"I'm going to give you a hiding," observed the other mildly.
Joses looked aghast at his rescuer and snorted. He shot forward his shaggy face, and the action seemed to depress his chest and obtrude his stomach.
"Whaffor?" he asked, in tones that betrayed the fact that such experiences were not entirely new to him.
"I don't know," said Silver in his exasperatingly lazy way. "I feel I'd rather like to."
He seemed quietly amused, much more so than was Joses. And he meant what he said. His clean, calm face, his mouth so determined and yet so mild, his steady eyes and the thrust of his jaw, all betrayed his resolution.
"Here, stow it!" stammered the fat man. "Chuck the chaff. A gentleman!"
"I'm not chaffing," said Silver in a matter-of-fact way. "How d'you like it?"
"What ye mean?"
"Will you put your hands up—or will you take it lying?"
His pony's rein was over the young man's arm; and they were standing on the edge of the cliff. Joses, weighing his chances with the swift and comprehending eye of fear, marked it greedily. Silver was young, strong, an athlete; but he was handicapped.