“You can kill me,” he drawled quietly, “but I'm not going to dance for you. Suppose you whoop me instead—I heard that was your intention.” Jay laughed.
“Air ye goin' to fight me?” he asked incredulously.
“I'd rather be licked than dance.”
“All right,” said Jay. “I'll lam' ye aroun' a little an' spank ye good an' mebbe make ye dance atterwards.” He unbuckled his pistol and tossed it into the grass by the roadside.
“Will you fight fair?” asked Ira, still formal in speech. “No wrestling, biting, or gouging.”
“No wrasslin', no bitin', no gougin',” mimicked Jay, beginning to revolve his huge fists around each other in country fashion. The little man waited, his left arm outstretched and bent and his right across and close to his chest, and the watching girl almost groaned. Still his white, calm face, his steady eyes, and his lithe poise fascinated her. She would not let Jay hurt him badly—she would come out and take a hand herself. Jay opened one fist, and with his open hand made a powerful, contemptuous sweep at Ira's head, and the girl expected to see the little teacher fly off into the bushes and the fight over. To her amazement Ira gave no ground at all. His feet never moved, but like a blacksnake's head his own darted back; Jay's great hand fanned the air, and as his own force whirled him half around, Allaphair had to hold back a screech of laughter, for Ira had slapped him. Jay looked puzzled, but with fists clinched, he rushed fiercely. Right and left he swung, but the teacher was never there. Presently there was another stinging smack on his cheek and another, as Ira danced about him like the shadow of a magic lantern.
“He's a-tirin' him down,” thought Allaphair, but she was wrong; Ira was trying to make him mad, and that did not take much time or trouble. Jay rushed him.
“No wrasslin',” called Ira quietly, at the same time stopping the rush with a left-hand swing on Jay's chin that made the head wabble.
“I reckon he must be left-handed,” thought the wondering Allaphair. There are persons who literally do grind their teeth with rage and it is audible. The girl heard Jay's now.
“He's goin' to kill him,” she thought, and she got ready to do her part, for with a terrible, hoarse grunt Jay had rushed. Like a greased rod of steel the boy writhed loose from the big, crooked talons that reached for his throat, and his right fist, knobbed on the end of another bar of steel, came up under Jay's bent head with every ounce of the whole weight behind it in the blow. It caught the big man on the point of the chin. Jay's head snapped up and back violently, his feet left the ground, and his big body thudded the road.