36 Sporting Sketches 



This meant " scrap " for sure, and I didn't like 

 the prospect a bit. Three to two, and every man 

 armed with grains, was nasty. The three could 

 certainly do us if they wanted to, as there was little 

 to choose between any two of the party, so far as I 

 knew. The man spoken to merely stepped off a 

 few paces to one side, drove his spear into the 

 ground, shed his coat, and came back saying, "Jest 

 as soon tackle you as eat." If it hadn't been for 

 Jack's hard cider, I would not have worried much 

 about him, for he was a powerful, though clumsy, 

 fellow, trained by plenty of hard work. The chance 

 of the others mixing in was promptly settled by one 

 of them saying to me, " You keep back on your side, 

 and we'll do the same." I presume that I should 

 have done my best to check hostilities, but, honestly, 

 I didn't feel called upon to start a Sunday-school 

 just then. So long as they scrapped fair and wanted 

 to, and I didn't have to get punched or speared, I 

 was quite willing to look on. 



There was no pretence at science. They slugged 

 each other, bang-bang, half a dozen times, missed 

 with many wild swings, and then Jack went down 

 in a very wet spot. As he picked himself up I 

 advised him, " Best clinch him, Johnnie," and was 

 promptly told to " shut my trap " by the other 

 spectators. Jack heard, however, and soon they 

 were all snarled together, kicking up ground and 

 milling away at a great rate. In the roll around 

 they got mixed up with the fish and we shifted the 

 grains well out of reach, for both were now pretty 

 well scraped and punched and screaming mad. 



It was an even thing until they broke apart on 



