This round there was no delay; both went at it savagely, though warily and skillfully as ever. Blow after blow was planted that seemed fairly to shake the air, driven by all the power that human muscle could give.
"Won't last long at this rate," said the referee, sagely shaking his head. "Give 'em another round—gee!"
Fischer's "gee" was echoed by the yearlings with what would have, but for the nearness of the camp, been a yell of triumph and joy. Williams had seen a chance, and had been a second too quick for Mark; he had landed a crushing blow upon the latter's head, one which made him stagger. Quick to see his chance, the yearling had sprung in, driving his half-dazed opponent backward, landing blow after blow. Texas gasped in horror. The yearlings danced—and then——
"Time!" said the imperturbable Fischer.
Texas sprang forward and led his bewildered friend to a seat; Texas was about ready to cry.
"Old man!" he muttered, "don't let him beat you. Oh! It'll be the death of me. I'll go jump into the river!"
"Steady! Steady!" said the Parson; "we'll be all right in a moment."
Mark said nothing, but as his reeling brain cleared he gritted his teeth.
"Time," said the referee.
And Williams sprang forward to finish the work, encouraged by the enthusiastic approval of his half-wild classmates. He aimed another blow with all his might; Mark dodged; the other tried again, and again the plebe leaped to one side; this repeated again and again was the story of the next minute, and the yearlings clinched their hands in disappointment and rage.