don't forget I got a gun in each hip pocket and sixteen medals for knowin' how to use 'em. I thank you!"
While the mob's still howlin', he calls us to the middle of the ring for his instructions and for the first time me and Kid Roberts gets a good look at the guy we are goin' to fight. The Kid's face suddenly paled and I see his mouth twitch, but I let forth a beller of rage. Mister "Steve Greenly," the alleged lumberjack, is no less than Tiger Enright, a terrific puncher which the Kid once stopped when he was heavyweight champ!
Well, I'm fit to be tied, and tryin' to say too many things at once my tongue gets all twisted and I can't say nothin'. But my brain is simply reelin' around as I realize how them burglars from the other camp has framed us! Kid Roberts had insisted on fair play, wanted to tell the other outfit who he was, and they have went to work and imported a first-class boxer to meet what they figured would be Ptomaine Joe or some tramp like that. What a surprise them yeggs was due for!
But if me and the Kid is amazed and enraged, Tiger Enright is twelve feet past that state. He sees how the attempted double-cross has went blooey and instead of a set-up he's got a two-handed battle starin' him in his queerly workin' face. The referee, after a astonished glance from us to Enright, goes on with his instructions. They wasn't hard to remember, but I don't think Tiger Enright listened!
"Protect yourself at all times, hit on the breakaways or any time you want as long as you keep 'em up above
