right to the point of the jaw and Tiger Enright went down like he'd been hit over the head with a hammer!
Instantly there's a wild uproar around the ring, and the mob mills toward it. This was about the first time the guys from our camp had a chance to cheer and they put a dent in the sky! Enright stumbled to his feet between "nine" and "ten," but all the fight had been punched out of him. He was what you call wilted, what I mean.
I guess maybe that right hook brung back memories of a few years before when Kid Roberts was champion and had knocked him dead with the same clout. At any rate, the Tiger covered up as best he could and tried to work in close, but Kid Roberts had other plans for him. The Kid merely waited coolly till Enright quit swayin' and was a better target, before floorin' him again with a left to the wind and a right to the chin.
When Tiger Enright dizzily got up this time it was plain to the world that he'd shot his bolt and would never hear the bell ring for another round. The din around the ring was enough to bust your eardrums! Seein' their pay bein' swept to our camp by the terrible punches of our man which was beatin' their high-priced ringer, the boys from the other outfit commenced a free-for-all, and in a minute axes and knives was flashin' in the rapidly settin' sun.
Well, the riot stopped quicker than it started. It seemed to me that every guy in our camp had come to the fight with at least one gun, and the referee had two. In spite of the situation bein' exceedin'ly serious, I had to grin at the referee walkin' around inside the ring
