He dashed swiftly away to the cluster of tents with this, and after placing it in a safe spot, grabbed up a long war-club and rushed back to the scene of the battle.
He made straight for Pomp.
He was wise, this half-breed, for he knew better than to hit a darkey on the head, even with such a ponderous club as he grasped.
He dashed upon the little nig, and made a clip at him.
Pomp saw the blow coming, and very naturally supposed that it was intended for his head.
That’s just where he was mistaken, and where the half-breed exhibited a great amount of knowledge.
The heavy club hummed through the air and descended fairly across the darkey’s shins.
Down dropped Pomp, as though he had come slap up against a big locomotive.
That’s a mighty sure thing on almost any colored individual.
As soon as he fell, the half-breed made a few rapid blows with the club, and rapidly cleared a space.