Skeeter left him and hastened down to the Hen-Scratch saloon where he found Hitch Diamond and Conko Mukes waiting for him. The two pugilists and their seconds had spent nearly all night straightening out their finances after the bets had been declared off, and the fight had run off. Conko Mukes had been drinking heavily and was in a bad humor. “I got jes’ one thing ag’in’ you, Hitch,” he growled, “an’ dat is dat las’ punch you gib me on de jaw. You acked like you wus hypnertized, an’ I wusn’t lookin’ fer no punch. I don’t think dat wus plum’ fair.” “Dat shore wus a jolter, Conko,” Hitch grinned. “Lawd, I’ll remember dat after I’m done dead!” Conko Mukes’s eyes glowed with evil intent as he listened to Hitch’s delighted chuckles. Finally Conko said: “But I fooled you ’bout dat hypnertize, Hitch. You thought it wus my eyes, an’ I didn’t hyp you wid my eyes.” “Dat’s a fack,” Hitch chuckled. “Whut did you aim to use on me?” “I hypnertized you wid my wavin’ hand, like dis--” Conko explained as he rose to his feet to illustrate. His right hand began a slow chopping motion in front of Hitch’s face, and he continued: “You gotter git up real close and wave slow--slow--slow----” Suddenly Conko’s fist shot out with a blow like a trip-hammer. The punch would have broken his jaw--only the jaw was not there. Hitch ducked with lightning quickness and rose to his feet ready for business. Conko sprang toward the door, but tripped over Hitch’s extended foot, and fell on his head with a jar which shook two bottles off the shelf behind the bar. Hitch stooped and raised Conko to his feet, backed him to the far end of the saloon away from the door, and shoved him against the wall with such force that a picture of Abraham “Lincum” was dislodged from its nail and fell clattering to the floor. “Ef you wasn’t drunk, I’d kill you!” Hitch bawled, while Conko stood looking around him like a man in a dream. “As ’tis, I’s only gwine put yo’ hoodoo eyes on de bum!” The job was quickly, neatly done--two slight taps on each side of Conko’s nose. “Now git!” Hitch commanded, pointing toward the door. Conko Mukes did not linger. When the swinging doors of the Hen-Scratch saloon closed behind him, Hitch and Skeeter walked out to the street. Far down the road a streak of flying dust marked the route Conko had chosen as he left Tickfall forever. The Art of Enticing Labor. “What are you doing here, nigger?” Colonel Tom Gaitskill’s voice cracked like a whip beside the ear of Pap Curtain. Pap had three baseballs in his hand for which he had paid a nickel, and which he intended to throw at a row of nigger babies about forty feet away. The tall baboon-faced negro, with shifty eyes, furtive manner, and lips that sneered, started like a frightened animal. The balls dropped from his nerveless hands and he turned away.