Conway was no longer giving ground; he was himself driving in more and more viciously, for that deadly right hand no longer leaped out to check him. Twice just as Denny had rocked him he now jolted his own right over to The Pilgrim's face. At each blow the boy lashed out with his left hand. Both blows he missed, and the second time the force of his swing whirled him against the barrier. Right and left Conway sent his gloves crashing into his unprotected stomach--right and left! And then the tap of the gong! Hogarty was through the ropes with the bell. As Denny dropped upon the stool he stripped the glove from the boy's right hand and examined it with anxious fingers. The other two were sponging his chest with water--pumping fresh air into his lungs; but Old Jerry's eyes clung to the calamity written upon Hogarty's gray features. Everybody else seemed to understand what had happened--everybody but himself. He turned again to the man next him on the bench. Morehouse, too, had been watching the ex-lightweight's deft fingers. "Broken," he groaned. "His right hand is gone." And after what seemed hours Old Jerry realized that Morehouse was cursing hoarsely. In Conway's corner the activity was doubly feverish. The Red lay sprawled back against the ropes while they kneaded knotty legs, and shoulders. There was blood on his chin, his lips were cut and misshapen, but he had weathered that round without serious damage. Watching him Old Jerry saw that he was smiling--snarling confidently. Back in Denny's corner they were still working over him, but the whole house had sensed the dismay in that little knot of men. Hogarty, gnawing his lip, stopped and whispered once to the boy on the stool, but Young Denny shook his head and held out his hand. He laced the gloves back on them, over the purple, puffy knuckles. And then again that cataclysmic bell. Just as the first round had started, that second one opened with a rush, but this time it was Conway who forced the fighting. Like some gigantic projectile he drove in and caught Denny in his own corner, and beat him back against the standard. Again that thudding right and left, right and left, into the stomach. And again Old Jerry saw that left hand flash out--and miss. Just as The Pilgrim had driven him Conway forced Denny around the ring, except that the boy was heart-breaking slow in getting away. The Red stayed with him, beat him back and back, smothered him! With that deadly right no longer hunting for his jaw, he fought with nothing to fear, for Young Denny could not find his face even once with that flashing left swing. Before the round was half over The Pilgrim had gone down twice--body blows that did little harm; but they were shouting for The Red--shouting as if from a great distance, from the balconies.