Brick whirled about and spat. “Come on and fight, will you? None of this duckin’ like a snake. And you guys get back, so I can have some room.” He plunged again at his foe, and aimed a second wide swing at Dirk’s face.
This time Dirk did not dodge. Instead, he parried with the palm of his left hand, and his right fist shot forward, taking the surprised Brick in the side. It was a stinging blow, and Brick stepped back with a grunt. He had not expected this. There were few boys at Lenape who would dare to stand up against Brick Ryan even in a friendly bout with gloves; yet here was the despised Van Horn, the pampered city boy who couldn’t even swim, not only defending himself skillfully from the Irish lad’s attack, but even striking back!
The blow had made Brick more wary. This time he did not leap in with his head down—too much chance of getting caught off guard again for those tactics! He circled cautiously, trying to find an opening where a thrust would do most good. His anger was rising, too. The breathless watchers looked at his face, and waited awestricken for the terrible moment when the aroused Brick Ryan would wade in and demolish his daring opponent.
Jerry Utway, his eyes ablaze with excitement, jumped up and down, urging his champion with delighted cries. “That’s the boy, Van Horn, old scout! Wade in and tap him one!”
“Shut up, Jerry!” his brother Jake put in. “Let them alone, or there’ll be two fights going on here! Whee, look at that one! Go it, Brick!”
Brick was again in the lists, this time depending upon speed and the violent fury of his attack. It seemed to the onlookers that no one could long withstand the force of his charge; his arms whirled and jabbed, and his face was red with the exertion of his onslaught. Indeed, Van Horn was quickly driven backwards, and more than once a doubled fist made its red mark on his naked chest. But he still kept his feet, and although he was given no chance to take the offensive, he guarded his face skillfully. Yet slowly he gave ground; Brick had maneuvered about until he was above where the other stood, and was driving him down the sloping hillside.
Nig Jackson gave vent to a yell. “He’s got him now! Go it, Brick! Wow, he’s down!”
Al Canning, in his capacity as referee, rushed forward. Dirk was sprawled out upon the uneven ground, crouched on one side. His face was whiter than ever.
“Slipped on some grass,” he mumbled through swollen lips. “I—I’m all right.” Unaided, he staggered to his feet, and looked about in a dazed way. Brick, who had stepped aside when his foe had fallen, now advanced confidently for the final sortie.
“Finish him off, Brick!” yelled Eddie Scolter. Ryan, encouraged by the shouts of the watchers, marched slowly and triumphantly to a stand just beyond arm’s length of where Dirk stood, dazedly shaking the sweat from his eyes.