"That's him," he replied.
And without further ado, Bryce strode to meet his man.
"Are you Jules Rondeau?" he demanded as he came up to the woods-boss.
The latter nodded. "I'm Bryce Cardigan," his interrogator announced,
"and I'm here to thrash you for chopping that big redwood tree over
in that little valley where my mother is buried."
"Oh!" Rondeau smiled. "Wiz pleasure, M'sieur." And without a moment's
hesitation he rushed. Bryce backed away from him warily, and they
circled.
"When I get through with you, Rondeau," Bryce said distinctly, "it'll
take a good man to lead you to your meals. This country isn't big
enough for both of us, and since you came here last, you've got to go
first."
Bryce stepped in, feinted for Rondeau's jaw with his right, and when
the woods-boss quickly covered, ripped a sizzling left into the
latter's midriff. Rondeau grunted and dropped his guard, with the
result that Bryce's great fists played a devil's tattoo on his
countenance before he could crouch and cover.
"This is a tough one," thought Bryce. His blows had not, apparently,
had the slightest effect on the woods-boss. Crouched low and with his
arms wrapped around his head, Rondeau still came on unfalteringly,
and Bryce was forced to give way before him; to save his hands, he
avoided the risk of battering Rondeau's hard head and sinewy arms.
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