"Watch his feet!" cried the girl. But Jim was already watching, for he knew something of fights in lumber camps. Yet Mark did not kick just then. Instead, he lowered his head and charged like a bull, only to go plunging blindly past his objective with a cut cheek. He came back quick as a mink and tried to clinch, but Jim broke his hold and hurled him across the narrow road. And again he came back, his swarthy face livid with rage and smeared with blood, his dark eyes glinting. He feinted with both hands, then suddenly snapped up his right leg until knee and chin almost met and shot his foot forward. It was quickly done, but not quickly enough to achieve the desired result. Jim had made a violent but calculated effort to escape, a half-turn and a backward jerk, and the heel of the boot caught him on the left shoulder with reduced force instead of full-force on the chest. It landed on a pad of muscle that would have protected the bone beneath from the kick of a mule. But he staggered slightly and swore softly. The other plunged almost to the knees in recovering his balance. "Dirty work!" said Jim. "I don't like it! I've seen quite enough of your damned silly gymnastics for one day!" He pranced forward as he spoke. Mark flailed at him and fanned the wind. He knocked lightly on Mark's nose with his left, then closed for a few seconds and drummed on lean ribs, then jumped clear, side-stepped a rush and planted behind Mark's ear that which was known as the "Todhunter Snifter" at a certain school, famous for its athletes, where more than the usual curriculum is taught. Mark continued on his way along the mossy road for a dozen paces, slumping lower and lower with every pace as if the weight of the snifter was more than his knees and shoulders could support, and at last pitched forward on to the moss with the air of a weary man succumbing to the pressure of a crushing load at the end of a long portage. "Soul alive!" exclaimed Flora. "Was that your fist?" Jim nodded and smiled, but he kept his eye on Mark. "And I was afraid he would bash you all up," said Flora. Mark scrambled to his feet, turned, stood unsteadily for a few seconds, staring at Jim with a dazed look in his eyes, then advanced, with swinging fists and wavering gait. "You've had enough," said Jim. "T'hell ye say!" cried Mark, thickly. "Enough be damned! Look out for yerself! I'm a-comin'!" "Easy, Mister! Please hit him easy this time!" exclaimed Flora. Again Jim nodded and smiled, but his eye was on the groggy but unvanquished Cock of the River. "Wha's that?" cried Mark. "Easy, d'ye say? Hit yer durndest an' be damned to you! I ain't bested yet!"