“Well,” he queried with really excellent coolness, “what are you going to do about it? Of course you can bring suit,--and probably recover. But Miss Shevlin’s name will certainly figure rather unpleasantly in the newspaper reports of the case. I’m sorry I was forced to use such means,--I still believe them justifiable in dealing with a man like you,--but I fail to see what redress you have.” “You’ll see presently,” replied Caleb, with no trace of threat in his dull voice. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not totin’ this into court. What good would your measly damage money do me? An’ I’m not goin’ to tell your friends of it with the hope they’d turn you out of s’ciety. I’m goin’ to punish you the only way a rotten trick like that _can_ be punished. The only way a skunk like you could be made to smart.” “What do you mean?” asked Blacarda, a shadow of uneasiness showing through his rage. “I mean I’ve come here to give you the biggest thrashin’ you ever got. An’ now’s the time I begin.” Blacarda, at the slow forward motion of Caleb’s body, sprang furiously at the Fighter. He was a strong man; large and well built. But he might as well have tried to stop the rush of a charging bull-elephant as to block Caleb’s attack. Not even taking the pains to guard the heavy left-hander that Blacarda drove full into his face, Conover was upon his foe. Backward across the room Caleb drove the other with a lightning succession of short arm blows that battered down Blacarda’s guard and smashed with fearful force upon his head and body. To escape the merciless hail of fists, Blacarda ducked and clinched. Conover shook him off as though his antagonist had been a cripple, and ran in again to the assault. One right-hand blow crashed into Blacarda’s face and hurled him backward against the wall. As he rebounded forward from sheer shock of the double impact, Conover’s left fist caught him flush on the jaw and he collapsed senseless to the floor. Conover was at the unconscious body before it had fairly touched ground. He beat with insane rage upon the upturned, defenseless face, hammering it to a pulp; growling and whining all the time between his hard-set teeth; like some rabid jungle beast worrying its meat. Caine flung open the door and ran into the room;--thereby in all probability saving Blacarda’s life. Taking in the scene at a glance, he launched himself upon the growling, mauling victor. With all his wiry strength, he sought to drag Conover away from the senseless man. But his utmost muscular power was as nothing to that of the giant who was still wreaking brute vengeance on the inert mass beneath him.