or utter a
sound. The rest crowded around.

"What are y' doen' there?" said Steve, shaking him with insane
vindictiveness.

"Drop that boy!" said the voice of Lime, and voice never sounded
sweeter. "Drop that boy!" he repeated, and his voice had a peculiar
sound, as if it came through his teeth.

Steve dropped him, and turned with a grating snarl upon Lime, who opened
his way through the excited crowd while Johnny stumbled, leaped and
crawled out of the ring and joined Frank. "Oh, it's you, is it? You
white-livered"----He did not finish, for the arm of the blond giant shot
out against his face like a beetle, and down he rolled on the grass.
The sound of the blow made Johnny give an involuntary, quick cry.

"No human bein' could have stood up agin that blow," Crandall said
afterwards. "It was like a mule a-kickin'."

As Steve slowly gained his feet, the silence was so great that Johnny
could hear the thumping of his heart and the fierce, almost articulate
breathing of Steve. The chatter and roar of the drunken crowd had been
silenced by this encounter of the giants. The open door, where Hank
stood, sent a reddish bar of light upon the two men as they faced each
other with a sort of terrific calm. In his swift gaze in search of his
brother, John noticed the dark wood, the river murmuring drowsily over
its foam-wreathed pebbles, and saw his brother's face white with
excitement, but not fear.

Lime's blow had dazed Steve for a moment, but at the same time it had
sobered him. He came to his feet with a rising mutter that sounded like
the swelling snarl of a tiger. He had been taken by surprise before, and
he now came forward with his hands in position, to vindicate his
terrible reputation. The two men met in a frightful struggle. Blows that
meant murder were dealt by each. Each slapping thud seemed to carry the
cracking of bones in it. Steve was the more agile of the two and
circled rapidly around, striking like a boxer.

Every time his face came into view, with set teeth and ferocious scowl,
the boys' spirits fell. But when they saw the calm, determined eyes of
Lime, his watchful, confident look, they grew assured. All depended upon
him. The Nagle gang were like wolves in their growing ferocity, and as
they outnumbered the other party two to one, it was a critical quarter
of an hour. In a swift retrospect they remembered the frightful tales
told of this very spot--of the killing of Lars Peterson and his brother
Nel