The battle was short, sharp, and furious. Foolishly, Tom drove for Clem’s face and jaw, but Clem fought otherwise. He was out for blood, figuratively speaking.
Taking a smack that brought a black eye, without a wince, he broke through the other’s guard and slammed his fists into Tom’s body time and again. Never had any one seen him go into a fight with such savage, deadly fury. Within thirty seconds, Tom Saunders was backed into a corner, mouthing oaths and lashing out half at random, while Clem’s terrible right and left swings pounded over his heart and stomach.
Unexpectedly, Clem shot up a swift uppercut that rocked Tom’s head back. The other’s arms flew up, and Clem’s right bored into the solar plexus. It was almost a finishing blow. Tom emitted a gasp, and flung out his arms to save himself from going down. Clem swung down his arm for the knock-out.
At that instant, the rage of Tom’s followers broke all bounds. One of them came in, swinging a billiard cue, and aimed a blow that would have resulted in the penitentiary had it landed. But it did not land.
As the cue flashed up behind Clem, a lean figure came from nowhere, apparently, and placed a blow under the fellow’s ear that landed the would-be murderer under a table and kept him there. Then Clem heard his chum’s voice ringing behind him:
“You fellers better scatter quick! There’s two cops headed this way!”
Clem’s arm shot out. Tom Saunders groaned and collapsed. The others were hastily streaming out the back entrance; and Clem, gripping his late opponent’s collar, turned to Ed Davis with a panting gasp of relief.
“Good boy, Ed! Pick up his feet, now—move fast!”
And, as the police entered by the front door, they vanished into the alley at the rear, carrying the unconscious Tom Saunders between them.