"God!" he muttered, for had the fist caught Hale's head it must,
it seemed, have crushed it like an egg-shell. Hale coolly withdrew
his head not more than an inch, it seemed to Budd's practised eye,
and jabbed his right with a lightning uppercut into Dave's jaw,
that made the mountaineer reel backward with a grunt of rage and
pain, and when he followed it up with a swing of his left on
Dave's right eye and another terrific jolt with his right on the
left jaw, and Budd saw the crazy rage in the mountaineer's face,
he felt easy. In that rage Dave forgot his science as the Hon. Sam
expected, and with a bellow he started at Hale like a cave-dweller
to bite, tear, and throttle, but the lithe figure before him
swayed this way and that like a shadow, and with every side-step a
fist crushed on the mountaineer's nose, chin or jaw, until,
blinded with blood and fury, Dave staggered aside toward the
sergeant with the cry of a madman:
"Gimme my gun! I'll kill him! Gimme my gun!" And when the sergeant
sprang forward and caught the mountaineer, he dropped weeping with
rage and shame to the ground.
"You two just go back to town," said the sergeant.
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