Part 21 (1/2)

It was a strange fight. They stood around in silence, rather frightened at Stover's frenzy. Tough McCarty, overtopping his antagonist by four good inches, stood on the defensive, seeking only to ward off the storm of frantic blows that rained on him. For d.i.n.k cared not a whit what happened to him or how he exposed himself.

Blinded by rage, crying from sheer excess of emotion, shrieking out inarticulate denunciations, he flung himself on McCarty with the recklessness of a mad dervish, crying:

”You thought I was a coward,--darn you! You great, fat slob! You thought I was afraid of a licking, did you? I'll show you. Lick me now if you can, you big brute! Lick me every day! I'm not afraid of you!”

”Confound the lunatic!” said Tough McCarty, receiving a solid thump in the ribs. ”I can't stand here, getting pummeled all day. Got to hit him--ouch!”

d.i.n.k, in his frantic rush, throwing himself under his enemy's guard, almost bore him to the ground by the shock of his onslaught. McCarty, angrily brus.h.i.+ng the blood from his already outraged nose with the cuff of his sleeve, shook himself like an angry bear and, catching Stover with a straight-arm blow, sent him rolling on the turf.

Back again and again came Stover, hurling himself wildly onto the scientific fists that sent him reeling back. The green arms of the trees, the gray faces of the onlookers, the blue of the tilting sky rushed into the reeling earth, confounded together. He no longer saw the being he was fighting, a white film slipped over everything and then all went out in blank unconsciousness.

When he opened his eyes again he was on his back, looking up through the willows at a puffy cloud that turned against the blue. At his side the brook went softly, singing in whispers the note that stirred the leaves.

Something wet fell on his face and trickled uncomfortably down his neck. Some one was applying a dripping cloth.

”Coming to?” said Cheyenne Baxter.

Then d.i.n.k remembered.

”Where is he?” he cried, trying to spring up. ”Fight him,--fight him to the end!”

A strong hand pressed him down.

”There, there, you fire-eater!” said Cheyenne. ”Go easy. You've had enough blood for one afternoon. Lie back. Shut your eyes.”

He heard whispering and the sound of voices going, and lost consciousness again.

When he saw the face of the day once more he was alone with Cheyenne, who was kneeling by his side, smiling as he watched him.

”Better now?”

”I'm all right.”

”Let me carry you.”

”I can stand.”

Cheyenne's good right arm caught him as he tottered and held him.

”I'm all right,” said d.i.n.k gruffly.

Aided by Cheyenne, he went weakly back to the Green. At the steps Tough McCarty sprang up and advanced with outstretched hand, saying:

”Put her here, d.i.n.k; you're dead game!”

Stover put his hand behind his back.

”I don't want to shake hands,” he said, flus.h.i.+ng and gazing at Tough McCarty until the pupils of his eyes seemed to dwindle, ”with you or any of you. I hate you all; you're a gang of muckers. I'll fight you now: I'll fight you to-morrow. You're too big for me now; but I'll lick you--I'll lick you next year--you, Tough McCarty--or the year after that; you see if I don't!”

Tough McCarty stood back, rightfully offended. Cheyenne led d.i.n.k up to his room and lectured him.

”Now, young bantam, listen to me. You've shown your colors and we respect you for it. But you can't fight your way into being liked--put that in your pipe and smoke it. You've got to keep a civil tongue in your head and quit thinking this place was built for your special benefit. Savez? You've got to win your way if you want to be one of us. Now, when you get your head clear, go down and apologize to Tough McCarty and the Angel, like a man.”