th my headmen, and we can meet again
to-morrow."

Puff-adder Brown's face was ablaze with passion. He saw that his plans
were now utterly wrecked, and he glared round upon the assembly as if
seeking some object upon which to vent his rage. Probably Lane would
have felt his first attack; but, as it happened, Joe Granton, his
countenance spread in a broad grin of delight, stood nearest. Upon the
instant the enraged man raised his arm, and dealt Joe a heavy
back-handed blow in the mouth.

But it so happened that in Joe, Puff-adder Brown had attacked the most
doughty opponent just now to be found near the tropic of Capricorn.
Cockney though he was, Joe was a well-trained athlete, strong as a
horse, and in hard condition. During his five years' career in the City
he had been a great boxer; for two years he had been middle-weight
amateur champion; he had forgotten nothing of his smartness; and now,
with that blow tingling in every nerve of his body, and the blood
trickling from his nether lip, he turned instantly upon the big trader.
Almost before the man knew it he had received Joe's vicious doubled fist
upon his right eye with a drive that sent stars and comets whirling
before his vision. It was to be a fight, and the two men now faced each
other and sparred for an opening.

"Keep back! keep back!" cried Lane.

The astonished Bakalahari people spread out, or rather retreated, into a
wide circle, and the battle began.

Now, despite that ugly knock over the eye, Puff-adder Brown rather
fancied himself in this affair of fists. He was big and bulky, and
three good inches taller than his opponent; he could deal a
sledge-hammer stroke now and again, such as had seldom failed to knock
out quarrelsome Boer adversaries, and he was very mad.

He went for Joe Granton, therefore, with some alacrity, and lashed out
heavily with his long arms and enormous fists. But whether in parrying,
at long bowls, or at half-arm fighting, Joe was altogether too good for
his adversary. Time after time he planted his blows with those ominous
dull thuds upon the trader's fleshy face; now and again he drove into
the big man's ribs with strokes that made him wince again. In the
second bout, it is true, Joe was badly floored by a slinging round-arm
drive; but he was quickly on his legs again, and, after a little
sparring for wind, none the worse. Few of the Puff-adder's infuriated
hits, indeed, touched the mark. In seven minutes the big f