“We ride everything here. Here comes a flat fur a starter,” and he spanked McGuire’s cheek with his open hand. “Here’s an empty box,” and he reached for the other side, but McGuire’s arm was on his time.
“That’s right—stop ’em. Here’s a cripple for the rep track,” and he landed lightly on McGuire’s ribs. “Here’s a couple loaded,” and he put his right and left hard on McGuire’s chest.
The blows angered the tenderfoot. Dick was leaping and dancing about the unfortunate stranger as a savage Sioux would leap about a scalped Pawnee. “We’ll put this express car in on the spur,” said Dick as he landed a stinging blow on the point of his opponent’s nose. That insult brought the blood, and instantly all the Irish in McGuire’s make-up came to the surface. He was desperate, but he knew he must keep cool. The foreman began to force the fighting. He talked less now, but fought more. McGuire contented himself with stopping the blows of his adversary, and so saved his wind, which he had observed was a tender point in this rare, light air. Dick was wearing himself out. His left eye was bleeding and the blood blinded him at times. McGuire would not wilfully take advantage of that, but the yardman kept him so busy and mixed cuts for him to such an extent, that he had to do something.
“Here’s a gondola loaded with iron ore,” said Dick, and he made a curve with his left, which McGuire dodged. Before the foreman could recover, McGuire swung his right on the fellow’s left ear, and Suicide Dick collapsed like a punctured tire.
“That must ’a been a sleeper,” said Jim, glancing at Jones.
McGuire stood puffing like a helper on a heavy grade, and waiting for Dick to get to his feet.
The two men came from the engine and stood by the man on the ground.
Dick lifted his head and then sat up. Presently he got to his feet, and when he could see, he picked out McGuire and offered his hand. McGuire took it, and then Jones offered his hand, and then the yardmaster shook the hand of the tenderfoot.
Dick walked over to a freight engine, opened the water-cock, and bathed his bleeding face.
“Wash up,” said Williams, jerking his thumb in the direction of the freighter, and McGuire went over and washed.