“Keep the change,” he said with a lordly air, then swaggered through the door. Several of the taxi-drivers followed, loudly importuning him to ride.
Donald finished his lunch and sat for a time smoking.
“That guy was a nut to flash his poke in front of that gang,” observed the waiter. “Guess he’s big enough to take care of himself,” he added.
As Donald stepped out of the restaurant he saw the big man across the street with four of his former audience. From the shadow of a doorway he saw the party enter a ramshackle building, after hearing one of them promise to get the Westerner a drink in spite of prohibition. Donald decided to walk by the place, and was startled by the sound of crashing glass and indications of a struggle.
“You will, will you?” he heard the unmistakable voice of the big Westerner.
With a bound Donald was at the door. He found the Westerner badly battered, but holding three men at bay. The fourth lay in a crumpled heap in the corner.
Only one of the men noticed Donald’s entrance. He was a big, burly brute, with the swarthy features of the Southern European, and he came straight for the intruder, crouching low. Donald’s left hand caught him on the eye, and as his head flew back Donald crossed viciously with his right. The blow landed with an impact that sounded like a cleaver sinking into a meat block, and the man dropped as though shot.
A rat-faced man, standing near a side door with a bottle in his hand, shouted a warning as Donald sprang to the Westerner’s assistance. Both men turned their heads. The ham-like fist of the big blond giant struck the larger of the two men such a terrific blow on the side of the head that the recipient whirled completely around and sank dazedly to the floor.
“Duck!” yelled Donald, as he saw the little man’s arm go back. The Westerner dropped, and not a second too soon. The bottle whizzed over his head, bringing a shower of plaster from the wall where it struck. With a curse the big man turned, but the bottle-thrower had disappeared through the side door. The remaining thug, a tall, cadaverous looking youth, took one wild look around, then bolted through the front door.
The Westerner, gasping and rather pale, seized Donald’s hand in his huge paw. “Pardner, you saved me from a hell of a lickin’! ’Bout two minutes more and. . . .”