"She won't have her wish to-night, then, Liz. You're going to waltz with me. You know that wot I say goes, and it's the hop for yours to-night." "Shame!" cried some one back in the crowd. "Let the girl go home." "Mind your own biz," growled back the bully, "or I'll step over there and make some changes in yer style of face." Evidently Bill was known as an ugly customer. Close to him, on the other side from the girl, stood another man, somewhat older and exhibiting the promise of even more brute strength. Plainly he stood by to back Bill up against interference that the crowd might want to attempt. The pair of bullies were such as a city crowd usually doesn't care to risk meddling with. "Wipe off the boo-hoo, Lizzie, and come along," ordered the fellow who held the girl's wrist. "No use of making a fuss. You're headed for the waltz with me." "Shame!" some one in the crowd had courage enough to utter again, as Bill, still holding the girl's wrist, started to force her along the sidewalk. "What do you more decent people expect to do by just talking?" Corporal Hal Overton demanded angrily. "Hullo, brass-button boy!" called Bill cheerily, turning and leering at the youthful-looking corporal. "When did you blow out of the sewer?" [Illustration: "Let Go That Young Lady's Wrist."] "If that young lady wishes to go home, let her do so," ordered Hal sternly. "So?" queried Bill mockingly. "But maybe that won't suit me." "Then let go of the young lady's wrist, for you'll need both hands up in front of you," warned Hal, springing forward, his hot blood flushing his face with righteous anger. "Get out, ye tin-soldier militiaman!" "If it makes any difference," retorted Hal, "we happen to be regulars." "No difference at all," the young brute leered. "I eat both kinds!" "Let go that young lady's wrist!" "Sure!" Bill did so, and the girl shrank back through the pressing crowd. But Bill aimed a crushing blow at Corporal Hal Overton. Hal wasn't just on the spot to receive it. But the next instant he and Bill were exchanging hard blows at a rate that made the crowd yell with delight. "Go it, Bill! Go it, buttons!" Bill's tough friend reached out to hit Hal from the side. Corporal Noll jumped in, throwing up the fellow's arm. There were two real fights on now. How it would have ended it would be impossible to say. Strong, daring and skilled though they were, the soldier boys might have been beaten by superior strength. But a heavy, blue-coated figure darted in, scattering the combatants. Then a Denver policeman gripped both Hal and Noll by the collar. "Stop it! Stop, I tell ye!" ordered the policeman gruffly. "Ye've got good game there, Johnson," called out the fellow Bill. "They're a nasty pair of brass buttons. They insulted my girl, and then pitched into me and my friend."