The impetus of the blow turned the bully half round, so that he exactly faced Fred, and for a moment he was off his guard; that opportunity was improved by my friend, who saw his advantage.

Quick as lightning, I saw Fred’s right hand raised, and with a “square shoulder hit,” such as would have felled an ox, he let it fall full upon Bully’s face.  I saw the dark blood spurt out from beneath the eye of Pete, and I heard a crunching sound, as though bones were broken; but before I had time to think, the ruffian staggered, swung his arms aloft, and pitched heavily to the earth.

“By G——­d, that was a Yankee blow,” yelled a rough-looking genius, who had regarded the scene with great composure during the war of words.  “Them fellers is Yankees, and my countrymen, and they is going to have fair play if I can get it.  Stand back, all of you, and let us have this thing out.  Bob,” our new ally said, speaking to a friend, “you just run down to the Californe Saloon, and tell the boys a Yankee is in trouble, and needs help; and mind and tell ’um that they needn’t stop to draw the charge of their revolvers.”

The person addressed as Bob hastened from the spot; but before I could reward our new friend with a word of thanks, Pete, who had lain as if stunned for a few moments, began to show signs of reviving.

“We must look out for his pistol,” said our rough friend, stepping from the crowd, and approaching me.  “He will be certain to use it if he is not too groggy.”

The words were prophetic; for hardly had the fallen man looked around, after rubbing his eye, when the whole transaction appeared to flash upon his mind.

“I have been struck,” he yelled, springing to his feet, and stamping the ground in his rage.  “Where is the man that dared to lay a hand upon me?  Show him to me, and his blood shall run like water.”

“Put up your pistol, Pete,” said our new friend, laying his hand upon that weapon, which Burley had drawn, and was about to cock.  “You begun this ’ere quarrel, and you are not going to use the barkers without giving the other side a chance.  Is it a regular stand up and take match that you want, or do you like ten paces better?  If you are for fight, you can be accommodated; but the fellow that fires the first shot, without a signal, dies, if there’s any virtue in a revolver.”

“A fight, a fight,” yelled the outsiders, and even while they were cheering, I saw a dozen or twenty brawny-limbed fellows break through the crowd and rush into the ring.

“We just got word from you, Charley, that an American wanted fair play.  Who is he?” asked one of the new comers; and by his peculiar dialect, I knew him for a native of old Vermont.

“These two ’Mericans have been pitched into by Pete Burley, ’cos they won’t let him have their hoss.  I happened ’long and saw the whole of it, and I tell you it was butfully done, and, no mistake.  The Yankee give him Jesse, and yet he fetched him only one winder.”