landing a stiff jab. No great damage was done yet Porker was taken with a fit of coughing, and could Lander have hammered in more blows on the throat it is possible he would have downed his man.
Porker now threw all discretion aside and rushed at his nimble adversary with the ferocity of a mad bull, swinging his long arms and ponderous fists in a thoroughly unscientific manner. It was useless to guard against such an onslaught. For a minute or two Lander ducked and dodged or slipped away, with no opportunity to take the offensive. Then he caught a buffet on the head that knocked him violently on to his back, the wind driven from his body. With a howl of triumph Porker jumped forward to stamp on him.
Prevost's pistol cracked and the lead fanned the infuriated man's face, and the leader's voice was warning: "Through your thick skull, Porker, if you don't pull up."
"He's my meat," gasped Porker, turning his bloody visage toward Prevost.
"I'll shoot you and stick you in a tree to dry if you don't come away. You won the fight. That's all."
"But he blooded me," protested Porker.
