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WILD MARGARET, 9
which he had come, and he didn’t see the young girl, who
had been near enough to witness the scene from its com-
_Mmencement, and was now kneeling down by the dog and
murmuring womanly words of pity and sympathy.
‘‘ Let the gentleman alone, Jem,’’ said one of the men.
“oT was all your fault. What did you want togoand kick
the dawg for? Beg the gentleman’s pardon, and go and
get your beer.”’
¥or all response Jem commenced to turn up his sleeves.
Two or three of the men got between them, but the young
fellow waved them aside.
‘*Don’t interfere,’? my men, he said pleasantly. ‘* Your
friend is dying for a fight, I can see, and a little exercise
will give me an appetite. Just stand back, will you?”
The next instant Pyke rushed at him, and the first blows
were delivered. .
The girl heard the sound of them, and, with a cry of
fear and horror, started as if to run across to them, but
her heart failed her, and she shrank back against the
hedge, looking on with hands clasped, and her face white
and terrified.
The man Pyke was a giant in length and strength, but
he was ina rage, and no man whois in a rage can fight
well. The young fellow on the other hand was, now, in
the best of humor, and thoroughly enjoying himself, and
he parried the furious onslaught of his opponent as easily
as if he were having a set-to ata gymnasium. The blows
grew quicker and smarter, one from the young man had
reached Mr. Pyke’s face, and had cooled him a little. He
-saw that if he meant to win he must play more cautiously,
and drawing back a little, he began again, with something
like calculation. Like the blows of a sledge hanimer his
fists fell upon the chest of the young fellow, one struck
him upon the lip and the blood started. ~
With a smile the young man seemed to think that it was
time to end the little drama, and planting his left foot
firmly forward, he delivered one blow straight from -the
shoulder. It fell upon the bully’s forehead with a fearful
crash, and the same instant, as it seemed, he staggered
and fell full length to the ground. A murmur of con-
sternation and admiration—for the blow had really been a
skillful one—arose from the group of onlookers, and they
crowded round the prostrate man. :
‘*Dang me if I don’t think he’s killed ’im!’’ exclaimed
the ostler, lifting Jem Pyke’s head on his knee.
‘* What do you say?”’ said the young fellow, and, push-
ing them aside, he bent down and examined his late foe.
‘*No, he’s not dead. See, he’s coming to already. Get
some water, some of you—better still, some brandy. That’s