The Crees went simply wild with delight, for Cummles was getting the worst trouncing of his life. They cheered the New Zealander on with loud cries of encouragement, although it would have been impossible to have added to the sting and venom of his attack.
"Go on, Fane!"
"Give it to him—he's been looking for this for a long time!"
The bully-killer, as he had called himself, propped off another of Cummles's blind rushes, with stinging hits.
"Had enough?" he gasped, lowering his hands momentarily.
"No!" wheezed Cummles, lurching forward; and with a tremendous swing he clouted his opponent on the side of the head, sending him flying head over heels to the ground, where he lay outstretched.
[CHAPTER IV]
THE BROKEN BOOTLACE
Cummles stood back from his antagonist, a twisted grin of triumph on his face, and, in the tense silence that followed, the loud and fast sound of his breathing could be distinctly heard.