The sentence remained unfinished, for at that moment Bob’s fist shot out with lightning rapidity and caught the man squarely between the eyes. Without an outcry he went sprawling to the ground and rolled over.
For a second he remained dazed. Then he recovered himself and regained his feet.
Summoning all his power he lunged forward, mouth foaming and eyes glaring with rage.
It was easy to see that Bob was dealing with no weakling. His heaving chest was in itself a symbol of strength, as were also the powerful arms and heavy body. But then neither was Bob a weakling, as he had displayed so many times before. True he did not delight in fighting, but when called upon he was able to give a good account of himself. If the truth be known, he had not only won cups and letters in high school football and basketball, but in boxing as well. Joe was lighter and less robust, although by no means easy to knock out.
Now, as the young men faced this crook, there was a strong desire to win in their minds. Here was a chance—perhaps the only one they would have—to bring these men to justice for their cruel, underhanded way of getting even with Mr. Lewis for a trivial matter.
They possessed two fears. What if this fellow had a gun with him and thought nothing of using it? And what if the arch-crook would emerge from the house?
“If he only stays away,” thought Bob, as he cleverly ducked the large fist that came with all force.
For nearly five minutes the fight kept up, neither of the participants gaining anything.
Then suddenly the man swung around in an unguarded moment and sent his fist crashing into Bob’s jaw. Taken unawares, the youth went to the ground, almost unconscious.
Grinning in triumph, the crook was reaching for a revolver when Joe leaped forward and threw him on his side. The impact hurled the gun several feet away, and both made for it.