Only fitful gusts of wind and stamping of horses' hoofs broke the tense silence, as the two boys faced each other again.
Like boxers sparring for openings, they circled about, each wary and determined. Pete's reputation was at stake, while Dave, thoroughly aroused, felt that he, too, must prove his mettle. He quickly ducked and danced away as Colliver's arm swung toward him.
"You'd best take it on the run, feller," fumed Pete.
He had now thrown aside all caution. Spurred on by Tom Smull's loud yells, he hurled himself recklessly toward his cooler opponent.
It was a chance for which Dave had been waiting. Taking swift advantage of Pete's awkward lunge, he secured an arm and leg hold, jerking him around with a force that brought a shout from the excited boys. Even Pete Colliver's muscular shoulders were powerless to resist the fierceness of Dave Brandon's counter attack.
With the veins in his forehead bulging out, the Rambler, calling every ounce of strength to his aid, bore Pete backward, threw him heavily to the ground, and fell across his prostrate form.
Colliver tried in vain to squirm and twist away. Slowly, inexorably, his shoulders were forced back to the ground, and while a chorus of shouts from the boys swelled into a storm of applause, Pete was pinned down hard and fast—conquered.
The abrupt and decisive ending of the contest was viewed by the lumbermen almost in silence; their astonishment seemed too great for words. Jimmy, Alf Griffin and Tom Smull stood staring blankly, as though they were unable to believe that the heretofore invincible Pete was lying before their eyes vanquished at last, and by a mild-looking stout boy. Dismay was written on their bronzed faces, but there were gleams of satisfaction, however, on some of the others.
"Mebbe it won't stop that yawp o' hisn," remarked Buck James, complacently.
"Wal, I swan!" exclaimed Jimmy, violently. "If this hyar ain't a go! Bet five cents the big un dasn't try it ag'in."