As the Mexican was a little fellow, and short of leg, it was not long before the pursuer caught up with him.
"Hol' on, yo' yaller rascal!" laughed Sambo, reaching out for the Mexican.
Nicolas wheeled about, dancing out of reach of the negro's massive hands.
"Stand still, yo' li'l' Greaser!" laughed Sambo.
"Now you have insult me, and I show you what I do to you!" snarled Nicolas, his brown face aflame at the taunting word, "Greaser."
"Come heah!" jeered Sambo, making a bound and reaching for the small man.
Nicolas dodged, but he did not run away. Instead, he bobbed up inside of the negro's reach. The Mexican thrust out his slim, sinewy right-hand forefinger. A vicious poke he gave with it, landing sharply on a spot just about an inch and a quarter below the base of the negro's breast bone.
"Woof!" panted Sambo, half doubling, for Nicolas had touched a tender spot.
"You have insult me! You call me mean name!" raged Nicolas. "Stand steel, you big black smoke!"
Again Nicolas ducked and rushed in. Once more he employed his forefinger tip in the same fashion, and with more power.
"O-o-o-o-o-h! Wow!" gasped Sambo, this time doubling nearly to the ground.
"Get away, chile! I doan' wan' no mo' ob yo'!"