"Here, I say. You'll hurt yourself directly, old man," he drawled--I suspected purposely putting on his most offensive manner. "Hurt myself will I--aw haw?" returned the other, imitating Falkner's drawl. "Hurt myself will I, my blanked popinjay? But first of all I'm going to hurt you--I'm going to hammer you within an inch of your life, and I won't promise to leave you that." He jumped off his horse, and Falkner winked at me, for this was just what he wanted. "I say, you know, I can't hit you. You're too old," he said, in a tone calculated to exasperate the other, and it had just that effect, for literally bellowing with rage Dolf came straight at him. At first Falkner undertook to play with him, but soon found that he had got his hands full, for the other had weight and was enormously strong, and although he was inferior in science his mad rushes were nearly as irresistible as those of a buffalo bull, which was just what he reminded me of, with his eyes swollen and glaring, and his beard red and shaggy with blood. But he was uncommonly quick on his pins, and did not fight blindly by any means--indeed for some time I should have been sorry to have risked a large sum on either of them. It was a battle of giants. I confess to watching the contest with a very keen interest. The Zulus standing around, were still as bronze as they craned eagerly forward to watch this, to them, absolutely novel form of battle. My people standing exactly where they had been, were no less interested spectators. At last I thought to detect a sign of weakening on the part of the enemy. Youth and science was beginning to tell against sheer strength. Norbury must have realised this, for shaking his head like a bull about to charge, he hurled himself forward for a final effort, striking out with terrific force. Falkner got it full on the forehead, but managed to keep up. The other staggered back, and then as he was about to make another rush I saw his right hand go behind him. "Drop that!" I said sharply bringing round the butt end of my whipstick upon the wrist. With a howl of rage he complied literally, as the sheath knife which he had just drawn leapt from his hand. I put my foot on it just as Falkner, rushing in, knocked him fairly and squarely out. "Two to one, you blanked cowards," he snarled, in between curses, as he picked himself unsteadily up, half stunned as he was. "That your idea of fair play, is it?" "And this is your idea of fair play?" I said, holding up the knife. It had a good eight-inch blade and was ground like a razor. "Why you infernal murderer, did you think I was going to stand by and see you use it?" "You're a liar," he answered. "I never pulled it. You knocked it out of its sheath yourself, just for an excuse to pack on to me two to one."