As he spoke he had removed his heavy coat and now he ordered Long to do the same.
"I give you my word of honor," he told him, "that this fight will be between you and me alone and if you get the best of me you can go on your way and I'll never take any action against you for what you've done to me." Then, turning to Lucky and the boys, he ordered: "Don't one of you interfere whatever happens."
"Heem one—what you call—game sport," Lucky whispered.
"I'll say he is," Bob and Jack both agreed.
Long was several inches taller than his opponent and the boys knew that his height would give him a big advantage especially in the deep snow. But they were soon to learn that their fears were entirely without foundation. The lanky trapper undoubtedly would have been able to give a good account of himself pitted against almost any one, but he was no match for Silas Lakewood. Although nearing his fiftieth year he had always kept himself in the prime of condition and, as Jack after told Bob, what he did not know about boxing simply did not exist Three minutes after the contest started Long knew he was licked, but he had grit enough not to beg for mercy and he got none.
As Mr. Lakewood had promised the licking was thorough and most beautifully administered, as Jack put it, and when it was over one of Long's eyes was closed completely and his face was battered almost to a pulp, but he was not seriously injured.
"I didn't want to hurt him so that he couldn't travel," Mr. Lakewood explained as he drew on his coat.
"You sure do—what you call heem—one bon job," Lucky declared.
As for Long, he stood by his sled slowly wiping the blood from his face. "I hope you're satisfied," he grunted.
"I am, perfectly and, so far as I am concerned, the incident is closed."