The puncher carried a double-thonged whip in his hand, a short, wicked looking instrument. Suddenly Teddy, who was standing near, saw him slash down with it and catch a cow full across the back. A red weal sprang up and blood dripped from where he had struck.
Teddy, his cheeks burning, leaped from his horse and seized the puncher’s arm.
“Let’s see that whip!” he cried, and yanked it toward him. Silent stood quietly, a sardonic look on his face.
In the ends of the whip-thongs were set jagged pieces of tin, and to give them weight just behind them were sewed lead “sinkers.”
Teddy, as he saw them, clenched his fists, and tossed the whip from him.
“So that’s it!” he exclaimed, and leaped. His first blow caught Silent on the side of the face.
The puncher drew a sudden breath and shook his head to clear it. Then he went into the fight.
The punchers of the neighborhood still talk about that scrap. Teddy, ten pounds lighter than his antagonist, danced about, now getting in a blow and stepping out, then in again. Silent fought with short, vicious swings. One of these caught the boy fairly on the jaw, and he went down.
Roy rushed toward him, as did Nick and Bug Eye.
“Keep back!” Teddy yelled. “This is mine!”