Meanwhile, Clancy and Billy Mac had not been idle. Taking advantage of their opponents’ momentary confusion, they had immediately carried the battle into the enemy’s camp. Every head was that of a foe, and they struck out with amazing carelessness as to whether they hurt any one. Taken by surprise at these bewildering tactics, the Clippers tried to shove back from the niche in the wall. Their numbers were against them, however. Those behind were still trying to get into the conflict, and the two or three in the front rank were getting all the benefit of the three friends’ flying fists. A fragment of rock crashed against the wall behind Frank. Flaming with anger at the whole cowardly attack, he leaped forward with a cry to Clancy and Billy. Carson met him with an angry bellow. The big fellow lacked all science, however. Already smarting under his punishment, his attack was futile. Merry’s fists beat a tattoo on his heavy face, while his own vicious blows merely beat the air. Once again Chip’s knuckles landed against his puffing eye, and he measured his length in the dust. One of the Clippers had hurled a rock at Clancy, which had struck the red-haired chap on the shoulder and staggered him. He recovered instantly, however, and as Carson went down the three leaped forward, carrying the fight back into the street. Ironton went reeling away, clasping his stomach where Billy’s fist had located his solar plexus. Clancy floored Murray, while Chip sent another of the assailants staggering. How the battle would have ended was doubtful, had not Bully Carson scrambled to his feet at this juncture and promptly started for home. Already demoralized by their failure to carry the three friends off their feet at the first rush, the Clippers lost any further desire for combat on seeing their leader streaking his way into the darkness. Hardly had his flying figure disappeared when the others broke. They attempted no retaliation for the blows they had received, but simply melted off into the night and vanished. Billy McQuade would have pursued, but Chip seized his arm and dragged him back. “Hold on,” he panted, with a laugh. “We can be mighty glad they’ve decided to go, Billy. No use getting after them, or they might change their minds.” “Bring ’em on!” cried Clancy vigorously. “Hoop-a-la! I’m just getting ready to scrap, Chip!” “Who were they?” asked Frank, getting Billy calmed down. “Was it Carson and the Clippers?” “Didn’t you recognize Bully’s voice? Sure it was.” “Here’s a job for the town constable, then,” said Clan energetically. “Chip, if this wasn’t a cowardly, no-account, low-down assault, then I’ll eat my hat!” “Eat this one instead,” laughed Frank. He picked up a soft felt hat which lay on the ground at his side. Billy struck a match. The hat bore a violent scarlet band, and on the sweatband inside were stamped the letters “E. T. C.” “Who does that stand for?” asked Chip.