“For goodness sake be careful,” Jack cautioned.
He, as well as Bob, knew that should one of those sledge-hammer blows land where it was aimed the fight would stop automatically. The continuance depended on Bob’s ability to dodge them.
But he was on his guard now and Jack knew that he would not be caught napping a second time. The man rushed again, almost at once and, from the way he handled himself, Jack saw that he possessed little if any knowledge of scientific boxing.
“Bob can handle him all right, barring an accident,” he whispered to Rex.
This time the man had struck with even more force than at first, and the momentum carried him off his balance. Before he could recover, Bob’s right fist had landed just back of his right ear. A loud grunt, more of astonishment than of pain, followed the blow. The bully stepped back a pace and glanced at his followers as if to ask what it was all about.
“Go on an’ beat heem up,” cried one of them. “Heem’s only a kid.”
As if ashamed of his indecision the man rushed back to the attack, and for a time Bob had all he could to do to protect himself from the avalanche of blows which were showered at him. The man’s two arms were working like piston rods, and so rapidly that the boy had no time to even attempt to get in a blow.
“Hope he won’t be able to keep that up very long,” Jack whispered. “In that kind of fighting there’s always a possibility of a blow landing and one of those punches, if it is struck fair, would pretty near stop a train of cars.”
“Him not got heap much wind,” Kernertok declared, as he caught the sound of the man’s quick breathing.
“Why you no heet heem?” one of the other breeds shouted.