Part 19 (1/2)
”Wait till I tie this beast,” he said, ”and you can peel off all the hide you're able!”
Tusk clicked his tongue and chuckled in fiendish delight as he watched Brent dismount. Dollars were nothing to him now. He was about to thrash the ”railroad feller”--to kill him, maybe--and the world seemed transformed into a whirlwind of happiness.
Brent, coming slowly back, considered that in his recent college days his right punch had been a potent factor. In the gym it had come to be an unanswerable argument, and outside of the gym on one or two occasions--perhaps others might have been recalled--it was respectfully, even though dreamily, remembered.
But now, as he stood on the ground, the abnormally long arms of the antagonist before him precluded any reasonable chance of putting this narcotic into effect--at least, where it had heretofore proved its value. The point of the jaw had been his favorite spot, but the point of this fellow's jaw would be as difficult to reach as Mars. However, he approached warily, taking a close look at the ground to make sure there were no hindrances to footwork, and rather humorously whispering: ”Brent, if I didn't actually know better, I'd take you for as big an idiot as this b.o.o.b who'll probably crack your nut.” He had as whimsical a way of going into dangers as of going into pleasures, and now there was no trace of anger.
Tusk, watching him approach, raised his hand and blinked at a stone he had slyly picked up. But when he, too, saw his opponent on foot he scorned the need of a weapon, even so primitive. Quite deliberately then he rolled his tattered sleeves up on those powerful, freckled, hairy arms; and grinned, showing the hideous yellow teeth.
CHAPTER XV
TRYING TO PLAY FAIR
”Put up your paddles now, Mr. Potter,” Brent said, edging to the left.
His arms were working like slowly moving piston-rods of an engine, that is capable of great speed. He was on his toes, and his sinuous movements seemed to speak of highly tempered springs and oil. He was indeed a different Brent from any which the countryside had heretofore seen.
”Come ahead, old mutton-top,” he laughed. ”I'm going to fill your eye!”
To Tusk's imagination this shy fighter who kept himself at safe distances now became suddenly elongated, and then as suddenly grew normal. In the meanwhile, however,--in that infinitesmal part of a second during which the transformation occurred--a fist as hard as rocks smashed into his mouth. It was the sting of the blow, more than its actual force, which made the big fellow wild with rage; and as this increased in fury Brent kept up a rapid conversation generously punctuated with cool, insulting epithets. It was unbearable to the simple-minded Tusk who struck with a savageness that would have felled an ox. He charged his foe but never found him, he cursed and drooled and charged again, until at last Brent said in a tone of great solicitude:
”Well, old throw-back, I reckon I'll have to uncouple you now, and let in the twilight! Hate to do it--Ugh!” The right swing went smas.h.i.+ng out--not to the jaw, but at just the proper instant to the pit of Tusk's stomach. In another fraction of a second Brent was five feet away, wiping the perspiration from his forehead and watching the big fellow crumple up.
For he was clutching, tearing open his s.h.i.+rt and swaying. His eyes stared wildly, his face was drawn and his mouth was open to its fullest capacity in a struggle for breath. Then he went down, all of a heap; tried to regain his feet, but failed, and crawled about on his hands and knees in the dust, still fighting for that first gasp of air which seemed tauntingly to stand between him and eternity. When it came, he rolled over on his back and lay there panting.
”Get up,” Brent scowled. ”We've got to finish this sc.r.a.p, and I'm in a hurry!”
Tusk blinked at him in sheer perplexity. ”What's yoh idee of finish?” he asked.
”I'll show you in a minute. Get up!”
”That don't sound like good sense to me,” Tusk whined. ”Say, how'd you do that, anyhow? I've knocked a lot with fellers, but--”
There was a spirit of forgiveness in the voice, a whisper of reconciliation, but Brent wanted his victory to be absolute. He appeared to go into a towering rage, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his face into a distorted horror, stamping about like a demon, and disfiguring himself as much as possible--trying, Chinese fas.h.i.+on, the experiment of terrifying the enemy into abject submission, and having a great deal of fun throughout.
Growing more and more superst.i.tious about this mysteriously delivered blow from a man of smaller stature, and his apparent confidence to do it again any number of times, Tusk remained in a sitting position and stared. He became gradually impressed with a feeling that here was his master, and the more Brent raved the more he cringed. At last he whined:
”I don't want no moh!”
”Will you come back with me and tell Tom Hewlet what I say?”
”Yep.”
”And make him believe it?”
”He's durn sure to believe it when I tell 'im 'bout this heah!”
”All right; get up. You and I can be good friends, or d.a.m.n bad ones, whichever you please; and it all depends on how you act tonight. Come on, before he goes to bed!”
As they proceeded toward Tom's house, but a few hundred yards away, Brent, still laughing under his breath, continued: