"Pete's lost his nerve," cried Jack.
"He couldn't throw you in a hundred years," shouted Tim, gleefully.
Dave unexpectedly fell flat on his face, his surprised opponent sprawling across his prostrate form. Then, with a swift movement of tremendous power, Dave began turning over, and a roar came from the boys when they saw Pete's shoulder rising high in the air.
The latter wildly attempted to loosen his hold—and succeeded. But the impetus of Dave Brandon's push kept him rolling over, and, like a flash, the stout boy had turned and pounced upon him.
The astounded Pete, frantically struggling to arise, found himself thrown backward with a force that fairly took his breath away. He struck the turf sideways, and, by the aid of a bush, pulled himself over on his stomach.
"None o' that, Colliver!" roared Buck James. "Ye ain't wrestlin' bushes. Next time ye do it I'll disqualify ye."
"Much you've got ter say 'bout it," puffed Pete.
"Don't waste no breath in talkin', Pete," counseled Jimmy, in worried tones. "Keep yer peepers open; he's a-layin' fur ye."
"An' I know whar he'll be layin' in another minute," snarled Pete, slowly rising.
Any one less stout-hearted than Dave Brandon might have quailed before the fierce looks and threatening attitude of the lumberjack. Pete's eyes blazed with fury. His big hands were opening and closing convulsively, and his massive chest heaved with physical and mental stress. He had counted upon an easy victory, and, so far, the advantage was all on the other side.