THE BATTLER
Nick stood up. He was all right. He looked up the track at the lights of the caboose going out of sight around a curve. There was water on both sides of the track, then tamarack swamp.
He felt of his knee. The pants were torn and the skin was barked. His hands were scraped and there were sand and cinders driven up under his nails. He went over to the edge of the track, down the little slope to the water and washed his hands. He washed them carefully in the cold water, getting the dirt out from the nails. He squatted down and bathed his knee.
That lousy crut of a brakeman. He would get him some day. He would know him again. That was a fine way to act.
"Come here, kid," he said. "I got something for you."
He had fallen for it. What a lousy kid thing to have done. They would never suck him in that way again.
"Come here, kid, I got something for you." Then wham and he lit on his hands and knees beside the track.
Nick rubbed his eye. There was a big bump coming up. He would have a black eye, all
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