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Updated: May 16, 2025
He bent to the cruel blows without a wince or a murmur. Only, his face was very pale when, the bully's arm being tired and his breath spent, he was flung away and permitted to stagger to the house. He crawled painfully up the wainscoted staircase and into the dark corridor leading to his bedroom.
"If you don't go about your business and let me alone, I'll turn you over to the police with a broken bone or two!" The bully's answer was a blow delivered straight from the shoulder too straight to harmonize with the fiction of drunkenness. Winton saw the sober purpose in it and went battle-mad, as a hasty man will.
But, gaze as he might into Bully's wrinkled mask, the judge never for an instant lost consciousness of the weak hind quarters, the sidelong drag of the club-foot. Very nippily the clever little Welshman went through his nimble paces, dancing to the wave of his master's handkerchief on toes as springily supple as those of any ballerina.
So sensitive was she that the mere sound of the dead bully's name made her tremble. "I remember now," she whispered. "I was sure he had killed you. I knew you would follow me, Rex. When I saw you I forgot all else in the joy of it. Are you sure you are not injured?" At another time he would have laughed, but her worn condition demanded the utmost forbearance. "No, dearest," he assured her.
Some of the neighbours who best knew the bully's quality gave Andreuccio fair words. "For God's sake," said they, "good man, take thyself off, stay not here to be murdered. 'Twere best for thee to go."
Reff Ritter stepped back to guard himself, but before he could do so, Jack's arm shot out and a heavy blow landed on the bully's chin, sending him staggering into Coulter's arms. "That's the way to do it, Jack!" came from Pepper. "He started it, now give him what he deserves!" added Fred. "That's for the slap in the face, Reff Ritter!" said Jack, in cold tones. "Now mind and keep your distance."
Paxton bumped into Reff Ritter, lost his footing, and fell over the dress-suit case in the bully's hand. "Hurrah! One down!" cried Andy Snow. "How many yards to gain for a touchdown, Nick?" "What do you mean by knocking me down!" roared Nick Paxton, as he scrambled to his feet. "I'll not stand for it." "Then sit down again," answered Pepper, merrily.
Possum, who was not very busy taking care of sick people that day, hung downward from a limb by his tail ever so long, but when Bully's papa jumped over three big stumps at once, without so much as touching one well, you should have heard the clapping and shouting then! Best of all, Sammie and Susie liked the baby deer, who stood up on his hind legs and danced, while a crow whistled.
Carson's face was severely burned by the powder, and the ball glanced over the top of his head, just cutting through the skin. The bully's rifle dropped from his hand. He had received a terrible and an utterly disabling wound. He had fought his last battle. No surgery could ever heal those fractured bones so as to put that arm again in fighting trim.
"To Winchester Stairs now's your chance before yonder bully's on his feet." It was good advice and Lancelot Vane, the young man, budding poet and playwright, who had found himself involved in a dangerous squabble, which might mean his death, over a girl whom he had only seen for a few minutes, had the sense to take it. But it was no easy task to extricate himself.
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