Tim was a son of Anak, six and a half feet high, and big in proportion. Not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones; nothing but tanned hide and swelling muscle. His face was burnt brown by the sun and reddened by the wind; and he wore a bushy black beard, which was slightly streaked with grey. His bold black eyes looked defiance, while the gold rings which adorned his ears added to his already barbaric appearance. A swarthy malcontent he seemed at first sight, a cut-throat of the Spanish main, a piratical desperado; yet, on a closer inspection, his good-humoured smile did away with such bloodthirsty appearances. He, too, counted his victories by the score, and sighed, like Alexander, for fresh worlds or men to conquer. Dan could not have given him a better welcome than that invitation to battle, and his eye sparkled with pleasure at the prospect. Each saw that the other was a man, and wished to decide which was the better. A fit of Berserk fury was on them both. "Come on, rye," said Tim, eager for the fray. "I'll fight you for a fi'-pun note." "I cannot wager so large an amount," replied Dan, gravely. "I am a poor man." Tim glanced at the caravan, and laughed hoarsely. He had his own opinion on the matter, or else had taken his cue from Mother Jericho. However, he was too bent on fighting to argue, and his face grew impatient as he poised himself lightly in an attitude of defence with scientifically placed fists. "Ain't you goin' to put 'em up?" said he, sharply. "Not without the gloves, friend. I've no notion of letting those sledge-hammer fists of yours spoil my beauty." "Ho! Women like to see men mashed a bit. Them's the kind they love best." "That may be! Women are all hero-worshippers. All the same, I wish my face to remain as it is. A broken nose may be heroic, but it isn't pleasing to the eye." And with such speech he disappeared into the caravan, whence he emerged with the boxing-gloves. Throwing a pair of these to Tim, he put on his own, and in a minute or so the two men were warily circling round one another. Peter was the only spectator of this famous fight, and he encouraged the combatants with sharp barks when the blows fell unusually thick. "Here is Lavengro again," thought Dan, aiming a blow at the jaw of his opponent. "I have dropped across the Flaming Tinman."