'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!"

Dink, 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 brushing 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 Dink 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 Dink 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, Dink; you're dead game!"

Stover put his hand behind his back.

"I don't want to shake hands," he said, flushing 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