The battles Lander had witnessed at St. Charles were tame affairs compared with this. With hoots of joy the mountain men formed a wide ring. Some of the Indians galloped up and to them Bridger explained that two of his men were playing a game. The two combatants discarded all finesse and came together with the intention of sticking until only one was able to stand.
Lander held his breath at the terrific punishment each inflicted and received. It seemed impossible that the human frame could survive such assaults. Baker was an inch shorter than Simons and quite a few pounds lighter. But his technique was that of a panther, a tremendous driving power that allowed his antagonist no breathing spell; an implacable hurricane that would rage until there was nothing left to assail. Long Simons physically was far above the average caliber of man, and grunted with joy in finding a full fight was brought to him.
From the moment they clashed it was almost impossible to distinguish them. They became a revolving mass, two dynamos that whirled over on the ground like a fly-wheel. When they came erect it was only to fall again.
There was no waiting, no cautious testing of
