In Happy Valley | Page 4

sent word that he would come
down the next Saturday and knock "that mullet-headed, mealy-mouthed,
spindle-shanked rat into the middle of next week," and drive him from
the hills.
"Whut you goin' to do about it?" asked Allaphair, secretly thrilled. To
her surprise the little man seemed neither worried nor frightened.
"Nothing," he said, adding the final g with irritating precision; "but I
have never backed out of a fight in my life." Allaphair could hardly
hold back a hoot of contempt.
"Why, he'll break you to pieces with his hands."
"Perhaps--if he gets hold of me." The girl almost shrieked.
"You hain't going to run?"
"I'm not going to run; it's no disgrace to get licked."
"But if he crows over ye atterwards--whut'll you do then?"
The teacher made no answer, nor did he answer Jay's message. He
merely went his way, which was neither to avoid nor seek; so Jay
sought him. Allaphair saw him the next Friday afternoon, waiting by
the roadside--waiting, no doubt, for Ira Combs. Her first impulse was to

cross over the spur and warn the teacher, but curiosity as to just what
the little man would do got the better of her, and she slipped aside into
the bushes and crept noiselessly to a spot whence she could peer out
and see and hear all that might happen. Soon she saw the
school-teacher coming, as was his wont, leisurely, looking at the
ground at his feet and with his hands clasped behind his back. He did
not see the threatening figure waiting until Jay rose.
"Stop thar, little Iry," he sneered, and he whipped out his revolver and
fired. The girl nearly screamed, but the bullet cut into the dust near Ira's
right foot.
"Yuh danced purty well t'other night, an' I want to see ye dance some
more by yo'self. Git at it!" He raised his gun again and the
school-teacher raised one hand. He had grown very red and as suddenly
very pale, but he did not look frightened.
"You can kill me," he drawled quietly, "but I'm not going to dance for
you. Suppose you whoop me instead--I heard that was your intention."
Jay laughed.
"Air ye goin' to fight me?" he asked incredulously.
"I'd rather be licked than dance."
"All right," said Jay. "I'll lam' ye aroun' a little an' spank ye good an'
mebbe make ye dance atterwards." He unbuckled his pistol and tossed
it into the grass by the roadside.
"Will you fight fair?" asked Ira, still formal in speech. "No wrestling,
biting, or gouging."
"No wrasslin', no bitin', no gougin'," mimicked Jay, beginning to
revolve his huge fists around each other in country fashion. The little
man waited, his left arm outstretched and bent and his right across and
close to his chest, and the watching girl almost groaned. Still his white,
calm face, his steady eyes, and his lithe poise fascinated her. She would
not let Jay hurt him badly--she would come out and take a hand herself.

Jay opened one fist, and with his open hand made a powerful,
contemptuous sweep at Ira's head, and the girl expected to see the little
teacher fly off into the bushes and the fight over. To her amazement Ira
gave no ground at all. His feet never moved, but like a blacksnake's
head his own darted back; Jay's great hand fanned the air, and as his
own force whirled him half around, Allaphair had to hold back a
screech of laughter, for Ira had slapped him. Jay looked puzzled, but
with fists clinched, he rushed fiercely. Right and left he swung, but the
teacher was never there. Presently there was another stinging smack on
his cheek and another, as Ira danced about him like the shadow of a
magic lantern.
"He's a-tirin' him down," thought Allaphair, but she was wrong; Ira was
trying to make him mad, and that did not take much time or trouble. Jay
rushed him.
"No wrasslin'," called Ira quietly, at the same time stopping the rush
with a left-hand swing on Jay's chin that made the head wabble.
"I reckon he must be left-handed," thought the wondering Allaphair.
There are persons who literally do grind their teeth with rage and it is
audible. The girl heard Jay's now.
"He's goin' to kill him," she thought, and she got ready to do her part,
for with a terrible, hoarse grunt Jay had rushed. Like a greased rod of
steel the boy writhed loose from the big, crooked talons that reached for
his throat, and his right fist, knobbed on the end of another bar of steel,
came up under Jay's bent head with every ounce of the whole weight
behind it in the blow. It caught the big man on the point of the chin.