“I'm a wildcat! I'm a wildcat!” yells this here Bud. And Zeke, he collisions his fist with the other eye, and Bud sets down the second time. I won't say this here Zeke's hands was as big as a quarter of beef. The fact is, they wasn't that big. But I seen that fight myself, and there was somethin' about the size and shape of his fist when it was doubled up that kind o' _reminded_ me of a quarter of beef. Only his fists was harder than a quarter of beef. I guess Zeke's fists was about as hard as a hickory log that has been gettin' itself soaked and dried and seasoned for two or three years. I heard a story about Zeke and a mule that kicked him one time, but I didn't see it myself and I dunno' as it's all true. The word was that Zeke jist picked up that mule after it kicked him and frowned at it and told it if it ever done that again he would jist naturally pull off the leg that it kicked him with and turn it loose to hop away on three legs, and he cuffed that mule thorough and thoughtful and then he took it by one hind leg and fore leg and jounced it against a stone barn and told it to behave its fool self. It always seemed to me that story had been stretched a mite, but that was one of the stories they telled on Zeke. But this here Bud Peevy is game. He jumps up again with his two eyes lookin' like a skillet full of tripe and onions and makes another rush at Zeke. And this time he gets his hands on to Zeke and they rastles back and forth. But Bud, while he is a strong fellow, he ain't no ways as strong as a mule even if he is jist as sudden and wicked, so Zeke throws him down two or three times. Bud, he kicks Zeke right vicious and spiteful into the stomach, and when he done that Zeke began to get a little cross. So he throwed Bud down again and this time he set on top of him. “Now, then,” says Zeke, bangin' Bud's head on to the sidewalk, “am I a happenin', or am I on purpose?” “Lemme up,” says Bud. “Leggo my whiskers and lemme up! You ain't licked me any, but them ol' wounds I got savin' this country is goin' to bust open ag'in. I kin feel 'em bustin'.” “I didn't start this,” says Zeke, “but I'm a-goin' to finish it. Now, then, am I a accident, or was I meant?” “It's a accident you ever got me down,” says Bud, “Whether you are a accident yourself or not.” Zeke jounces his head on the sidewalk some more and he says: “You answer better nor that! You go further! You tell me whether I'm on purpose or not!” “You was meant for somethin',” says Bud, “but you can't make me say what! You can bang my head off and I won't say what. Two or three of them bullets went into my neck right where you're bendin' it and I feel them ol' wounds bustin' open.” “I don't believe you got no ol' wounds,” says Zeke, “and I don't believe you ever saved no country and I'm gonna keep you here till I've banged some sense and politeness into your head.”