Lefty Locke, pitcher-manager

by Burt L. Standish

The southpaw realized that, of his three antagonists, the creature springing at him like a deadly tarantula was the most to be dreaded. Insanity blazed in the fellow’s eyes. He struck with the blackjack, and Lefty barely avoided the blow.

Locke snapped out his left foot, and caught the toe of the man plunging past him, sending him spinning to the floor. Snuff’s body struck a leg of the overturned table and broke it off short, but the shock of the fall seemed to have absolutely no effect upon him; for he rebounded from the floor like a rubber ball, and was on his feet again in a flash, panting and snarling.

“Get him, Snuff–get him!” urged Skullen, coming up out of the corner where he had been thrown.

Bill, recovering his breath, was straightening up. All three of the thugs would be at the southpaw again in another jiffy. Lefty darted round the table, avoiding the blackjack, but realizing what a small chance he had with his bare hands. He could not keep up the dodging long. Then he saw the broken table leg, and snatched it up. With an upward swing, he landed a blow on Snuff’s elbow, breaking his arm. The blackjack flew to the smoky ceiling, and then thudded back to the floor.

Feeling sure he had checked his most dangerous antagonist, Lefty turned, swinging the table leg, and gave Skullen a crack on the shoulder that dropped him to his knees. He had aimed at Mit’s head, but the fellow had partially succeeded in dodging the blow.

Another blow, and the cry of alarm that rose to Bill’s lips was broken short. Bill went down, knocked senseless.

But Snuff, in spite of his broken arm, was charging again. He was seeking to get at the southpaw with his bare left hand! The pitcher, however, had no compunction, and he beat the madman down instantly.

Groaning and clinging to his injured shoulder, Skullen retreated hastily to the wall, staring in amazement and incomprehension at the breathless but triumphant man he had lured into this trap. In all his experience he had never encountered such a fighter.

There being no one to stop him now, Lefty walked to the door leading into the alley, found the key in the lock and turned it. One backward look he cast at the two figures on the floor and the man who leaned against the wall, clutching at his shoulder.

Policemen seemed to be scarce in that neighborhood, and Locke found one with difficulty. The officer listened incredulously to Lefty’s story. “Mike’s is a quiet place,” he said. “Didn’t make a mistake about where this happened, did you? Well, come on; we’ll go round there and see about it.”