I throwed up that old Sharps, took a wing-shot at Cleopatra and then a great weight settled upon me. I ain’t no fighter. None of my family ever won any diamond belts; but there never was a Harper that wouldn’t fight to save his own life. And I sure went into a clinch with that tiger.
My eyes are too full of dust and pain for me to see just how the battle is comin’. We just kept on fightin’, thassall. Once we got separated and it takes us quite a while to get together again, but we did. I can’t see a danged thing and I don’t reckon Cleopatra can either; so we locates each other by sense of smell.
I dunno how long we fought. Scientists would probably differ as to how long a man and a tiger can fight without one or both of ’em dyin’. I ain’t got no feelin’ left within’ me. I reckon I’m kinda primitive just now, and I fights with tooth and claw. I hears voices around me, kinda cheerin’; so I puts up a supreme effort, as it were, and feels the tiger go limp.
“My —!” I hears Dirty gasp hoarse-like. “They’re still at it.”
“I licked him—her,” says I.
I ain’t got more than enough breath to say that. And then I kinda passed out.
It seems like I heard somebody say:
“Let him alone, dang yuh! He done jist what I’ve wanted to see done for a long time.”
It was probably quite a some time before I woke up again. For quite a while I can’t figure out just where I am and what’s goin’ on. I seem to be layin’ across somethin’ that heaves and surges a heap. I manages to get one eye open and discovers that I’m on my stummick across a saddle.
Out in front of me and the horse is a queer-lookin’ figure. It’s got on a pair of overalls, which won’t stay up, barefooted, bareheaded. It looks back at me, and I recognize Dirty Shirt by his jiggly eye.