“You no stan’ up and fight like man,” he panted as he missed a particularly vicious swing.
“This suits me all right,” Bob grinned. “You started this you know.”
At this moment Tom Bean came running up.
“Cut it out there, you Jean,” he shouted, as soon as he was near enough to see who it was with whom he was fighting. As he spoke he sprang forward but Jack caught hold of his arm and dragged him back.
“Let them alone,” he begged.
“But that’s Jean Larue,” Tom gasped. “He’s the bully of the camp and as strong as an ox. He’ll kill the bye.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Jack returned. “Look there!”
Tom looked and could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the bully of the camp, as he had named him, stretched out at full length in the snow.
Bob had at last gotten his chance and had landed full on his opponent’s chin. But the blow, although delivered with all his strength, lacked something of the force which he was able to put behind his right hand punch, owing to the insecure footing offered by the snow, and the bully, although down, was far from being out. He sprang quickly to his feet but to Bob’s disappointment did not rush at him again. He had learned the futility of that kind of fighting in the present instance and now he circled warily around Bob seeking an opening.
It was growing dark rapidly now and becoming more and more difficult to follow each other’s movements. Suddenly the Canadian sprang forward and aimed a blow at Bob’s head which he barely dodged. But the force of the blow carried the man slightly off his balance and before he had time to recover Bob had again landed on the point of the chin. Again the bully went down and all the men shouted encouragement to Bob. It was evident that the Canadian was not popular among his fellows.