“You all seem to set a sight of store on Barker,” said this person, after he’d listened to the admiring remarks, and eager encouragement given the bruiser.
“Why not?” demanded a burly steamboat man, turning to the speaker. “He’s beaten every man along the river.”
The man in the hunting shirt laughed good-naturedly.
“Oh, come now,” said he. “His record’s not quite so good as that. What you mean is that he’s beaten all he’s fought; but that doesn’t say much. For fellows like Barker seldom pick a man they’re not sure of.”
“I take it,” said the steamboat man, “that you’ve seen him fight.”
“Lots of times,” said the other, smiling. “In fact, anybody in the habit of seeing young Barker at all must have seen him fight. For it’s the thing he’s usually doing.”
The planter with the wide-rimmed hat surveyed the man in the hunting shirt.
“I think,” said he, “Barker’s going to come out on top.”
The backwoodsman fixed his keen eyes on Walter, who stood with his arms folded across his chest listening to Ned’s last words. And then he smiled.
“Maybe,” said he. “But if that youngster meets him right, he’ll have no easy time of it.”