Gordon nodded. "Certainly," he said; "glad to. Only you can't expect to get it right away. It looks easy enough, but I had to practise it every day for three months before I could get it down right. Here's the idea. I won't throw it. Just to show you"--He picked up the hammer, illustrating as he talked--"See? Pull back from it like this. Keep pulling against it all the time, and when you swing it around your head the third time, turn right on your toes, this way; once, twice, and then let her go for all there is in you. See?" Martin nodded, and took the hammer again in his hands, while Gordon and the others stepped quickly back. Once, twice, three times, he swung the missile with ever-increasing speed, and then, as he tried to turn rapidly, there ensued a sudden amazing tangle of arms and legs, hammer and man mixed in hopeless, whirling confusion, and two hundred and thirty pounds of bone and muscle and misdirected energy struck the ground with a mighty, jarring crash. Each man in the little knot of spectators expressed himself according to his temperament. One or two howled their joy aloud, others rolled prone upon the ground. Jim Stickney, holding his sides, the tears coursing down his cheeks, shook his head from side to side in helpless merriment. As a tableau the picture appeared to his delighted eyes too beautiful, too perfect, to spoil with mere words. Slowly Martin picked himself up from the ground, a flush of anger darkening his face. "Shut up, you damn fools," he growled, "the whole thing's a trick. There ain't no fair test to it. But if any one of you jackasses, when you get through your braying, wants to try and see how strong he is, I'll fight any three of you in succession, and I'll knock the everlasting stuffing out of you, too." He paused a moment, glaring blackly at the group; then, as an afterthought, added with deliberation: "West--or east. No bar. First come, first served." His words had a sudden sobering effect upon the crowd. The laughter died away. Gordon felt rather than actually saw all eyes turned curiously in his direction. He hesitated, but only for a moment. "Oh, the devil," he began good-naturedly, "nobody wants to fight--" but Martin's ill humor was not to be so easily appeased. "Oh, no," he jeered; "nobody wants to fight, and it's lucky for them they don't. It's lucky for them they're afraid--" On the instant Gordon stepped forward, an ugly little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Meaning me?" he asked quietly. Martin eyed him malevolently. "Sure," he grinned, with all the disagreeable effrontery he could put into his tone, "meaning you; and why not, I'd like to know."