YOUNG GLADIATORS MEET
"Going to take off your boots?" questioned Steve.
"Sure."
"Then I'll take mine off, too."
He did so, tightened his belt and stepped out into the drift well within
the flickering circle of light shed by the two candles.
"How are we going to decide it, Bob?"
"The fellow who gets knocked out first loses. No second chance. Are you
ready?"
"I've been ready for the last five minutes."
"Look out--I'm coming!"
Jarvis made a rush, swinging a quick blow at the head of his opponent.
Steve ducked and went under it, at the same time giving Bob a jolt in
the ribs that made the larger boy grunt.
"Hello! You ain't such an easy mark as you'd have me believe, eh? Been
playing off, have you? Said you couldn't fight."
"I never said so. I said I wasn't a fighter. I hope I have higher
ambitions in life than that. But is this a fight or an argument?"
"It's a fight," shouted Jarvis, dancing in, his arms working like a
piston rod.
Both boys led for the head at the same instant. Each countered with his
left, receiving the other's blow on his arm. After a rapid exchange of
blows, none of which landed, they backed away. But Steve, without
waiting for his opponent to take the lead, became the aggressor now. He
sprang in as lightly as a cat, and ere the taller boy could get his
guard up, had planted a blow on Jarvis' nose that sent the other's head
back and the blood spurting from his nose.
Whack!
Steve landed another on the side of Bob's jaw. It was a glancing blow,
Jarvis having turned a little, else the boy would have been knocked out
and the battle ended then and there.
Quick as a flash, Jarvis put a fist to Steve's neck and the lad went
down in a heap while Bob stood over him exultingly.
"Got your medicine that time, didn't you?" he jeered.
Steve, on all fours, was getting ready to spring up. His eyes were on
his adversary, watching him narrowly. Rush's head was aching, but he
gave no heed to that.
"You will have to give it to me in bigger doses than that if you expect
a cure," retorted Steve, with a short laugh, as he sprang up and danced
away from the taller boy for a few seconds. Then he closed in like a
whirlwind. For a full minute it was give and take. Both lads were
strong, and each was handy with his fists, though Steve Rush showed more
skill than did his opponent. This was offset by Jarvis' greater height
and weight.
Many a hard blow was struck in that round, after which the boys backed
away instinctively. Jarvis' nose had sustained several bangs. It was
somewhat larger than when the fight had begun; Steve, on the other hand,
had a half-closed eye.
"I'll put a spectacle on the other one before I've done with you,"
jeered Bob.
"Then I'll give you one of the same sort," retorted Steve, planting a
blow on Bob's right eye. Bob dropped as if he had been hit with a club.
But he was up like a flash. This time he was thoroughly angry. He
charged Steve with a roar, receiving two quick, short-arm jolts on the
side of the head that made that member spin dizzily.
For the next five minutes it was give and take again. Then Steve struck
his opponent a blow in the ribs that brought a loud "ouch!" from the
taller boy.
Rush grinned, but there was no mirth in the grin. It was one of savage
satisfaction. Now the lad settled down grimly to his work. He battled
with dogged determination, taking his punishment as a matter of course,
beating, hammering, dodging, ducking, but without the slightest trace of
anger or excitement in his face. His was a will that in the battle of
life sweeps all obstacles from its path.
The battle had not been in progress long before a miner passing the
outer end of the drift had discovered what was going on. Summoning some
of his companions, the men ran down where the fight was in progress.
They were about to interfere, when Steve, in a momentary lull, said:
"Please don't interfere. This is a perfectly friendly little argument.
We've got to fight it out."
The men laughed uproariously.
"You look the part, both of you. Go it, then, if you've got to fight.
We'll see that each of you gets fair play."
But the boys did not hear. They were at it again and with a savageness
that had not marked their fighting before. Two blows delivered at the
same instant landed both boys on their backs on the ground.
The miners yelled for sheer joy.
Bounding to their feet, the combatants went at it again hammer and
tongs; and, though they were mere lads, it is doubtful if the
spectators ever had witnessed a more scientific battle with fists. The
lads were side-stepping and dancing in their stocking feet, not heeding
the sharp pieces of rock and ore that cut into their feet, drawing the
blood at almost every step.
They had battled steadily for over ten minutes. The face of each was
covered with blood and it was with difficulty that the lads were able to
see at all. They had barely one set of good eyes between them. Jarvis
was getting more and more desperate. Try as he might his superior
strength was not equal to the task of putting Steve Rush down and out.
For every blow delivered Bob got a return that he felt all over his body
from his head to his feet.
At last Bob thought he saw an opening to deliver a knock-out blow. He
let go with all his strength. The blow struck nothing more substantial
than thin air. Then, like a bolt of lightning, the fist of Steve Rush
shot out, catching Jarvis under the nose, lifting the larger boy from
his feet, sending him crashing against the shore wall of the drift.
"That settles him," shouted the spectators. "My, what a wallop! That
would have knocked down one of the mules in number seven level. I'll bet
he doesn't wake up in----"
Bob Jarvis was already awake. Despite the terrific blow under which he
had gone down he was quickly on his feet. It was observed that he
staggered a little. Both boys were beginning to show their weariness,
though Jarvis exhibited more of this than did Steve.
"Call it a draw, lads," yelled the miners.
"Not till I give him back for that last one," roared Bob, making a
vicious lunge at his companion.
The blow barely grazed the left cheek of the smaller of the lads, he
having moved his head slightly to one side to avoid the blow.
"I'll hand it out to you, Bob," said Steve.
Once more Jarvis was lifted from his feet and this time he was laid on
his back on the ground, while Steve leaned against the wall of the
drift, panting heavily.
"Call it off! Call it off, or we'll take a hand in the game," warned the
miners.
Jarvis had staggered to his feet and Rush was lurching to meet him.
There was a slow exchange of blows and the lads clinched, each with an
arm about the other's neck. For a full minute they stood thus, panting,
striving to collect their strength to continue the battle.
Jarvis made a feeble effort to deliver a right-hand hook on his
opponent's jaw, but there was not enough steam in the blow to do any
damage.
Steve retaliated with a vicious punch in the pit of Jarvis' stomach--a
blow that made the larger boy grunt and cling heavily to the neck of his
adversary.
"Have you got enough?" breathed Steve.
"No!"
Bob managed to land a fairly strong blow on Steve's neck.
The latter returned the compliment by a vicious punch in the ribs that
caused the larger boy to hug his opponent closer. Then all at once, with
the last ounce of their failing strength, the two youthful gladiators
began delivering short-arm jolts, each standing with an arm about the
other's neck, driving in the blows with all the strength he had left.
Not for a moment had either lad sought to foul the other. It was a
"square" fight, such as is seldom seen between professionals.
No more steam was left in their blows. They had fired their last round.
"Shall we call it quits, Bob?" breathed Rush in the ear of his opponent.
"I--I guess we'd better, if we expect to report for duty this
afternoon."
Steve promptly released himself from the grip of the other boy's arm,
and, staggering to a side wall, leaned against it heavily. Jarvis did
the same.
Just then the whistle blew three sharp blasts. It was the signal for the
miners to return to their work. Jarvis staggered out into the centre of
the drift, extending a hand. Steve met him half way.
"Shake!" said Bob. "You're the squarest and the pluckiest bundle of
muscle that I ever went up against."
"The same to you," glowed Steve Rush, gripping the hand of his late
adversary. Then each with an arm about the other's shoulder started for
the main level. The desperate battle that was to be the beginning of a
friendship of many years, had ended in a draw, with Steve having a shade
the better of the argument.