Without the slightest warning or preliminary movement of any sort, he whirled and smashed Bob square in the face with every ounce of strength he possessed. Bainbridge, staggered by the force and unexpectedness of it, stumbled back, tripped, and struck the ground with a crash. The drive boss leaped forward, his face distorted with passion, and delivered a fierce, slashing kick straight at the prostrate man’s groin.
CHAPTER V. FIGHTING FOUL
Half stunned though he was, Bob still had the wit to fling himself swiftly to one side, and he did so with such quick, intuitive agility that the long, sharp spikes of Schaeffer’s shoe barely grazed the flesh of his thigh.
Bob Bainbridge’s brain was cleared with the thoroughness and rapidity of an electric shock. He leaped to his feet just as the foreman tripped over Joe Moose’s deftly extended foot, and crashed headlong to the ground.
“Get up, you cur!” cried Bainbridge, as he jerked off the encumbering Mackinaw and tossed it from him. “Get up and take what’s coming to you!”
He was filled with the sudden, fierce, elemental joy of physical combat. For what seemed an eternity he had been holding himself in check by sheer will power, and now the relief of handling with bare fists this fellow who had played such a contemptible trick upon him was indescribable.
Schaeffer was on his feet like a cat, and came at Bainbridge with a rush. Bob side-stepped, swinging with his right at the drive boss’ ribs. To his astonishment the blow was blocked with the cleverness of a professional. An instant later Schaeffer whirled like a Dervish, and again his opponent felt the tearing of those spikes in the flesh of his left leg as he went staggering to both knees.
The surprise of discovering that Schaeffer could box scientifically was undoubtedly what checked Bob, and gave the fellow a chance to get in that second foul kick. The touch of those spikes, the realization that a man who could fight fairly and squarely was low enough to resort to such disgraceful tactics, made Bainbridge see red. Whether the Indian interfered again in his behalf he could not tell. He only knew that he was on his feet once more, fighting instinctively, and fairly overwhelming his opponent with a series of rushes which there was no withstanding. Schaeffer blocked them as best he could, depending a lot on clever footwork, and waited for his chance. It seemed certain that Bainbridge would soon let up and take things easier, and then it would be possible for the tricky riverman to use some of the other fouls of which he seemed to be a master.
The moment Bob came to his senses he did cut down his steam considerably. No human being could keep up that speed for any length of time and hope for victory, and Bainbridge meant to be victorious in this struggle. Even though Schaeffer possessed the skill of a champion, he must be beaten in some way, for the thought of succumbing to a treacherous cur like this was intolerable.
The fight which followed was a strange one. Bainbridge had never known anything like it in all his varied experience as a boxer. His opponent possessed exceptional skill in the art; he would, in fact, have been a hard man to defeat in the conventional ring. Add to this a knowledge of fouling which was simply extraordinary, and it will be seen what sort of an antagonist he was.