The Huntress Part 62

"Will you see fair play, boys?" he cried.

"Sure!" answered half a dozen voices.

Big Jack stopped Joe in mid-career. "Let's do everything proper," he said grimly.

By this time all were up. Of one accord they shoved the trestles back against the wall and kicked the boxes underneath. Every breast responded to the thrill of the keenest excitement known to man--a fight with fists.

Sam and Joe, obeying a clothed creature's first impulse, wriggled out of their coats and flung them on the ground. Joe took off his boots.

Sam was wearing moccasins.

Young Coulson came to Sam with tears of vexation actually standing in his eyes. He gripped Sam's hand.

"I can't be present at a thing like this," he said. "Oh, d.a.m.n the luck! I'd lose my stripes if it came out. But I'm with you. I hope you'll lick the tar out of him! I'll be watching through the window,"

he added in a whisper. He ran out.

Big Jack took the centre of the floor. "I'll referee this affair if agreeable to both," he said.

"Suits me," replied Sam briefly.

Jack pointed out their respective corners and called for a second for each. Several volunteered to help Joe. He chose young Mattison.

Sam remained alone in his corner. While his pluck had won him friends, there was no man who wished to embrace a cause which all thought was hopeless. Young Joe was a formidable figure. He had calmed down now.

From behind the tall white men a little bent figure appeared and went to Sam.

"I be your man," he whispered; "if you not ashame' for a red man."

Sam smiled swiftly in his white, set face, and gripped the old man's hand hard. "Good man!" he said. "You're the best!"

Mahooley, Birley, and another, abashed by this little scene, now stepped forward. Sam waved them back.

"Musq'oosis is my second," he said.

"Straight Marquis of Queensberry rules," said Big Jack. "No hitting in the break-away."

This was an advantage to Sam.

"Time!" cried Big Jack.

The adversaries stepped out of their corners.

All this while Bela had been standing by the kitchen door with her hands pressed tight to her breast and her agonized eyes following all that went on. She did not clearly understand. But when they advanced toward each other she knew. She ran into the middle of the room between them.

"Stop!" she cried. "This is my house. I won't have no fightin' here!"

She paused, shielding Sam and glaring defiantly around her. "You cowards, mak' them fight! This is no fair fight. One is too big!"

All the men became horribly uneasy. In this man's affair they had completely overlooked the woman. After all, it was her house. And it was too dark now to pull it off outside.

The silence was broken by a sneering laugh from Joe. He made a move as if to get his boots again. The sound was like a whiplash on Sam. He turned to Bela, white with anger.

"Go to the kitchen!" he commanded. "Shut the door behind you. I started this, and I'm going to see it through. Do you want to shame me again?"

Bela collapsed under his bitter, angry words. Her head fell forward, and she retreated to the kitchen door like a blind woman. She did not go out. She stayed there through the terrible moments that followed, making no sound, and missing no move with those tragic, wide eyes.

The adversaries advanced once more, Big Jack stepping back. The two circled warily, looking for an opening. They made a striking contrast.

"David and Goliath," somebody whispered.

Joe's head was thrust forward between his burly shoulders and his face lowered like a thundercloud. Sam, silent and tense, smiled and paraded on his toes.

"Why don't you start something, Jeffries?" asked Sam.

Joe, with a grunt of rage, leaped at him with a sledge-hammer swing that would have ended the fight had it landed. Sam ducked and came up on the other side. Joe's momentum carried him clear across the room.

Sam laughed. "Missed that one, Jumbo," he taunted. "Try another."

Joe rushed back and swung again. Once more Sam ducked, this time as he went under Joe's arm, contriving to land an upper-cut, not of sufficient force to really shake the mountain, but driving him mad with rage.

Joe wheeled about, both arms going like flails. This was what Sam desired. He kept out of reach. He kept Joe running from one side of the room to the other. Joe was not built for running. At the end of the round, the big man was heaving for breath like a foundered horse.

Such was the general style of the battle. The spectators, pressed against the wall to give them plenty of room, roared with excitement.

In the beginning the cries were all for Joe. Then Sam's clever evasions began to arouse laughter. Finally a voice or two was heard on Sam's side. This was greatly stimulating to Sam, who had steeled himself to expect no favour, and correspondingly depressing to Joe.

For three rounds Sam maintained his tactics without receiving a serious blow. He was trying to break the big man's wind--not good at the best--and to wear him out in a vain chase. He aimed to make him so blind with rage he could not see to land his blows. To this end he kept up a running fire of taunts.

"I shan't have to knock you out, Blow-Hard. You're doing for yourself nicely. Come on over here. Pretty slow! Pretty slow! Who was your dancing teacher, Joe? You're getting white around the lips now. b.u.m heart. You won't last long!"

Between rounds little Musq'oosis, watching all that Mattison did, did likewise for his princ.i.p.al.

Finally the spectators began to grow impatient with too much footwork.

They required a little blood to keep up their zest. Sam was blamed.

"Collide! Collide!" they yelled. "Is this a marathon or hare and hounds? Corner him, Joe! Smash him! Stand, you cook, and take your punishment!"

Big Jack fixed the last speaker with a scowl.

"What do you want--a murder?" he growled.

The referee's sympathies were clearly veering to Sam's corner. Big Jack, whatever his shortcomings, was a good sport, and Joe was showing a disposition to fight foul. Jack watched him closely in the clinches.

Joe was beginning to seek clinches to save his wind. Jack, in parting them, received a sly blow meant for Sam.

Like a flash, Jack's own experienced right jabbed Joe's stomach, sending him reeling back into his corner. The spectators howled in divided feelings. Jack, however, controlled the situation with a look.

In the fourth round Joe turned sullen and refused to force the fighting any longer. He stood in front of his corner, stooping his shoulders and swinging his head like a gorilla. Such blows as Sam had been able to land had all been addressed to Joe's right eye. His beauty was not thereby improved.

Now he stood, deaf alike to Sam's taunts and to the urgings of his own supporters. Sam, dancing in front of him, feinting and retreating, could not draw a blow. Strategy was working in Joe's dull brain. He dropped his arms.

Instantly Sam ran in with another blow on the damaged eye.