SCIENCE WINS.
Clever as was Harvey Hamilton, and skilfully as he had played the game,
he was outwitted at last, for the individual who rushed toward him was
his enemy Bill, and he carried a loaded gun.
Not only that, but after him hurried one, two, three, four others, ready
to back up their leader. One of them carried a deadly weapon. Bohunkus
Johnson was nowhere in sight.
No wonder the young aviator was dumfounded for the moment. He was still
seated, with his hands grasping the levers, but he was too wise to try
to flee, with that gun commanding him and the holder of it in the mood
to use it. In a twinkling, the grinning Bill was at his side and laid
his free hand upon one of the propeller blades.
“Shall I start the thing humming agin?” he asked with grim irony.
Harvey’s wits flashed back to him.
“Wait till I do my part,” he replied, as if the slightest
misunderstanding had not come between them.
As he spoke, he stepped on the ground and drew out his pocket book,
while the five stood expectantly around, all not understanding what the
action meant.
“I was so afraid we might have some accident with that gun,” he
remarked, observing the damaged weapon in the hands of one of the party;
“that I broke the hammers; you can get them fixed at a gunsmith’s for a
dollar, so I guess that will about make it right.”
With which he handed a ten-dollar bill to Bill, who crumpled it up and
shoved it into his pocket, without a word of acknowledgment.
The situation was delicate to the last degree. A few feet away stood
Herb, whose homely face spoke eloquently of the scrimmage through which
he had passed. One eye was closed, the upper lip was swollen to twice
its usual size, and the cheeks were bruised, to say nothing of the rent
shirt, with more than one crimson stain showing upon it. To offer to
settle the matter by handing the sufferer money was like adding insult
to injury, though the majority of mankind have little trouble in
swallowing offenses of that nature.
No one could have met the point more tactfully.
“Herb,” said Harvey, stepping toward him; “you and my colored man had a
run-in and the last I saw of him he was going for life.”
“You bet he was!” said the other; “it’s blamed lucky for him he run so
fast I couldn’t ketch him; if I’d done so there would have been a dead
nigger in these parts.”
Harvey hid the pleasure that this reply gave him. Bunk had escaped from
his foe and was safe somewhere.
“He got me foul,” Herb added, feeling that some explanation was due his
fellows who had seen him in his humiliating situation; “but I throwed
him off and then he took to his heels.”
Herb added several sulphurous exclamations which it isn’t necessary to
place on record.
“I saw him running, but I notice that he managed to injure your clothes
and it is no more than right that the damage should be taken out of his
wages. Will this make it square?”
When Herb saw the size of the bill handed to him his little gray eyes—or
rather one of them—sparkled with greed. But the three who had not been
thus remembered were angered.
“Say, boss, you seem to have a purty good wad there; ’spose you hand out
a few more of the long green.”
This suggestive remark was made by the scowling scamp who answered to
the name of Sam. As if there should be no doubt of his meaning, Bill
took it upon himself to add:
“That’s right; you don’t need any money when you’ve got that sky wagon
to tote you about. So fork over.”
Harvey’s face flushed, but holding his anger under control, he said to
Bill:
“The agreement between us was that if I handed this money to you, my
colored friend was to rejoin me and neither he nor I nor the machine be
molested.”
“How can the moke jine you when he’s run off?” asked Herb.
“We’ll waive that point, but you are not to injure my machine nor expect
any more money from me.”
“Do you mean to say you won’t give it?” demanded Bill truculently.
“I’ll die first; I didn’t know you were a gang of cowards as well as
scoundrels.”
“Who’re you calling a coward?” growled Bill, his sunburned face flushing
an angrier red.
“Every one of you! Five against one; you wouldn’t dare attack me
singly.”
“I wouldn’t, hooh? Boys,” added the bully, addressing his companions,
“this lily is my game. You don’t have any put here. Understand?”
They sourly nodded, though little or no reliance could be placed on any
promise they might make.
“Will you agree to fight me alone?” asked Harvey.
“Of course; that suits me down to the ground.”
“And the rest are not to mix in, no matter what happens?”
“Hain’t I told you that? What ails you?”
“That suits me,” replied Harvey, who coolly took off his coat and flung
it across the footrest of the aeroplane. If anything like fair play was
shown him, he had no fear of the result, for though his antagonist was
taller and possibly stronger, he knew nothing of the science of boxing.
Having doffed his outer garment, Harvey proceeded in the same deliberate
fashion to roll up his sleeves. Then he poised his right fist a few
inches in front of his chest and diagonally across it, with the left
extended toward his antagonist. The left foot was advanced so that the
weight of his body rested on the right leg, so balanced that he could
leap forward or backward as might suddenly become necessary. His
handsome face was a shade paler, and he compressed his lips as he said
in a quiet even voice:
“I’m ready!”
The prospect of a fight between two men or even boys is always sure to
interest the spectators no matter who they may be. Every one of the five
men was in a state of delighted expectation, for not an individual felt
the faintest doubt that the dandified youth was about to undergo the
beating of his life. The four were ready to promise they would remain
neutral, for they could not believe a possibility existed of their
champion needing help.
As for Bill himself, he chuckled, for he dearly loved a fight and he
felt venomous toward this intruder, because he seemed to be rich and had
lately played a humiliating trick upon him. He handed his gun to Dick,
but did not remove his coat, because he did not happen to be wearing
any. He made a motion with each hand in turn, as if to shove the bands
of his shirt toward the elbow, but he merely tightened them. He did
indulge, however, in a little act that is generally peculiar to a
countryman. He spat on his horny palms and rubbed them together.
Harvey saw from the first that though Bill might be a powerful man, he
lacked even a rudimentary knowledge of boxing. He held his fists in
front, but they were well down, separated by a wide space, and when he
drew near enough to deliver a blow, his feet were side by side. While
Harvey Hamilton’s pose was an ideal one, that of Bill was the opposite.
In contests of this nature, the sympathies of the reader are naturally
with the “gentleman,” and the story teller generally arranges that he
shall be the victor, though in real life it is not likely to happen that
way. Had the elder undergone the training of the younger, he assuredly
would have beaten him to a “frazzle,” but it was that one thing lacking
which proved the undoing of Bill.
His awkward advance upon the youth gave the latter the opening he was
waiting for, and coolly, promptly and fiercely he seized the advantage.
Bill lunged out terrifically, but the blow was a round one and being
cleverly parried, swished in front of Harvey’s face. In the same instant
his opponent made a single bound forward, so as to throw the weight of
his body into the straight, lightning-like thrust of the left fist,
which crashed against Bill’s receding chin with the force of a mule’s
kick. He went over on his back, completely knocked out and with no more
sense than a log of wood. It may be said that the fight was ended before
it fairly began.
Harvey knew some seconds must pass before Bill would be able to climb to
his feet. He shifted front in a flash and said:
“I’m waiting for the next.”
He still held his arms in position and danced deftly about as if
impatient over the slight delay in their attack. But their hesitation
was due more to bewilderment than fear, though the sight of the
motionless form stretched on the ground told its own story.
It would be thought that the courage shown by the young pugilist would
have appealed to the manhood of the others, but, sad to say, they had no
manhood to which appeal could be made. The one known as Dick shouted:
“Are we going to stand that, boys? Didn’t you see him hit Bill? He hit
him foul! Let’s lay him out!”
Harvey braved himself for the shameless attack, determined to make their
victory cost them dear. He knew that more than one would suffer, but a
pang shot through him when Dick called out:
“Let’s smash that old thing to flinders first and then serve him the
same way.”
“That’s the idee!” answered Sam; “we’ll make one job of it!”
And they charged together to carry out their cowardly threat.