"Here! Come back! None of that!" shouted a citizen, throwing his arms around Miller's neck. "Let the boy get to his feet. Fight fair or—-we'll lynch you when it's over!"
But Dick was up, the blood flowing freely from his nose. Yet he was hardly less cool as Miller was released and the two again faced each other.
"Finish him up, Miller, and we'll get back to pleasure!" laughed one of the drunkards in maudlin glee.
"The boy has no show. This is an outrage!" protested an indignant citizen. "It ought to be stopped."
As the two sparred Dick suddenly saw his chance to get in under the powerful guard of his antagonist and landed a hard blow on his solar plexus.
"Umph!" grunted Miller, as he partly doubled up under the force of the blow.
That instant was enough for Prescott to drive in a blow that nearly closed one of the big fellow's eyes.
"Stop this fight!" yelled the same citizen.
"Don't you do it!" warned another. "The boy is taking care of himself all right. Let him wind the bruiser up."
Now Miller, smarting and fearing accidental defeat, forgot caution and tried to rush in for a clinch. But this was the kind of attack that Prescott was skilled in dodging.