Jonathan Moore was called to referee the match which was to consist of “best two in three” falls. He tossed up a coin, winning choice of “holts” for Thompson, who chose “side holt.” Lincoln’s was “Indian holt,” and generally speaking it was a scrappy sort of a “holt” too. At once a great scramble followed among Lincoln’s men to lay their bets before Captain Moore’s men got “scart.” But Captain Moore’s men refused to get “scart.” In fact there was a very suspicious degree of firmness and unanimity in their opinion of “Dow” Thompson’s ability to take care of himself and any loose change his friends might put up on him; so up went powder-horns, guns, watches, coats, horses, pay-rolls and reputations until there remained not one solitary article of property in possession or expectancy thereof which had not been put into the pot on that match. To increase the zest of his men for gaming, Captain Lincoln who was cock-sure of victory, had urged them to offer odds and discount the future all they could, and the men did it. Then the combatants grappled—side holt,—Thompson’s choice. They see-sawed. The spectators shouted. Momentarily Lincoln’s men bantered Thompson with words of encouragement, “just to drag the sport out and get their money’s worth,” but when they discovered their error there appeared a temporary inspiration by the Clary boys to meddle. The Armstrong boys wanted to get busy as the contest proceeded, but before any of these meddlers could devise a plan, the long legs of the captain cleft the air and in the very next instant Thompson had him fairly upon the ground. The din which followed would have silenced a thunderstorm. As said of the boy who fell down cellar:—he did not hurt himself, but _did_ hurt his new pants, so it might be said of the chagrined captain after that first fall. His person had not been harmed but the disaster to his feelings was something dreadful. Particularly harmful because the crowd to witness it had quadrupled several times, each installment adding a few words of humiliation. Defeat in the presence of a few friends would have been dreadful, but surrounded by an army and he a captain, it was a catastrophe. Even the swagger back to the center did not square it. His friends shouted: “That’s only one fall, while two more are due.” That encouragement did not place his confidence _in statu quo_. But he made his bluff by stating icily when he had secured his “holt:” “Now Mr. Thompson, it’s your turn to go down.” The Indian hug or “holt” did not work at all however. In fact the patronizing captain was kept busy trying to keep his feet solid against the multitude of tricks which Thompson had up his sleeve to thwart the captain’s favorite “holt.” At last it was abandoned as altogether useless.