He was up again, and renewed the attack, but with even less chance of victory than before, for the blood was streaming down his face, and he could not see distinctly where to hit. Dewey contented himself with keeping on guard and parrying the blows of his demoralized adversary.
"It's no use, O'Reilly!" exclaimed two or three. "Dewey's the better man."
"Let me get at him! I'll show him what I can do," said O'Reilly doggedly.
"As long as you like, O'Reilly," said Richard Dewey coolly; "but you may as well give it up."
"Troth and I won't. I'm stronger than you are any day."
"Perhaps you are; but I understand fighting, and you don't."
"An O'Reilly not know how to fight!" exclaimed the Irishman hotly. "I could fight when I was six years old."
"Perhaps so; but you can't box."
One or two more attacks, and O'Reilly was dragged away by two of his friends, and Dewey remained master of the field.
The miners came up and shook hands with him cordially. They regarded him with new respect, now that it was found he had overpowered the powerful O'Reilly.