effect it had upon him was to make him mad--before he
had been but peeved--peeved at the rank crust that had
permitted these cheap-skates from south of Twelfth Street
to work his territory.
Thoroughly aroused, Billy was a wonder. From a long
line of burly ancestors he had inherited the physique of a
prize bull. From earliest childhood he had fought, always
unfairly, so that he knew all the tricks of street fighting.
During the past year there had been added to Billy's natural
fighting ability and instinct a knowledge of the scientific end
of the sport. The result was something appalling--to the
gink from Twelfth Street.
Before he knew whether his shot had killed Billy his gun
had been wrenched from his hand and flung across the street;
he was down on the granite with a hand as hard as the paving
block scrambling his facial attractions beyond hope of
recall.
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