"Let's get out of here," urged Swanson suddenly. "If some watchman finds us here we'll be pinched, and it will make a nice story for the reporters." "Where do you think we are?" asked Kennedy, striving to get to his feet and groaning with every move. "In the alley back of the joint we were in," replied Swanson. "They must have dragged us to the back door and dumped us." He had managed to get upon his feet, assisted Kennedy to arise, and slowly and with many groans they went toward the mouth of the alley. "Let's go around to the front door and clean out that place," urged Swanson, growing angry. Both men were commencing to recover from the effects of the cruel treatment they had endured, and, as their injured muscles loosened their anger arose. They made their way painfully around the block and to the entrance of the saloon. It was locked and the place was in total darkness. Swanson shook the barred doors without result, then stood gazing blankly against the glass. "Say, Ken, we must have been knocked out for quite a while," he remarked thoughtfully. "No one is here. They probably closed up as soon as they threw us out--and we haven't a bit of proof against anyone." "Wonder what time it is?" groaned Kennedy. "We've got to get to bed if we want to play." "Holy Mackerel," exclaimed Swanson, using his favorite form of swearing. "I forgot! That's it! Ken, after we were knocked out they beat us to keep us from playing. Come on. We've got to forget about fighting and get ready to play. I'll get even with someone for this." Swanson was thinking rapidly as they limped slowly along the darkened streets in search of a night prowling cabman or taxi-cab, keeping a sharp lookout for policemen, fearing they might be arrested because of their battered condition. "We've got to get to somewhere we can be patched up and get some sleep," he repeated, urging Kennedy, whose sufferings made their progress slow. "We've got to keep those crooks from finding out where we are. Let them think they've finished us and then show up in time to play." "I don't think I can play, Silent," moaned Kennedy. "I can't drag myself much farther." He was making a brave effort to keep on, and for another block Swanson half supported him. Then he gave up and sat down upon the curbing. "Sit here," said Swanson quickly. "There is an all-night drug store a couple of blocks down; I'll find a cab there." He limped away as rapidly as possible, and, almost before Kennedy realized it, he returned in a taxicab. "Caught him just starting home," explained Swanson, as he half lifted Kennedy into the tonneau. "He says there is a hospital less than a mile from here where we can get treatment."