"That's right," chimed in Teeter. "You hadn't any right to use frozen balls, Hiram."
"Sure not!" came in a menacing chorus from Joe's crowd of lads.
"Well, they weren't frozen very hard," mumbled Hiram. "I only threw a few, anyhow, and you've got more fellows than we have."
"Because we captured some of yours—yes," admitted Joe.
"Well, all right then," answered the bully with no good grace. "But if you throw at my face again, at such close range, Joe Matson, I'll give you the best licking you ever had."
"Two can play at that game," was Joe's retort. "I'm ready any time you are."
"Why don't you go at him now, and clean him up?" asked Luke Fodick, making his way to where Hiram stood. "If you don't he'll be saying he backed you to a standstill. Go at him, Hiram."
"I've a good notion to," muttered the bully. He measured with his eye the distance between himself and Joe, and wondered if he could cover it in a rush, carry his opponent off his feet, and batter and pummel him as they rolled down the fort wall together.
"Go on!" urged Luke.
