A HARD BATTLE AT SANDY POINT.
The brilliant strategy of the bruiser was not affected by the visit of
Paul Bristol to the hollow tree. On the contrary, it improved its
prospects of success. The intimation that there was even a little money
in the tin box was encouraging, for it would add something to the ten
dollars he was to receive on account of his blind bargain with Walk
Billcord.
As soon as Paul disappeared in the woods, Tom took the boathook from the
Dragon, the oars being already in his possession, and hastened off in
the direction to which he had carried his previous survey of the
locality. He had found a low place beyond the site of the cottage, where
a rotten log lay on the ground. Beneath this decayed wood he deposited
the oars and boathook. Pulling off enough of the punky wood to cover the
articles, he returned to the boat with a rapid step.
He had been absent but a few minutes, and Paul had not yet appeared
with the tin box. If the cunning strategist had been asked why he
concealed the oars and the boathook, very likely he would have replied
that he had done so to prevent the possibility of an escape on the part
of his victim. But Tom was a cunning fellow, and this was by no means
his object. If he failed to accomplish his purpose in the first
onslaught, there is not the slightest doubt that he would have been
entirely willing that his intended victim should escape, and even be
glad to have him do so, even if he had been left to find his way on foot
from the point.
The three implements which constituted the furniture of the Dragon might
be dangerous weapons in the hands of a resolute fellow like Paul
Bristol. He had secured a club for himself, and picking it up, he was
plying it as a cane and plaything, in order to avert any suspicion as to
its probable use.
Paul soon returned with the tin box in his hand. It was an old mustard
can, and it was not a convenient thing to have in his pocket, and was of
no value. He took the rings and money from it, and put them into his
pocket, throwing away the can.
"How much money have you got, Bristol Brick?" asked Tom, with his usual
grin.
"Only a two-dollar bill, and that belongs to my mother," replied Paul,
who did not know his companion, and would not have been afraid of losing
the money if he had.
"Ain't you goin' to spend it down to Westport, and treat a feller that
helps you row the boat?" asked Tom, with a mighty grin.
"Of course not; I don't spend my mother's money for anything, without
her orders to do so," replied Paul.
"What odds does it make?"
"It makes a good deal of odds to me, for I don't spend what don't belong
to me. By the big wooden spoon! There comes the Sylph again, and without
the gundalow in tow. She is going as though she were running a race too.
It looks to me just as though Captain Dory Dornwood had gone crazy, and
I shouldn't wonder if Captain Gildrock hauled him over the coals for
it."
"Is the cap'n aboard?" inquired Tom.
"No; he went to Burlington this morning in the cars."
"Then he won't know nothin' about it."
"Some one will be sure to tell him; but the officers have to keep a log,
and put down the speed every hour. I am afraid Dory will catch it, for
that steamer is running fifteen knots an hour. They say she can do it,
but the fellows are not allowed to do more than twelve."
"All right; but I guess we can watch her from the boat just as well as
we can here," suggested the strategist, placing himself close behind his
victim, and bracing up for the effort he was to make.
"If she comes near us, we can hail her, and find out what she is doing,
for I should like to know," added Paul, as he stepped down to the beach,
in the direction of the bow of the boat; but his eyes were fixed all the
time on the steamer, which was certainly going like the Flying Dutchman.
"Jump in, Bristol Brick, and I will take the oars."
Paul had reached the stem of the Dragon by this time, still closely
observing the steamer. He was just beginning to wonder if she would not
blow up under such a tremendous pressure of steam as she appeared to
have on, when the arms of the cunning strategist encircled his neck, and
his right knee was applied to the small of his back. He had raised one
foot to step into the boat, but he had no chance to bring it down, for
he went over backwards on the beach.
The bruiser had the club in his hand when he passed his arm around the
neck of his victim. In the suddenness of the attack Tom Topover had it
all his own way, as he had intended to have it. As he drew his prisoner
back, he threw him over so that he fell on his face, and Tom came down
on top of him. He hugged him with all his might. Dropping the stick, he
fixed his grip on the throat of Paul, and began to jam down upon him
with his knees.
But Paul soon came to a realizing sense of his situation, and he was not
at all inclined to submit to the sharp discipline of his companion. He
began to struggle with all the energy of desperation. His hands were at
liberty, and, reaching down with them, he succeeded in getting hold of
the legs of his assailant. He immediately put a stop to the action of
the assailant's knees, and then, with a mighty effort, rolled over so
that Tom was under him, though Paul was still wrong side up.
With the weight of his victim upon him, Tom could no longer kick or use
his knees, and Paul's hands were relieved for other duty. He brought
them up and got hold of Tom's hair, getting two fistfuls of it, for the
bruiser did not wear a fighting cut just then. He pulled with all his
strength, increased by his desperation. At the same time the struggle
with the other parts of the body continued, Tom's hair was coming out by
the roots, and the intense pain caused him to yield a little of his hold
at the prisoner's neck.
Paul felt his advantage, and, seizing the hands of his foe, dragged them
from his throat. This enabled him to turn over in part so that he could
use his fists. He did not wait for any preliminaries, but rained his
blows upon the head of his assailant in the agony of his desperation.
Tom could no more stand this treatment than he could have endured the
pounding of a trip-hammer. He begged for mercy, and Paul let him up.
Neither of them could speak, and Tom's dirty face was covered with
blood. Both were gasping for breath, and an involuntary truce prevailed.
Paul had received no blows in the face, though his throat was
considerably lacerated by the nails of his cowardly enemy. Tom was now
in a position to understand the reason why the six ruffians had been so
badly used before they succeeded in making a prisoner of Paul. It seemed
to make no difference in the end whether the attack was made in the
front or the rear. Possibly, the brilliant strategist was willing to
believe that he had made a mistake in the quality and quantity of his
intended victim.
A couple of minutes were enough to enable the combatants to recover
their breath. Neither of them said a word, but Tom suddenly made a
spring at Paul, this time with clenched fists. But the latter had been
looking for something of this kind, and he easily parried the blows
aimed at him, and then upset the bruiser with a heavy blow between the
eyes. Paul realized that he could do this sort of thing till the sun
went down, but he was tired of it.
Tom lay still for a minute or so after his fall, for his ideas were
doubtless greatly confused. Paul looked at him; and as he did so he saw
one of the coils of rope-yarn sticking out of his trousers pocket. He
seized it at once, and, turning his assailant over, tied his hands
behind him, and then secured his arms at the elbows. As Tom came to a
realizing sense of his defeat, he began to resist, but the bruiser was
about played out, and Paul dragged him to a tree and made him fast.
"You don't fight fair, Bristol Brick," said he, rather feebly, and he
made a weak attempt to break from his bonds.
"I don't mean to fight fair with such fellows as you are," replied
Paul, looking with disgust at his prisoner. "I suppose you do, though,
and that's the reason you pitched into me when my back was turned. You
may call it fair to jump on a fellow's back and pull him down."
"But 't ain't fair for you to tie me afore we have done," groaned Tom.
"That's mean, and Tom Topover never lets up on a feller that don't fight
fair."
"Oh, then, you are Tom Topover, are you?" exclaimed Paul, looking over
his victim from head to foot. "Why didn't you tell me who you were when
I asked you?"
"I was afear'd you'd run away if I told you who I was," answered the
bruiser, who was likely to be a bully to the end.
"I don't believe I should have run away," added Paul, with a smile on
his face. "I don't run away from such carrion as you are."
"You haven't seen the end of this thing yet. I can lick you in fair
fight any time," blustered Tom, as he began to regain his strength.
"Will you do it now if I let you loose?" demanded Paul sharply.
"I don't feel very well to-day," replied Tom, after some hesitation. "I
ain't in fightin' trim nohow, and that's the reason I got the worst
on't so fur."
"What did you pitch into me for if you are not in good condition?"
demanded Paul, who was good-natured enough by this time to smile.
"I didn't think you was so much of a feller, and I had to do what I did
to-day," muttered Tom.
"Why to-day?" demanded Paul.
"Well, I agreed to do it."
"Whom did you agree with?" continued Paul, picking up the stick the
mighty strategist had brought from the woods.
"It don't make no difference," whined Tom, evidently startled when he
saw the weapon in the hand of his conqueror.
"Yes, it does make all the difference in the world; and if you don't
tell me in two seconds, I will take it out of your hide!" exclaimed the
son of toil, demonstrating violently with the stick.
"I didn't agree to do it, but Walk Billcord was to give me ten dollars
for the job. He didn't say he would, but we understood one another,"
answered Tom, in mortal terror.
"That's all I want to know," added Paul, as he walked towards the boat.
He looked into the Dragon, but did not see the oars. He searched all
about the beach without being able to find them. While he was thus
engaged, the steamer came within a few feet of the shore. He concluded
that the absence of the oars was a part of the cunning strategist's
plan; and he was about to return to the tree where Tom was tied, when
the steamer rang one bell, followed by two. This meant stop and back
her.
Paul picked up the stick he had brought to the water side, and, without
looking particularly at the Sylph, he pushed off the boat, and then gave
it a hard shove with the short pole. The impetus carried the Dragon to
the side of the steam yacht, and he sprang on board of her with the
painter in his hand.