“Had enough?” Brick taunted. His blows had taken effect in more than one place on Dirk’s face and body, and one shoulder was badly scraped by his fall. But Brick himself did not go unmarked from the fray; his cheek was coloring where a clenched fist had got through his guard, and his right arm was weak from panting effort.
Dirk Van Horn clenched his teeth without answering. For an instant, the watching boys saw a stab of fury flare up in his dark eyes. He set his feet, held his head high, and his arms swung into the guard position.
Brick advanced still one further step. “Had enough, Baby? I won’t ask you again. If you’ll apologize, I won’t hurt you any more today——”
He was too close for his own safety. Dirk grunted as he shot his arm forward in a telling blow straight from the shoulder. His bunched knuckles caught the surprised Brick on the point of the jaw.
A ludicrous look of amazement came over Brick Ryan’s face. For an instant he tottered, grinning stupidly at the staring circle of boys; then, with a soft groan, he slid backward, his knees gave way gently, and he slumped senseless upon the ground.
CHAPTER VII
THE RED HAND REVENGERS
“Ten!” counted Al Canning. “Van Horn wins with a sweet knockout!”
“Yay, Handsome Van, the K. O. Kid!” cried Jerry Utway, hammering his champion upon the back. “Gee, what a beautiful swat that was!”
Brick Ryan opened his eyes. His head was still spinning from the force of the blow that had vanquished him. As through a mist he could see the dim faces of the boys about his prostrate form. Among them stood out the triumphant, smiling features of Dirk Van Horn.
A hand shook his shoulder, and Jake Utway spoke in his ear. “Are you all right now, Brick? Tough luck. He sure packs a wallop!”