Ben’s blood was up, and he waited for the two to rise, intending to “lay them out” more emphatically than before. The lad whose name he did not know lay still, but Rutherford recovered with remarkable quickness, and began struggling to his feet, without paying heed to his hat, which had rolled into the gutter.
“That ain’t fair to strike a fellow that way, when he ain’t expecting it,” growled the assassin. “Why didn’t you stand still like a man and not hit below the belt?”
“All right; I give you notice then, friend Rutherford, that I am going for you again, and this time above the belt.”
Richmond, finding he must fight, threw up his hands and did his best to guard against the blows whose force he knew so well. He did possess some knowledge of sparring, but so did Ben, who was much the stronger and more active of the two. He advanced straight upon Richmond, made several feints, and then landed a blow straight from the shoulder, at the same time parrying the cross-counter which the lad came near getting in on the face.
It so happened that, at that moment, the other young scamp was in the act of rising, and had got upon his hands and knees. As Richmond was sent spinning backward he came in collision with him, and turned a complete somersault, the air seeming to be full of legs, long hair, hats, and flapping overcoats.
“Murder! help! help! police! police!”
These startling cries were shouted at the top of their voices by the discomfited poltroons, and were heard a long distance on the still night. Suddenly the rattle of running feet sounded on the planks of the bridge, and Ben caught sight of a policeman running toward the spot.
“What does this mean?” he demanded, when he came face to face with Ben, whom he motioned to stop.
“Those two fellows attacked me when I was passing Carter’s Alley, and I—well, I defended myself as best I could.”
“Oh, Ben, that is you; I didn’t know you at first,” said the policeman. “This is rather serious business; I’ll run ’em in.”