unstrapped the leather belt which was about his waist. And all the while the crowd looked on expectantly, while the lad cowered in his corner, trembling with apprehension. A moment or two later the ruffianly farmer stepped towards him, and as he stretched out a hand to take him by the shoulder struck the boy a cruel blow across the face with his strap. Next second a tiny fist flew out, and the knuckles struck the brute full in the mouth. At once there was intense silence in the crowd. All held their breath while they awaited the result of such audacity, craning their heads to obtain a better view. As for the farmer he staggered back, spitting blood from his mouth, and growling out curses at the boy. Then his anger got the better of his discretion, and he threw himself furiously at the boy, his eyes blazing with rage, and his strap held well aloft, prepared to deal a stinging blow. But it was never delivered, for just as Mr. Benjamin Halbut pressed his way to the front, and stepped into the square with the intention of putting a stop to the contest, the sergeant who had been a spectator of the scene ran from his corner and faced the man.
"Fair play!" he cried. "The lad's too small. Strike one of your own size and weight."
If there had been five sergeants there it would have made no difference, for George Ransom, the farmer, was blind with anger. Always a self-willed man he was noted for his brutality, and many a time had the lad whom he now attacked suffered a severe thrashing at his hands. He knew his strength and weight, and with a shout of fury he flung himself upon the sergeant, bringing his belt down with a thud on his shoulder. Then a strange thing happened. The sergeant, a man of some forty years of age, leapt to one side, and in a trice George Ransom was met with a terrific blow beneath the jaw, which sent him flying back on to the ground.
"Straight from the shoulder! A fine blow! A very fine knock-out indeed!"
It was Mr. Benjamin who spoke, and at the sound of his voice the interest of the spectators was for the moment distracted from the combatants. A moment later George Ransom had all their attention, for he rose slowly to his feet, his face scarlet with rage and his fists clenched tightly. Then he slowly divested himself of his coat and rolled his sleeves to the elbow. And as he did so the news that a fight was about to take place spread with the rapidity of a fire, bringing the people crowding to that end of the market square.
"A fight! A fight! Stand back and give 'em room," they shouted.
"You've taken it into your thick head to stick up for the shaver," growled George Ransom, as he made the final preparations. "Well, you've got to fight for him, and you've got to take punishment for that blow. Best get that red jacket off, unless you'll keep it on to hold up your courage."
"Nay, I'll take it off to keep it clear of your fingers. Think I'd have it soiled by the hands of a man like you, a big hulking brute who strikes children! That coat, my friend, has been on the shoulders of a better man than you, as I'll try to show you. Who'll take charge of it for me?"
Very quietly and coolly the sergeant had begun to do as George Ransom was doing. He had already unbuttoned his tailed tunic, and slung his belt and sabre or side-arm from his shoulders. And now, as he turned to the mob he called for some one to take his part. Then his eye fell on the lad standing beside him, his cheeks flushed with excitement and his eyes shining.
"You're the man," he said. "Here, my lad, take charge, and stand in the corner out of harm's way."
"Silence for a moment, my friends," suddenly rang out another voice, as Mr. Benjamin Halbut moved to the centre of the circle. "Ah, Mr. Joseph Romwell and Mr. Tasker, you have come in good time. This gentleman, who wears his Majesty's uniform, has been challenged to fight by this – er – this fellow here, whom I witnessed myself striking the lad. We will see fair play. I am an old hand at the game, and with your pleasure will keep the rounds. Let us have a couple of chairs, and with a few more of these friends of ours we will keep a circle. One moment, sir" – he turned upon the farmer who was now fully prepared and was moving towards his opponent – "one moment till all is ready. Ah, here are others, and we shall soon be prepared for you. Gentlemen, I wager fifty guineas on the sergeant, and if he loses I will give this fellow here the same and twenty for the boy. If the sergeant wins I will pay twenty guineas for the boy, and so take him off his hands. Is that a bargain?"
"I'd give him away," answered George Ransom. "But if you're fool enough to bet on a match like this, all the better. Fifty guineas to me if I win, and twenty also for the boy. I'm ready."
He spat on his hands and doubled his fists, bringing both in front of his massive chest. And to look at him there seemed every prospect of his proving the victor; for he was at least two stones heavier than the sergeant, while his arms, now that they were bared, proved to be of as massive proportions as were his thighs and calves. But Mr. Benjamin Halbut seemed to have no uneasiness as to the results of the conflict, and it was very clear to all that he at least was well able to judge. The manner in which he held his watch, his authoritative tones, and the precision with which he placed the opponents and the judges, showed that he was not unused to pugilistic encounters. And in fact, like large numbers of gentlemen of that day, he was keenly in favour of the art of fighting. True, as viewed nowadays, prize-fighting is and was a barbarous sport, but it had many adherents in the old days, and was not always conducted on barbarous lines. And Mr. Halbut had done his utmost to foster the art, feeling that it helped to make men of his countrymen. He had attended many a bout, and was considered as good a judge of pugilists as any in the country. At the very first he had noticed the wiry, active proportions of the sergeant, his keen eye, and the cool manner in which he made his preparations. And now that he saw him stripped, the hardness of his muscles, his pose as he stepped into the ring, and the poise of his head, told that here was a man who had practised the game.
"A champion, if I am not mistaken," thought Mr. Halbut. "Game to fight to a finish, and has science. Well, he will want it, for this big bully will strike with the power of a giant. All the better; if he is beaten it will mean that my friend the sergeant will have obtained a finer victory."
By now the news had filtered to every portion of the square, and a big concourse of people was gathered in the corner; in fact, all who could possibly leave their stalls or their animals had come across, while the hall of the Black Bull was emptied. And thanks to this fact, there were now numbers of better-class farmers and breeders close at hand, and these, at a sign from Mr. Halbut, took up a position within the circle so as to keep the crowd back.
"We are ready, I think," said Mr. Halbut. "Corners, please. Break away when time is called. Now, time!"
The two opponents at once approached one another, the farmer burning to beat down the sergeant, and confident that his strength and superior weight would help him to do so; while the latter came up with a quiet and intent little smile, wary and watchful, knowing that for a time at least he would have his hands very full. Nor was it long before his enemy showed the tactics he was prepared to follow. For a moment or two he stood to the utmost of his height, his fists moving to and fro like a couple of enormous sledge-hammers. Then, dropping his head suddenly he rushed at the sergeant, swinging both arms about his head. And in this manner he reached the opposite corner, only to find that his opponent had slipped past him and was waiting for him to turn and renew the combat. There was a shout of applause from the crowd, and then a cheer as George Ransom again rushed to the attack. When time was called the farmer was breathing heavily, while he had so far failed to touch his opponent. His anger now had risen, if that were possible, and when Mr. Halbut again called the combatants into the circle the farmer came forward without a pause, and with a shout rushed at his enemy. He was met this time with a terrific blow beneath the guard, and staggered back, spitting teeth from his mouth. But the blow was nothing to a man of his size and strength, and in a little while he had closed with the sergeant and the two were striking at one another, the farmer with blind fury, and the sergeant with skill and coolness. Once, in the third round, the latter failed to check a rush, and a blow from George Ransom laid him on the ground, where he lay for a time half stunned, while Mr. Halbut slowly counted out the seconds. Was he to be beaten after all? for by the rules of the science of pugilism,
