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312 —and again. As they lurched, panting and writhing, in a gleam of the moonlight, the girl saw her lover's face. It was distorted with pain.

They broke, and Ben hooked an uppercut to the centre of the chin, snapping it up so sharply it seemed as if the neck must crack. He had come back! He was fighting gloriously! Two more on the mouth and one on the heart. Pete backed, spewing forth crimson slather, and tumbled into the ditch.

At the brink Ben waited, his heart pounding, chest heaving, fists lowered a little but ready. Phil leaped for him and MacAllister and Old Man Veldmann flanked the Captain.

But the gun which Carlotta had seen was out. Its muzzle, coldly blue in the moonlight, swung in an ominous arc, covering the cursing old sinner and MacAllister's face, which was white, as usual, but did not flinch an inch.

"Avast, ye blackguards!" The Captain's own blood was up now. "This fight's to be on the square."

MacAllister glanced around. The three sailors surrounded him, itching for an active share in the excitement.

"A quick draw for a man of your age, Captain," replied the imperturbable one.

"Never mind my age, better look to your man," retorted the valorous skipper.

"You're right, let them get it out of their system. Do 'em good. You don't mind my changing this for a cigarette?"

He pocketed his gun, and sifted the grains into the paper, humorously eyeing the fallen gladiator.

"We're not throwing the towel in yet, Pete."

The latter was dragging himself over the sandy parapet,