“Yes, sor,” replied Hogan, and hastened to help the captain out onto the sand and to cut the ropes which bound him.  “Do ye want the mates, too, sor?” he asked, glancing at the trussed men in the boat.

“No; the foreman’s enough,” Hopalong responded, handing his weapons to Johnny and turning to face the captain, who was looking into Johnny’s gun as he rubbed his arms to restore perfect circulation.

“Now, you flat-faced coyote, yo’re going to get the beating of yore life, an’ I’m going to give it to you!” Hopalong cried, warily advancing upon the man whom he held to be responsible for the miseries of the past twenty-four hours.  “You didn’t give me a square deal, but I’m man enough to give you one!  When you drug an’ steal any more cow-punchers—­” action stopped his words.

It was a great fight.  A filibustering sea captain is no more peaceful than a wild boar and about as dangerous; and while this one was not at his best, neither was Hopalong.  The latter luckily had acquired some knowledge of the rudiments of the game and had the vigor of youth to oppose to the captain’s experience and his infuriated but well-timed rushes.  The seamen, for the honor of their calling and perhaps with a mind to the future, cheered on the captain and danced up and down in their delight and excitement.  They had a lot of respect for the prowess of their master, and for the man who could stand up against him in a fair and square fist fight.  To give assistance to either in a fair fight was not to be thought of, and Johnny’s gun was sufficient after-excuse for non-interference.

The sop! sop! of the punishing blows as they got home and the steady circling of Hopalong in avoiding the dangerous attacks, went on minute after minute.  Slowly the captain’s strength was giving out, and he resorted to trickery as his last chance.  Retreating, he half raised his arms and lowered them as if weary, ready as a cat to strike with all his weight if the other gave an opening.  It ought to have worked—­it had worked before—­but Hopalong was there to win, and without the momentary hesitation of the suspicious fighter he followed the retreat and his hard hand flashed in over the captain’s guard a fraction of a second sooner than that surprised gentleman anticipated.  The ferocious frown gave way to placid peace and the captain reclined at the feet of the battered victor, who stood waiting for him to get up and fight.  The captain lay without a sign of movement and as Hopalong wondered, Hogan was the first to speak.

“Fer the love av hiven, let him be!  Ye needn’t wait—­he’s done; I know by the sound av it!” he exclaimed, stepping forward. “’T was a purty blow, an’ ’t was a gr-rand foight ye put up, sor!  A gr-rand foight, but any more av that is murder!  ‘T is an Irishman’s game, sor, an’ ye did yersilf proud.  But now let him be—­no man, least av all a Dootchman, iver tuk more than that an’ lived!”

Hopalong looked at him and slowly replied between swollen lips, “Yo’re right, Hogan; we’re square now, I reckon.”