evil-disposed dog.

"We're not well matched," observed Hiram, quietly, "and whether
you thra shed me, or I thrashed you, nothing would be proved by
it in regard to the line fence."

"I'll show you what I can prove!" cried Pete, and rushed for him.

In a catch-as-catch-can wrestle Pete Dickerson might have been
able to overturn Hiram Strong. But the latter did not propose to
give the longarmed youth that advantage.

He dropped the spade, stepped nimbly aside, and as Pete lunged
past him the young farmer doubled his fist and struck his
antagonist solidly under the ear.

That was the only blow struck--that and the one when Pete struck
the ground. The bigger fellow rolled over, grunted, and gazed up
at Hiram with amazement struggling with the rage expressed in his
features.

"I told you we were not well matched, Peter," spoke Hiram,
calmly. "Why fight about it? You have no right on your side,
and I do not propose to see Mrs. Atterson robbed of this water
privilege."

Pete climbed to his feet slowly, and picked up his coat. He felt
of his neck carefully and then looked at his hand, with the idea
evidently that such a heavy blow must have brought blood. But of
course there was none.