pponent on foot he
scorned the need of a weapon, even so primitive. Quite deliberately then
he rolled his tattered sleeves up on those powerful, freckled, hairy
arms; and grinned, showing the hideous yellow teeth.

CHAPTER XV

TRYING TO PLAY FAIR

"Put up your paddles now, Mr. Potter," Brent said, edging to the left.
His arms were working like slowly moving piston-rods of an engine, that
is capable of great speed. He was on his toes, and his sinuous movements
seemed to speak of highly tempered springs and oil. He was indeed a
different Brent from any which the countryside had heretofore seen.
"Come ahead, old mutton-top," he laughed. "I'm going to fill your eye!"

To Tusk's imagination this shy fighter who kept himself at safe
distances now became suddenly elongated, and then as suddenly grew
normal. In the meanwhile, however,--in that infinitesmal part of a
second during which the transformation occurred--a fist as hard as rocks
smashed into his mouth. It was the sting of the blow, more than its
actual force, which made the big fellow wild with rage; and as this
increased in fury Brent kept up a rapid conversation generously
punctuated with cool, insulting epithets. It was unbearable to the
simple-minded Tusk who struck with a savageness that would have felled
an ox. He charged his foe but never found him, he cursed and drooled and
charged again, until at last Brent said in a tone of great solicitude:

"Well, old throw-back, I reckon I'll have to uncouple you now, and let
in the twilight! Hate to do it--Ugh!" The right swing went smashing
out--not to the jaw, but at just the proper instant to the pit of Tusk's
stomach. In another fraction of a second Brent was five feet away,
wiping the perspiration from his forehead and watching the big fellow
crumple up.

For he was clutching, tearing open his shirt and swaying. His eyes
stared wildly, his face was drawn and his mouth was open to its fullest
capacity in a struggle for breath. Then he went down, all of a heap;
tried to regain his feet, but failed, and crawled about on his hands and
knees in the dust, still fighting for that first gasp of air which
seemed tauntingly to stand between him and eternity. When it came, he
rolled over on his back and lay there panting.

"Get up," Brent scowled. "We've got to finish this scrap, and I'm in a
hurry!"

Tusk blinked at him in sheer perplexity. "What's yoh idee of finish?" he
asked.

"I'll show you in a minute.