Brick was deceived by the pacific tone and words. He concluded that his threat had made a wholesome impression.
“No, I’m not,” he replied, with an obstinate shake of the head.
“But you will,” thundered Bogle. “I’ll show you who is master.”
He pushed Raikes aside and knocked Brick to the floor by a heavy blow. Swearing violently, he lifted him by the hair, and dragged him over to the table. He forced him down on the bench, and pointed to the pen and ink.
“Now will you write?” he cried. “I’ll give you one minute to obey.”
Brick yelled loudly for help. He kicked and fought with all his might. In the scuffle the bench was overturned, and both landed on the floor. Brick jerked loose from his enemy, and rolled a few feet to one side. He sprang up, enraged and desperate. Bogle, too, was on his feet. Murder flashed from his eyes as he rushed at the lad.
Brick met the attack by a heavy blow of his fist. The ruffian staggered. He uttered a snarling cry. He lifted one hand to stanch the blood that flowed from his nose. Brick took advantage of this brief respite. He dodged cleverly by Raikes, who tried to stop him, and gained the farthest corner of the room. A rifle rested on two hooks above his head.
Just as he got possession of the weapon, Bogle dashed at him with a cry of fury. The ruffian was half insane. He snatched the weapon, and lifted it with both hands for a blow that would surely have split Brick’s skull open.
But just in the nick of time Raikes gained the spot and seized his comrade by the collar. He jerked him back so forcibly and quickly that the heavy stock of the rifle missed the lad by a hair’s breadth, and crashed to the floor.
“Do you want to ruin everything?” he demanded, hotly. “I saved you from murder.”