With a hoarse roar he picked himself up, and made the rush like a wounded buffalo. He was a powerful young man come to his full strength, whereas Ned Romer was only ripening.
But he was heavily built, and slow in his movements in spite of his rage. He had not had the training nor discipline which Ned could boast of; and lastly, he had been drinking “Cape smoke” that day, which rendered him stupid and careless. Possibly also the overweening conceit and insolence of his race made him contemptuous of this slender lad.
Ned, on the other hand, was in splendid condition, as lithe and agile as a young panther, and as quick in the glance as he was active and cool. The past three months of horse exercise and open-air life had made his muscles like steel.
As Stephanus rushed upon him with swollen features and blood-charged eyes, Ned waited quietly; then, with a sudden spring aside, he shot out one fist, and landed the Dutchman a thumper on the bridge of his nose, which caused him to see a perfect flare of fireworks, while it made him stagger in his tracks.
For an instant he paused, and put up both hands to his bruised organ; then as he turned once more and removed his hands, a dark stream burst from his nostrils, and deluged his chin and shirt-front.
“First blood, and well drawn,” cried the clear voice again. “Go it, my hearty; you have shown him the red, let him have the blue next stroke.”
Fred and Clarence glanced round, to see a tall, broad-chested stranger in a light suit and soft felt hat standing behind them, with his horse beside him and its bridle over his arm.
As he spoke Ned got in his second blow, and as the stranger had advised, smote his adversary higher up and right between the eyes. It was a loud-sounding smash, which completely blinded Stephanus, and made it apparent to all the onlookers that he had received his blue badge.
“These will be pretty peepers tomorrow morning,” said the stranger; then, making a hasty step forward, he raised his heavy riding-whip, as he exclaimed, “Ha! you would show the white next, you treacherous dog, would you? Drop that knife instantly.”
As he spoke he brought the stock of his whip smartly upon the wrist of Stephanus, causing him to utter a loud yell, while his glittering sheath-knife dropped gleaming to the ground. Holding his damaged wrist with one hand, the Transvaaler staggered blindly back, and abandoned the field to the calm and victorious Ned.