George fought his way through the crowd and eventually made it behind a portion of the stands not far from the tents reserved for the fighters. He stopped to mop the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief saw better days. George removed his hat and fanned his face. The sun was high in the sky above him and he looked up at it.

“You were right about one thing, Barton.”

George turned and saw Sam Wallace walking toward him. He was alone and smiling while a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Sweat stained his white cotton shirt and he draped his linen jacket over one shoulder. George put his hat back on.

“How’s that, Sam?”

Sam got close and he took a drag off his cigarette then tossed it aside.

“It was a good show,” he said....

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