Hadley grabbed a clod, and as the dog started after the fleeing steers he hurled the lump of earth with considerable force and it bounded resoundingly from the canine’s ribs. The brute gave a yelp and took refuge behind its master, its interest for the moment lost in the inoffensive cattle. There it crouched and growled at Hadley, while Lon fairly danced up and down in his rage.
“What you need, Had Morris, is a sound thrashing, and I’m going to give it to you right now!” declared the young Tory.
“I wouldn’t try any thrashing, if I were you, Lon. You know you tried it once, a long time ago, and I haven’t forgotten how to wrestle since then.”
Hadley tried to pass on as he spoke, but young Alwood sprang before him and barred his way. “You’re going to get thrashed right here and now, Had Morris!” declared he, resentfully. “You haven’t got any gun or pistol to help you out, and I’m not afraid of you. So look out for yourself!”
Hadley saw no way of avoiding the struggle unless he took to his heels, and he could not bring himself to do that. So he met his antagonist’s charge to the best of his ability, and in a moment they were locked together in a close, but far from loving, embrace, while the dog ran around and around them, barking its approval of its master’s conduct.
CHAPTER VIII
UNCLE EPHRAIM DISPLAYS GREAT INTEREST
THE boys had scarcely gripped each other when Lon realized that he was now no better able to cope with his rival in a wrestling bout than he was at their last encounter, months previous. The stableboy of the Three Oaks Inn had been in perfect training every day of his active life. Lon was lazy, and had to be fairly driven to work by his father. He would much rather roam the woods with a gun and dog, or go fishing, than do those tasks which fell to the share of the other lads of the neighborhood, and leaping and running, and frolicking with his friends in their off-hours, had not hardened his muscles as Hadley’s toil hardened his.
The latter obtained a good hold on his enemy and, with a sudden squeeze, almost drove the breath out of Lon’s lungs. The Tory youth gasped as he felt this sudden strength. “Oh! oh!” he groaned. And then, kicking frantically and endeavoring to beat his antagonist in the face with his fists, cried aloud to the excited dog: “Sic ’im, sir! Go at ’im!”
The mongrel, as cruel as its master, plunged into the fray and grabbed at Hadley’s leg. Fortunately, the stableboy wore high riding boots, and instead of seizing the calf of his leg, the brute sunk its teeth in the leather. The attack, however, brought Hadley to the ground, with the dog chewing at the bootleg and snarling, and Lon Alwood on top. But the under boy still hugged his human antagonist tightly to him, and for the moment his brute enemy did little harm.
All the time Lon was encouraging the dog in his attack, but Hadley would not strike him. “Call off the beast and fight fair, Alwood!” he said. “Call him off and try it over again. This is no fair game.”