“I won’t fight,” replied Bob Gordon steadily.
For a few moments it seemed as if Mackenzie Douglas could not comprehend. His mouth fell open, and he stared at Bob Gordon as if he were some strange animal, that he never had seen before.
Dan Mosely laughed raucously. His companion, who had helped him in annoying the girl on the stage, joined in his coarse mirth.
“He knows better than to tackle me!” snarled Dan Mosely. “I’d break him in two in the first round.”
“Bob Gordon, lad, what does it mean?”
The big Scot appealed to Gordon almost piteously. He could not make out why Gordon was backing down. He had never come across a case of this kind before, where a full-grown man, young and active, backed out of a combat that it was his actual duty to enter. It was too much for Douglas.
“I’ll tell yer what it means,” shouted Dan Mosely derisively. “He’s afraid! That’s all there is to it. He’s a cur, an’ he don’t dare to put up his hands agin’ me!”
Douglas looked searchingly at Gordon, and his great hands twitched, as if he longed to get into battle himself.
“Is that so, Gordon? Do ye mean t’ tell me that ye’re afraid?”