He and Dick had half risen in surprise when the three thieves walked in. One of them had grated: "All right, you guys, up against that wall and no monkey business." Dick, old and cautious, had backed against the wall, hands raised over his head. Perry moved slowly, fighting the temper which choked him. "You'll never get away with this," he'd growled. One of the robbers had made a menacing gesture with his gun.

Travis moved into him, cautiously; he would be cautious. His midriff glowed red from the pounding he'd been sucked into during the last round, but it hadn't slowed his blinding speed, that rapier left, just made him doubly cautious, even sharper.

Walsh didn't like Travis. This guy would fight dirty given the chance, and a dirty fighter had no place in the ring. He should know. He thought of Florence. "Promise me," she'd pleaded a couple days ago, "promise me you'll keep your temper, in the ring and out." And he'd promised.

Travis' left jabs were small charges of dynamite exploding in Perry Walsh's face and he worked in close. But Travis locked his elbows and butted him sharply with his head, starting blood flowing from a small cut under the eye. The referee didn't see the foul. Perry ignored it and clipped Travis alongside the chin, drawing from his deep reservoir of hard-earned experience to shake one hand free, but he didn't hurt Travis. The kid went on his bicycle again, circling to the left and pecking open that cut beneath Perry's eye. Slowly the cut grew and blood flowed more freely. Suddenly a left hook swished into Perry's groin, low. It didn't hurt him or slow him, and the referee warned Travis, but Perry knew that wouldn't stop these tactics.

A film as red as the blood smeared across his cheek slowly rose in Perry. He was getting the business. The old crimson tide of ungovernable anger welled within him. His eyes narrowed to twin slits. Then he suddenly stopped his forward rush as he remembered Florence.

He halted for a moment, shaken, then moved into Travis more confidently. He had beaten the thing and could have hit Travis out of sheer joy after the bell if the youngster hadn't suddenly sat down. Perry realized Travis had cleverly worked him into his own corner just as the bell rang, but he didn't care. He was inwardly glowing proudly as he strode across the ring to his corner.

He lay back. Buzz leaned close to his ear: "Better get goin'. This guy's givin' you the works!" Perry nodded, grinned at him, then smiled and waved at Travis across the ring. Buzz' mouth fell open in astonishment; a surprised murmur ran through the crowd. Perry chuckled. Florence would appreciate that.

The three thieves had him covered cold. He knew that. Well, let them have the money, which was little enough, he'd thought. Then Dick, in his confusion, had allowed his hands to drop. One of the thugs had half-whirled and crashed his pistol barrel alongside the old man's head, crumpling him to the floor. Then Perry knew what he had to do, and he was proud that he did it coldly, and not in anger. One quick step had carried him to the nearest man; a hard right knocked him across a table. Perry spun around toward the others.

Guns roared. One slug had smashed into his neck. He'd staggered back as another had blasted into his chest.