"You remember what Paul Jones said: 'I've just begun to fight.'"

"Was it Paul Jones? Well, I suppose it was. Anyhow, if you feel that
way about it, so do I. Then come on again, Mr. Richard Mason."

Dick's blood was up. The half-minute or so of talk had enabled him to
regain his breath. Although he felt that incessant pain and swelling in
his left ear, his resolution to win was unshaken. Pride was now added to
his other motives.

He took a step forward, feinted, parried skillfully, and then stepped
back. Woodville, always agile as a panther, followed him and swung for
the chin, but Dick, swerving slightly to one side, landed with great
force on Woodville's jaw. The young Mississippian fell, but, while Dick
stood looking at him, he sprang to his feet and faced his foe defiantly.
The blood was running down his cheek and dyeing the whole side of his
face. But Dick saw the spirit in his eye and knew that he was far from
conquered.

Woodville smiled and threw back his long hair from his face.

"A good one for you. You shook me up," he admitted, "but I don't see any
sign of your ability to carry me to that Yankee colonel, as you boasted
you would do."

"But I'm going to do it."

The rain increased and washed the blood from both their faces. It was
dark within the ravine, but they had been face to face so long that they
could read the eyes of each other. Those of Woodville like those of Dick