Without a word, but with a smothered imprecation that issued gutturally from between his clenched teeth, he swung a fist with bitter malignance at Taylor’s face. The blow did not land, for Taylor, self-possessed and alert, had been expecting it. He slipped his head sidewise slightly, evading the fist by a narrow margin, and, tensed, his muscles taut, he drove his own right fist upward, heavily. Carrington, reeling forward under the impetus of the force he had expended, ran fairly into the fist. It crashed to the point of his jaw and he was unconscious, rigid, and upright on his feet in the instant before he sagged and tumbled headlong out through the open doorway into the street. With a bound, his face set in a mirthless grin, Taylor was after him, landing beyond him in the windrowed dust at the edge of the sidewalk, ready and willing to administer further punishment. CHAPTER XIV—THE FACE OF A FIGHTER Slouching in his chair, in an attitude of complete dejection, Neil Norton was glumly digesting the dregs of defeat. The _Eagle_ office adjoined the courthouse. Both were one-story frame structures, flimsy, with one thin wall between them; and to Norton’s ears as he sat with his unpleasant thoughts, came the sound of voices, muffled, but resonant. Someone was speaking with force and insistence. Norton attuned his ears to the voice. It was then he discovered there was only one voice, and that Taylor’s. He sat erect, both hands gripping the arms of his chair. Then he got up, walked to the front door of the _Eagle_ office, and looked out. He was just in time to see Carrington tumble out through the door of the courthouse and land heavily on the sidewalk in front of the building. Immediately afterward he saw Taylor follow. Norton exclaimed his astonishment, and he saw Taylor turn toward him, a broad, mirthless grin on his face. “Good Heavens!” breathed Norton, “he’s started a ruckus!” Taylor had not moved. He was looking at Norton when a man leaped from the door of the courthouse, straight at him. It was Danforth, his face hideous with rage. Taylor sensed the movement, wheeled, stumbled, and lost his balance just as Danforth crashed against him. The two men went down in a heap into the deep dust of the street, rolling over and over. Danforth’s impetus had given him the initial advantage, and he was making the most of it. His fists were working into Taylor’s face as they rolled in the dust, his arms swinging like flails. Taylor, caught almost unprepared, could not get into a position to defend himself. He shielded his face somewhat by holding his chin close to his chest and hunching his shoulders up; but Danforth landed some blows. There came an instant, however, when Taylor’s surprise over the assault changed to resentment over the punishment he was receiving. He had struck Carrington in self-defense, and he had not expected the attack by Danforth.