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 ain't got a mark on him, but it was ten minutes before Battlin' Miller was able to leave the ring.

When we bust through the millin' mob into our dressin' room, we're brought up short inside the door by a amazin' spectacle. Ptomaine Joe has got no less than Don Miguel Espinosa backed against the wall. Ptomaine is amusin' himself by takin' free swings at the frantic Spaniard, deliberately missin' him by the fraction of a inch each time.

"Hello, people!" grins Ptomaine pleasantly. "I was waitin' till you guys come in before beatin' this egg into a jelly! I"

"What are you doing here, sir?" butts in Roberts sternly, lookin' dynamite at the unhappy Don.

"This—this animal brought me here by force!" chokes the Don, glarin' at Ptomaine. "I will have you all arrested! I"

"Aw, shut up, you big mock orange!" I cut him off. "You won't have nobody pinched—what d'ye think of that? I got a good mind to let Ptomaine knock you off! Beatrice Brown is ready to testify that you wanted to dope Kid Roberts to-night, and if that ain't enough I had a dictograph planted in your room all the time you was talkin' to her and them gamblers. By the way, them birds thinks you deliberately double-crossed 'em, and they're out for your hide!"

Don Miguel is whiter than a dollar's worth of milk and seems to have a bad attack of the ague. Kid Roberts's grim face relaxes as he looks at him, and his lips curl in a sneer of contempt. Then he shrugs his