The Chickasha Bone Crusher then uncorked a wicked right swing to the body, which, although the Kid took it on his elbow, drove him against the ropes and the crowd crazy.
Kenney followed the Kid up, pinnin' him against a ring post with his huge body, and suddenly slidin' one arm around the champ's neck, he begin whalin' away at the stomach with the other. The big tent fairly quivered with the uproar now, half the mob booin' Kenney and yellin' for the referee to break 'em, and the other half screamin' for the Bone Crusher to knock the Kid stiff. The pantin', excited, and red-faced referee, both hands grabbin' the wagon tongue that passed as Kenney's arm, was actually swingin' off the floor on it tryin' to unhook it from around the Kid's neck. He might as well of tried to push over the Rocky Mountain with one hand!
Roberts curled up and kept his head, makin' most of Kenney's rib crackers glance off his arms, but some of 'em was gettin' through, and when they did, havin' 226 pounds of bone and muscle behind 'em—well, they wasn't doin' the Kid any good. He kept choppin' at Kenney's head and face with his right, but this baby seemed to have a iron jaw, and, besides, they was too close together for the Kid to put any snap in his blows.
Roberts looked at me over the human bear's shoulder and shook his head, kinda puzzled.
"Down below, Kid!" I hollers. "Down below—work on his heart!"
Still cool, the champ drops his head till it rests on Kenney's heavin' chest. He sets himself for half a
