“Here I am! I’m ‘Thick Mike’ Milligan o’ Kaskaskia! I kin drink more likker an’ walk straighter, chaw more terbakker an’ spit less juice, break more noses an’ swaller less teeth, than any man on the rivers. I eat wildcat fer breakfast an’ alligator fer supper. I’m a ragin’ hyena! I’m a terror to snakes! Look out, fer I’m a-comin’!” As he shouted the last words, he jumped in the air and clapped his heels together. Then with a rush he charged at Abe. There was nothing awkward about the tall Hoosier now. He took a quick sidewise step, springy as a cat on his moccasined feet. One long arm shot out and caught Milligan by his thick neck, spinning him about so that he dropped on one hand and one knee. The river-man was up in an instant, roaring like a bull. But now he came on more warily, trying to get in close, where he could come to grips with his opponent. Abe, circling and retreating constantly, held him out of reach with those long, sinewy scarecrow arms of his. The onlookers began to hoot and jeer. “They call that wrastlin’ in Indianny?” yelled one. And another edged close to Abe to trip him. “Look out!” cried Tad, but his warning was unnecessary. The lanky young flatboatman had seen the movement out of the corner of his eye, and instead of falling over the outthrust foot he suddenly leaped backward, seized the tricky bystander by the collar, and hurled him through the air, straight at Milligan. Then, without the loss of a second, he was after the two of them. Catching the river bully off his balance, he lifted him clear of the ground and slammed him on his back, piling the dazed and gasping meddler on top of him before either could collect his wits. “Thick Mike” picked himself up angrily, while the crowd howled its desire for the “best two out o’ three falls!” Abe seemed to have undergone a change. He was mad now--mad clean through--and his gray eyes blazed as he trod lightly forward to meet Milligan’s attack. The river-man tried a new plan. Waiting till Abe was close, he suddenly plunged in low, hoping to get a crotch-hold and upset the lanky Hoosier. This time Abe wasted no time in dodging. Before the other’s hands were fairly on him, he had seized him with both arms around the middle and whirled him, feet in air, over his shoulder. Milligan landed heavily on the small of his back, and with a panther-like spring Abe was on him, pinning his shoulders flat. There was no longer a question as to which was the better wrestler, and the stocky Kaskaskia man was the first to admit it. He rose, still a little dizzy from the force of his fall, and shook Abe’s hand. “They ain’t many kin do that,” he grinned. “How tall air ye, lad?” “Six foot four,” said Abe. “An’ how old?” “Nineteen,” answered the flatboatman. “Great sufferin’ catfish!” the other exclaimed. “Ye’d oughter be a good-sized feller when ye grow up!”