"In the next six seconds he upper-cut his man twice, laying open both fat lips, and then smashed in one between the eyes that you could have heard re-echo over in Greenland. The chief let out a bellow and began fighting like an octopus, kicking, biting, and scratching, with Tib doing nothing but trying to keep clear.

"‘Break away!' I yelled, trying to dive between them with out-stretched arms, quite like Spike McDougall in the pictures. But it was nearly two minutes before I could get them apart.

"‘He'll never fight square again," lamented Tib, tenderly feeling eight inches from his head in an effort to locate his ear. My heart sank as I counted his bruises, and I could have wept for the jolts he had received. Then my hand hit against the small hammer-head in my side pocket, and, inspired, I whispered, passing it over with wizard skill: 'Nail him. It just fits the grasp.'

"‘I hate to be so low and ornery even in this kind of a mill,' he remonstrated, palming it with all his old-time, parlor-magic grace.

"‘Remember the towhead,' I urged.

"Gimme it,' he growled, forgetting he had already made it disappear.

"Chief Chuck now lunged forward, not waiting for the word. His eyes were bloodshot and soapsuds flecked his mouth. I could see he had dis-