Bewora fiatcpman
Bellefonte, Pa., April 24, 1914.
The Abysmal Brute
[Continued from page 6, Col. 3.1
It was 11 o'clock when he dismount-
ed before 2 log cabin and was greeted
by the baying of two huge deerhounds.
Then Pat Glendon opened the door, fell
on his neck and took him in.
“] knew ye’d come, Sam, me boy.”
said Pat, the while he limped about,
building a fire, boiling coffee and fry-
ing a bear steak. “The young un ain't
home the night. We was gettin’ short
of meat, and he went out about sun-
down to pick up a deer. But I'll say
no more. Wait till ye see him. He'll
be home in the morn, and then you can
try him out. There's the gloves. But
wait till ye see him.
“As for me, I'm finished. Eighty-one
come next January an’ pretty good for
an ex-bruiser. But I never wasted me
self, Sam, nor kept late hours an’ burn-
ed "the candle at all ends. I had a
dashed good «andle an’ made the most
of it, as you’ll grant at lookin’ at me.
And I've taught the same to the young
un. What do you think of a lad of
twenty-two that's never had a drink in
his life nor tasted tobacco? That's
him.
“He’s a giant, and he’s lived natural
all his days. Wait till he takes you
out after deer. He'll break your heart
travelin’ light. him a-carryin’ the out-
fit and a big buck deer belike. He’s a
child of the open air an’ winter nor
summer has he slept under a roof. The
open for him, as | taught him.
“The one thing that worries me is
how he'll take to sleepin’ in houses an’
how he'll stand the tobacco smoke in
the ring. ’'Tis a terrible thing, that
smoke, when you're fighting hard an’
gaspin’ for air. But no more. Sam, me
boy. You're tired an’ sure should be
sleepin’. Wait till you see him. that’s
all. Wait till you see him.”
But the garrulousness of age was on
old Pat. and it was long before he per
mitted Stubener’s eyes to close.
“He can run a deer down with his
own legs, that young un.” he broke
‘out again. *’'Tis the dandy trainin’
for the lungs, the bunter's life. He
don’t know much of else, though he’s
read a few books at times an’ poetry
stuff. He’s just plain pure natural. as
you'll see when you clap eyes on him
He's got the old Irish strong in him.
“Someti nes, the way he moons about.
it’s thinkin’ strong I am that he be-
Heves in the fairies and such like. He's
a nature lover if ever there was one.
an’ he’s afeard of cities. He's read
about them, but the biggest he was
ever in was Deer Lick. He misliked the
many people, and his report was that
they’d stand weedin’ out That was
two years agone—the first and the last
time he’s seen a locomotive and a train
of cars.
“Sometimes it’s wrong I'm thinkin’ 1
am, bringin’ him up a natural. It’s
given him wind and stamina and the
strength of wild bulls. No city grown
man can have a look-in against him.
Pm willin’ to grant that Jeffries at his
best could ’a’ worried the young un a
bit, but only a bit. 'Che young un
could ’a’ broke him lik= a straw. An’
he don’t look it. That’s the everlasting
wonder of it. He's ouly a fine seem-
ing young husky; but it’s the quality
of his muscle that’s different. But wait
till ye see him, that’s all
“A strange liking the boy has for
posies, an’ little meadows, a bit of pine
with the moon beyond. windy sunsets
. or the sun o’ morns from the top of old
Baldy. An’ he has a hankerin’ for the
drawin’ o’ pitchers of things, an’ of
spouting about ‘Lucifer or night’ from
the poetry books he got fiom the red
headed school teacher.
“But ’tis only his youngness. He'll
settle down to the game once we get
him started, but watch out for
grouches when it first comes to livin’
in a city for him.”
CHAPTER
os GOOD thing; he’s woman shy.
They’ll not bother him for
years,” continued Old Pat.
“He can’t bring himself to
understand the creatures, an’ few of
them has he seen at that. ’'Twas the
schoolteacher over at Samson's Flat
that put the poetry stuff in his head.
She was clean daffy over the young
‘un, an’ he never a-knowin’.
“A warm haired girl she was—not a
mountain girl, but from down in the
flat lands—an’ as time went by she
was fair desperate, an’ the way she
went after him was shameless. An’
what d’ye think the boy did when he
tumbled to it? He was scared as a
Jackrabbit. He took blankets an’ am-
munition an’ hiked for tall timber.
“Not for a month did 1 lay eyes on
him, an’ then he sneaked in after dark
and was gone in the morn. Nor would
he as much as peep at her letters.
‘Burn ‘em, he said. An’ burn 'em I
did. Twice she rode over on a cayuse
all the way from Samson’s Flat, an’ 1
was sorry for the young creature. She
was fair hungry for the boy, and she
looked it in her face. An’ at the end
of three months she gave up school
an’ went back to her own couniry, an’
then it was that the boy came home
to the shack to live again.
“Women ha’ been the ruination of
many a good fighter, but they won't be
of him. He blushes like a girl if any-
thing young in skirts looks at him a
second time or too long on the first
one. An’ they all look at him. But
when he fights, when he fights! It's
the ‘old savage Irish that flares in
bim, an’ drives the fists of him.
“Not that he goes off his base. Don’t
walk away with that. At my best I
was never as cool as he. I misdoubt
‘twas the wrath of me that brought
the accidents. But he’s an iceberg.
He's hot an’ cold at the one time, a
live wire in an ice chest.”
Stubener was dozing when the old
man’s mumble aroused him. He listen-
ed drowsily
“1 made a man o’ him! I made a man
0’ him, with the two fists of him, an’
the upstanding legs of him, an’ the
straight seein’ eyes. And | know the
game in my head, an’ I've kept up
with the times and the modern
changes. The crouch?
“Sure, he knows all the styles an’
economies. He never moves two inches
when an inch and a half will do the
turn. And when he wants he can
spring like a buck kangaroo. Infight-
in’? Wait till you see. Better than his
ouifightin’, and he could sure ’a’ spar-
red with Peter Jackson an’ outfooted
Corbett in his best. [I tell you, I've
taught 'm it all, to the last trick, and
he’s improved on the teachin’. He's
a fair genius at the game.
“An’ he's had plenty of husky moun-
tain men to try out on. I gave him
the fancy work and they gave him the
sluggin’. Nothing shy or delicate about
them. Roarin’ bulls an’ big grizzly
bears, that’s what they are, when it
comes to huggin’ in a clinch or swing-
in' roughlike in the rushes. An’ he
plays with ’em. Man, d’ye hear me?
He plays with thew, like you an’ me
would play with little puppy dogs.”
Another time Stubener awoke,
hear the old man mumbling:
“Tis the funny think he don’t take
fightin’ seriously. It's that easy to
him he thinks it play. But wait till
he’s tapped a swift one. That's all—
wait. An’ you’ll see 'm throw on the
juice in that cold storage plant of his
an’ turn loose the prettiest scientific
wallopin’ that ever you laid eyes on.”
In the shivery gray of mountain
dawn Stubener was routed from his
blankets by old Pat,
“He's comin’ up the trail now,” was
the hoarse whisper. “Out with ye an’
take your first peep at the biggest
fightin’ man the ring has ever seen. or
will ever see in a thousand years
again.”
The manager peered through the
open door. rubbing the sleep from his
heavy eyes, and saw a young giant
walk into the clearing. [In one hand
was a rifle, across his shoulders a
heavy deer. under which he moved as
if it were weightless.
He was dressed roughly in blue over:
alls and woolen shirt, open at the
throat. Coat he had none, and on his
feet instead of brogans were mocca-
sins. Stubener noted that his walk
was smooth and catlike. without sug
gestion ot his 220 pounds of weight to
which that of the deer was added.
The fight manager was impressed
from the first glimpse. Formidable
the young fellow certainly was, but
the manager sensed the strangeness
and unusualness of him. He was a
new type. something different from the
run of fighters.
He seemed a creature of the wild.
more a night roaming figure from
some old fairy story or folk tale than
a twentieth century youth.
A thing Stubener quickly discovered
was that young Pat was not much of a
talker. He acknowledged old Pat's in-
troduction with a grip of the hand, but
without speech, and silently set to
work at building the fire and getting
breakfast.
To his father’s direct questions he
answered in monosyllables, as, for in
stance, when asked where he had pick
ed up the deer.
to
“South fork,” was all he vouchsafed.
“Eleven miles across the mountains,”
the old man exposited pridefully to
Stubener, *“an’ a trail that'd break
your heart.”
Breakfast consisted of black coffee.
. “No weight lifter or Sandow exercise Young Mothers
artist there. See the fat snakes of
i muscles a-crawlin’ soft an’ lazylike.
Wait till you see them flashin’ like a
strikin’ rattler. He’s good for forty
rounds this blessed instant. or a hun-
dred. Go to it! Time!”
They went to it, for three minute
rounds with a minute rests, and Sam
Stubener was immediately undeceived.
Here was no streak of fat, no apa-
thy, only a lazy, good natured play of
gloves and tricks, with a brusque stiff-
ness and harsh sharpness in the con-
tacts that he knew belonged only to
the trained and instinctive fighting
man.
“Easy, now, easy.” old Pat warned.
“Sam's not the man he used to be.”
This nettled Sam, as it was intend-
Are not always wisely guided when
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a strength adequate to nurse baby at
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is real strength, strength which lasts.
So-called “tonics” and “stimulants” do
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ed to do, and he played his most fa- | medicine for woman and woman’s ills
mous trick and favorite punch—a feint | which has ever been prepared.
for a clinch and a right rip to the | EEE,
stomach. But, quickly as it * ras deliv-
ered young Pat saw it and, though it
landed, his body was going away.
The next time his body did not go
away. As the rip started he moved
forward and twisted his left hip to
meet it. It was only a matter of sev-
eral inches, yet it blocked the blow.
And thereafter, try as he would,
Stubener’s gloves got no farther than
that hip.
Stubener had roughed it with big
men in his time, and. in exhibition
bouts, had creditably held his own.
But there was no holding his own
here.
Young Pat played with him, and in
the clinches made him feel as power
less as a baby, landing on him seem-
ingly at will, locking and blocking
with masterful accuracy and scarcely
noticing or acknowledging his exist
ence.
Half the time young Pat seemed to
spend in gazing off and out at the
landscape in a dreamy sort of way
And right here Stubener made anoth-
er mistake. He took it for a trick of
old Pat’s training. tried to sneak in a
short arm jolt. found his arm in a
lightning lock and had both his ears
cuffed for his pains.
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a blow without the lookin’, when it
starts an’ where, the speed an’ space
an’ niceness of it. An’ ’tis nothing
I ever showed him. ’'Tis inspiration
He was so born.”
[Continued next week.]
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sour dough bread and an immense |
quantity of bear meat broiled over the |
coals. Of this the young fellow ate |
ravenously, and Stubener divined that
both the Glendons were accustomed to
an almost straight meat diet.
Old Pat did all the talking, though it
was not till the meal was ended’ that
he broached the subject he had at
heart.
“Pat, boy,” he began,
who the gentleman is?”
Young Pat nodded and cast a quick,
comprehensive giance at the manager.
“Well, he’ll be takin’, you away with
him and down to San Francisco.”
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“I’d sooner stay here, dad,” was the
answer.
Stubener felt a prick of disappoint-
ment. It was a wild goose chase aft-
er all. This was no fighter, eager and
fretting to be at it. His huge brawn
counted for nothing. It was nothing
new. It was the big fellows that
usually had the streak of fat.
But old Pat's Celtic wrath flared up
and his voice was harsh with com-
mand.
“You'll go down to the cities an’
fight, me boy. That's what I’ve train-
ed you for an’ you'll do it.”
“All right,” wis the unexpected re-
sponse, rumbled apathetically from the
deep chest.
“And fight like —,” the old man
added.
Again Stubener felt disappointment
at the absence of flash and fire in the
young man’s eyes as he answered:
~ “All right. When do we start?”
“Oh, Sam, here, he’ll be wantin’ a
little huntin’ and to fish a bit as well
as to try you out with the gloves.”
He looked at Sam, who nodded.
“Suppose you strip and give 'm a
taste of your quality.”
An hour later Sam Stubener had his
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“See the softness of him,” old Pat
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