hot blood from a cut on his cheek. He had struck at least once with some effect—with how much, or what his own hurt might be, he had no instant to consider. Annis had struggled out of the clinch.
The man, Hereford knew, was certainly armed with a revolver. He himself was not. There was no chance for either to get out if a shot raised the alarm; but whether Annis would recognize this or would be reckless of it Hereford could not know. At all costs he must prevent Annis from drawing his revolver. This much he had thought in the clinch. He followed the other up, therefore, heedless of the blows he received, beating madly back with his own stick.
When he was a boy in college he had played with single-stick, as he had also boxed. It was altogether too close and
