The man paused an instant.
“Why you no stand still an’ fight?” he sneered.
“This suits me,” Bob laughed. “Remember this is your fight.”
Again the man rushed and once more he had his hands full to protect himself. But he knew that the harder the man worked the sooner would come the time when he could force the fighting. “Safety first,” he thought, as he dodged about.
“Bob’s tiring him out,” Jack whispered, as he listened to the heavy breathing.
But the next second he gave a gasp of fear. In backing away from a vicious rush Bob’s heel had struck a root, and before he could recover his balance, a blow had caught him on the chin and over he went.
A shout of encouragement came from the two half-breeds.
“Bon boy, Jacques! Jump on heem queek. You got heem.”
But fortunately Bob’s chin had been too far away to catch more than a small fraction of the force of the blow, and he was not even dazed. However, the breed was quick to take advantage of his opportunity, and before Bob could scramble to his feet he was upon him.
Bob knew that his only chance now depended on his ability to prevent the man from getting a hold. It required quick work, for the breed proved to be better at wrestling than at boxing. Throwing himself upon the boy he wrapped his arms about him in a hold that Bob had all he could do to break. It was fortunate indeed for him that he knew nearly all the important holds. Once the man got a grip on his neck, but it was quickly broken and, exerting all his strength and skill, Bob managed to roll the man over until he was on top. In another second he was on his feet.