“I said you were a brute,” Bob replied, looking the man full in the eyes.
“You dare call me name, I mak’ you eet them word ver’ queek,” and before Bob had time to defend himself the Canadian swung an open handed blow which caught him on the side of the face and he too was sent reeling into a snowdrift.
Both of the men were laughing uproariously as he picked himself up.
“Suppose you try that again,” he said, as he stood once more in front of the man.
Surprise showed in the Canadian’s face. “You want more is et?” he asked, as he drew back his hand, this time closed into a knotty fist. “All right, I give you plenty dis time,” and he struck with his entire one hundred and eighty pounds behind the blow.
But this time Bob was on his guard and as the fist whizzed past his face he hit the man a stinging blow just beneath the ear, which jerked his head sideways but did not upset him. But it made him mad and he came for Bob, as Jack afterward declared, “like a bull for a red rag.”
“I keel you for dat,” he shouted, and from the look on his face Bob did not doubt but that he would do it if he was able.
“You’ll have to spell able first,” he said as he dodged a vicious swing and succeeded in landing again this time on the Canadian’s nose. The blow started the blood to flowing and as Bob had hoped, rendered him insane with fury. If he knew anything of the science of boxing, he threw his knowledge to the winds as he again rushed, his fists beating the air like flails.
The Canadian was several inches taller than Bob and at least thirty pounds heavier and the boy well knew that he was no match for him so far as mere strength went, and that a blow from one of those fists, delivered in the right place, would put an end to the struggle in short order. But through long practice he was a splendid boxer and he did not intend to allow that blow to land. By this time a number of the men, attracted by the cries of the Canadian, had come up and were watching the seemingly unequal contest with great interest.
As his antagonist rushed forward, Bob slowly gave way, protecting himself from the hammering blows as well as he was able. To be sure some of them hit him, but they were only glancing blows, thanks to his agility, and did no great amount of damage. He knew that at the rate he was going the man would soon wear himself out and he was watching for the first indication of weakening. But swinging an axe day after day, makes muscles which do not easily tire and there seemed no limit to the man’s endurance.