Neither of them could speak, and Tom's dirty face was covered with blood. Both were gasping for breath, and an involuntary truce prevailed. Paul had received no blows in the face, though his throat was considerably lacerated by the nails of his cowardly enemy. Tom was now in a position to understand the reason why the six ruffians had been so badly used before they succeeded in making a prisoner of Paul. It seemed to make no difference in the end whether the attack was made in the front or the rear. Possibly, the brilliant strategist was willing to believe that he had made a mistake in the quality and quantity of his intended victim. A couple of minutes were enough to enable the combatants to recover their breath. Neither of them said a word, but Tom suddenly made a spring at Paul, this time with clenched fists. But the latter had been looking for something of this kind, and he easily parried the blows aimed at him, and then upset the bruiser with a heavy blow between the eyes. Paul realized that he could do this sort of thing till the sun went down, but he was tired of it. Tom lay still for a minute or so after his fall, for his ideas were doubtless greatly confused. Paul looked at him; and as he did so he saw one of the coils of rope-yarn sticking out of his trousers pocket. He seized it at once, and, turning his assailant over, tied his hands behind him, and then secured his arms at the elbows. As Tom came to a realizing sense of his defeat, he began to resist, but the bruiser was about played out, and Paul dragged him to a tree and made him fast. "You don't fight fair, Bristol Brick," said he, rather feebly, and he made a weak attempt to break from his bonds. "I don't mean to fight fair with such fellows as you are," replied Paul, looking with disgust at his prisoner. "I suppose you do, though, and that's the reason you pitched into me when my back was turned. You may call it fair to jump on a fellow's back and pull him down." "But 't ain't fair for you to tie me afore we have done," groaned Tom. "That's mean, and Tom Topover never lets up on a feller that don't fight fair." "Oh, then, you are Tom Topover, are you?" exclaimed Paul, looking over his victim from head to foot. "Why didn't you tell me who you were when I asked you?" "I was afear'd you'd run away if I told you who I was," answered the bruiser, who was likely to be a bully to the end. "I don't believe I should have run away," added Paul, with a smile on his face. "I don't run away from such carrion as you are." "You haven't seen the end of this thing yet. I can lick you in fair fight any time," blustered Tom, as he began to regain his strength. "Will you do it now if I let you loose?" demanded Paul sharply. "I don't feel very well to-day," replied Tom, after some hesitation. "I ain't in fightin' trim nohow, and that's the reason I got the worst on't so fur."