"If I had been making chances," thought Bat, "I couldn't have made a better one than this. If the slim one is get-at-able at all, now is the time."
So he moved along the bar until he was at the burglar's side.
"Friend," said he, "I like to see a guy with insides. The man who says 'I stick right here no matter what the other fellow's got,' is the kind I warm to."
The shifty, deep-set eyes glinted wickedly.
"I'll separate his ribs for him!" said he. "If he bothers with——"
"Now, here, none of that!" cried the saloon-keeper, startled out of his easy humor. "No knife or gun stuff, Slim, do you hear?"
But it is doubtful if Big Slim did hear; for just then the infuriated fighting man caught sight of him, swept aside the throng and advanced.
"So here you are, eh?" Allen's little head was thrust forward and his jaw protruded wickedly. "Well, what have you got to say for yourself before I knock your block off?"
The intimates of the pugilist had been prolific of words while hostilities were still in the distance; but they knew the ugly nature of the man and now held their peace. But Bat Scanlon, his mind firmly furnished with a plan of action, slowly moved into the space between Allen and the object of his anger.
"Speaking of knocking heads off," said he, "let me put you up in something that always goes with that little performance." He laid a hand on the broad chest of the pugilist. "Always pick your man," said he, "and for your own sake never let him carry less beef than yourself."