went at it the way Kenney always wanted it—with bare knuckles!
I can close my glims and see that scrap now as well as if it come off last night. Boys and girls, it was sure one for the book! They was no ring, no padded mitts, no referee to prevent foul fightin', no bell to call a brief halt, no handlers to sponge off gore or close a ugly cut.
No yellin' crowd was poundin' their seats and eggin' them babies on—they was nothin' but Kenney's wife sunk to her knees, her face buried in her arms at one end of the room and me crouched half dazed in the other, tryin' to keep cool and advise my battler, which was absolutely fightin' for his life.
Over the busted door peered a half dozen scared faces, but if they did or said anything, nobody noticed.
They was no stallin' this time, no pullin' wallops to let Kenney stay. Kid Roberts was puttin' everything he had into each punch, for the Chickasha Bone Crusher had turned killer and twice had bent the Kid over his giant's knee with both hands sunk in his white throat. Each time the gaspin' Kid had wriggled free and pounded Kenney's face to a purple jelly before the Bone Crusher bulled his way in close to grab the champ around the body with one arm and pound his ribs with the other. A wild swing caught Roberts fair on the chin and he crashed against the opposite wall, his head hittin' with a crack that wrung a scream from me. In a flash, Kenney was on him, bangin' him back and forth against the wall with little, sickenin' snarlin' grunts like a wild animal over its kill.
Half cuckoo, I jumped to my feet and pawed at the
