The other, who seemed to have faith in the leisurely mood of Rivera, softly doffed coat and waistcoat, and stood in his shirt of gray cloth, trousers and shoes. Rivera similarly prepared himself; he would meet his enemy in the same light costume. “Best to turn up your trowsers, lad,” advised the fighting man, “as I does. They may 'inder your veet, else, in steppin'.” When these improvements had been wrought, the fighting man's thought would double a new corner. “And yet,” he remarked, complainingly, “w'at's the bloomin' use? 'Ere's them coves all run away”--pointing to the last of the trio whom Rivera had beaten down, as that unworthy staggered to his feet and lurched off into the darkness--“an' no purse nor nothink to vight for. I sees no use, lad, in our puttin' hup our 'ands.” This last in a grieved tone. “But you must fight,” remonstrated Rivera, in a sharp, eager fashion. “You came to this town to beat me. Will you now let yourself be stopped and never a blow? Are you afraid?” “Me, afeerd?” retorted the fighting man, fiercely, his little eyes like sparks. “W'y, lad! th' cove doant stan' in leather as I'm afeerd on. Me, a fourteen stoner, leery? An' of only one? Well, I likes that!” The disgust of the fighting man was unmistakable. It was a queer position, this waiting to be spectator of a fist duel between these game-some ones, but I did not feel free to leave until the thing should end. When the fighting man, arms crossed, came pacifically up, I would have been for going forward to lay hold on him, but Rivera, with a manner like a prayer and as he who seeks a favor for his soul, besought me to withstay my hand. “Don't,” pleaded Rivera, but never taking his gaze from the man, “don't; he is mine.” With that, giving over whatever of right I may have owned to the fellow, I went to Peg where she stood on a little knoll among the deeper shadows of the woods. “I should take you to safety at once,” said I, in explanation of my loitering lack of expedition, “but I would see Rivera through this.” “I do not want to go,” replied Peg, gazing the while as with a kind of fascination. Peg's face wore a flush of excitement; this I could tell even in the shadows, and her words had a great ring of interest. I did not remark on the strangeness of it, nor frame a rebuke for that she should love to look on while gladiators fought. I, myself,--for I confess to a mighty lust of strife,--was hot to see what might follow, and it came to me as quite the thing that Peg should share my feeling. It was the savage in her blood, as the General would have said; but, a trifle strung of the fracas and with the wolf in me at full stretch, I felt no amazement, but only sympathy for Peg's sentiment. As Peg and I stood considering the others in their words and motions, Rivera pointed to a level, glady spot where no trees grew and the moonlight came down in a white flood. “That should be a fine place,” said Rivera to the fighting man, “for us to try each other?”