“Now, I’ve got yeh,” he panted, “and I’m going to punch the daylights out o’ yeh.” And straightway he began pounding his prostrate foe about the head.
Before the Colonel could clear the bush there was a shrill cry, a flutter of legs and arms, and Peg hurled herself upon Asa, wreathed her hands in his bushy hair, and with one fierce swing jerked his head backward and dragged him off his victim.
The Colonel crept back into cover. “By Jove, I’ll let ’em fight it out,” he muttered. “I do believe they’ll handle him.”
“I’ll get you, you little beast,” cried Asa savagely, making for Peg. But before he had taken two steps Paul was on him like a thunderbolt, raining blows on his face and neck till Asa, staggering and bellowing, turned and fairly fled, with Paul hard upon his heels, landing right and left as opportunity offered, till, once more, Asa tripping upon a root tumbled headlong upon the grass and lay groaning.
The fight was over. Asa’s bullying days were done.
CHAPTER XII
The aftermath of the fight deprived the gallant Colonel of all his exultation in his pupil’s triumph.
“What was it about?” he enquired of Paul as they rode home together. But Paul was silent. His victory brought him no elation. He had done his duty. He had fought in a perfectly good cause and, incidentally, though this he would not acknowledge even to his own secret heart, he had wiped out many a dark and deadly insult endured through many days. But for all that his face was shrouded in deep gloom.
“What started the trouble?” again asked the Colonel.
“Oh! Daddy, Asa is always pickin’ on Paul, and today he said—he said—I will tell! now—he said Uncle Gaspard was a bad, bad man. And Paul said it was a lie, and——” But at this point Peg caught sight of Paul’s face. The look on it was enough to check Peg in mid-career. The boy was ghastly pale, his lips blue and quivering. He pulled his pony to a dead stop.