He bent his huge body, ducked his head in excellent imitation of a sheep, and bleated loud enough to be heard a mile. Hitch Diamond sprang to his feet and whooped: “I’s de swamp wildcat whut kin claw de cockle-burs outen dat ole buck’s wool!” He screamed in perfect imitation of a Louisiana panther and met Conko Mukes in the middle of the ring. Then Hitch Diamond presented a wonderful exhibition of skill and quickness, going in and out again, landing a blow to the eyes, to the jaw, to the ribs, ducking a counter, dancing lightly away, dancing lightly in, with quick, deft, dangerous blows, rushing things, and waiting for an opening left by that slow-moving man before him. That opening came, and Hitch’s right arm flashed into it, a right hook with all the weight of his pouncing body behind it. Conko Mukes fell like the rotten trunk of a tree falls in the forest. The crowd sighed like a great furnace, and a ripple of awestricken applause began close to the ringside and rolled like a wave to the edge of the amphitheater. As Conko took the count, a golden-brown girl with large, bold, black eyes and long, straight, coal-black hair which made her octoroon complexion appear almost white, walked up close to the ring. The hands clasped over her full bosom were trembling, and her eyes glowed like coals of fire. It was Goldie, Hitch Diamond’s wife. “Look out, Hitchey!” she exclaimed. “Don’t let dat Conko Mukes git too close to you! Knock him out in dis round! I knows somepin ’bout him dat you don’t know!” “He don’t look so awful dangersome now, Goldie,” Hitch replied, grinning at his wife, as she stood by the ropes. Conko Mukes had rolled over and knelt on one knee, listening as Vinegar Atts stood over him counting in a loud voice. At the ninth he arose. Springing across the ring with lightning quickness, Conko landed a blow on Hitch’s jaw just as he turned away from his wife; with a grunt, Hitch fell flat to the ground within reach of Goldie’s hand. But the blow had been too hastily delivered and missed the point of the jaw by an inch. In an instant Hitch was up and fighting like a panther. The rest of the round was a nigger whirlwind finish. The darkies grappled like clumsy grizzlies, punching, biting, wrestling, growling ferociously. Around and around, they butted and pushed, bellowing and braying, striking any sort of blows, landing them everywhere they could, while the crowd cheered each man as he gained a slight advantage without partizanship. When the men retired to their corners the crowd went mad, and the voices were yelling: “Go it, Hitch!” “Knock his block off, Conko!” “Kill him dead, Hitch!” “You’ll git him in de nex’ round, Conko!” As for Skeeter Butts, he could have qualified for the lunatic asylum. “Fer Gawd’s sake, Conko,” he chattered, “ef you got any hoodoo stunts to wuck on Hitch, you better wuck ’em. Dat nigger’s done had you down two times----”