“Hold the horse, Jake!” cried Baldy. “Hold the horse, and I’ll hold the boy.”
“Let me get at him!” cried Crabs, in a rage. “Just let me get at him, and I’ll teach him to strike me between the eyes!”
As he spoke he rushed past his companion, and was on the point of kicking Matt in the side when Baldy stopped him with a side dig of his ragged elbow.
“Don’t strike him if it ain’t necessary,” he said. “I’ll hold him all right enough. Come, be still now,” he went on to the young auctioneer.
Matt was on his face on the ground and Baldy was sitting on top of him, but, nevertheless, the boy did not intend to give up the struggle.
He squirmed and twisted this way and that until finally free, and then, before the tramp could catch him again, he sprang to his feet and leaped upon the foot-rest of the wagon.
“Stand back there, all of you!” he cried determinedly, and the next instant had the whip and was flourishing it over the heads of those below him.
“See that! he’s got away from you!” cried Crabs 144 to Baldy, in tones of deep disgust. “Now don’t you wish you had let me tend to him?”
“Stick to the horse, Jake!” cried Baldy, ignoring the last remark. “I’ll soon have the young fellow on the ground again.”
“Let go of that horse!” commanded Matt. “Let go, or I’ll lash you right and left!”