As for Bill himself, he chuckled, for he dearly loved a fight and he felt venomous toward this intruder, because he seemed to be rich and had lately played a humiliating trick upon him. He handed his gun to Dick, but did not remove his coat, because he did not happen to be wearing any. He made a motion with each hand in turn, as if to shove the bands of his shirt toward the elbow, but he merely tightened them. He did indulge, however, in a little act that is generally peculiar to a countryman. He spat on his horny palms and rubbed them together.
Harvey saw from the first that though Bill might be a powerful man, he lacked even a rudimentary knowledge of boxing. He held his fists in front, but they were well down, separated by a wide space, and when he drew near enough to deliver a blow, his feet were side by side. While Harvey Hamilton’s pose was an ideal one, that of Bill was the opposite.
In contests of this nature, the sympathies of the reader are naturally with the “gentleman,” and the story teller generally arranges that he shall be the victor, though in real life it is not likely to happen that way. Had the elder undergone the training of the younger, he assuredly would have beaten him to a “frazzle,” but it was that one thing lacking which proved the undoing of Bill.
His awkward advance upon the youth gave the latter the opening he was waiting for, and coolly, promptly and fiercely he seized the advantage. Bill lunged out terrifically, but the blow was a round one and being cleverly parried, swished in front of Harvey’s face. In the same instant his opponent made a single bound forward, so as to throw the weight of his body into the straight, lightning-like thrust of the left fist, which crashed against Bill’s receding chin with the force of a mule’s kick. He went over on his back, completely knocked out and with no more sense than a log of wood. It may be said that the fight was ended before it fairly began.
Harvey knew some seconds must pass before Bill would be able to climb to his feet. He shifted front in a flash and said:
“I’m waiting for the next.”
He still held his arms in position and danced deftly about as if impatient over the slight delay in their attack. But their hesitation was due more to bewilderment than fear, though the sight of the motionless form stretched on the ground told its own story.
It would be thought that the courage shown by the young pugilist would have appealed to the manhood of the others, but, sad to say, they had no manhood to which appeal could be made. The one known as Dick shouted:
“Are we going to stand that, boys? Didn’t you see him hit Bill? He hit him foul! Let’s lay him out!”
Harvey braved himself for the shameless attack, determined to make their victory cost them dear. He knew that more than one would suffer, but a pang shot through him when Dick called out: