"Mr. Atkins," said Bowles, rising to his feet and speaking tremulously, "I shall have to ask——"
But that was as far as he got. With a tiger-like spring the ex-twister was upon him, and before he could raise his hands he struck him full in the face.
"You will talk about my gal, will ye?" he shouted, as Bowles went down at the blow. "Stand up hyer, you white-livered Hinglishman; I'll learn you to butt in on my game!"
"Here! What're you tryin' to do?" demanded Brigham, leaping up hastily and confronting his old-time enemy. "You touch that boy again, and I'll slap yore dirty face off!"
"Well, he's been gittin' too important around hyer!" cried Atkins noisily. "And he's been talkin' about my gal—I won't take that from no man!"
"Huh!" sneered Brigham, drawing closer and clenching his hands. "You're mighty quick to hit a man when he ain't lookin'—why don't you take a man of yore size now and hit me?"
"I ain't got no quarrel with you!" raved Hardy Atkins. "That's the feller I'm after—he's been talkin' about my gal!"
"He has not!" replied Brigham deliberately. "He never talked about no gal, and I'll whip the man that says so—are you bad hurt, pardner?"
He knelt by the side of the prostrate Bowles, who opened his eyes and stared. Then he looked about him and raised one hand to his cheek, which was bruised and beginning to swell.
"I'll learn you to cut me out!" taunted Hardy Atkins, shaking his fist and doing a war-dance. "I'll make you hard to ketch if you try to butt in on me!"