all, and, as his friend had prophesied, was glad that it had not been a "foul poke"—taking his opponent unawares.
"Come hither, dog, and let me snap thy spine," growled the Italian as the Bucking Bronco faced him. As he spoke, he thrust his right hand forward, as though to seize the American in a wrestling-hold. With a swift snatch the latter grabbed the extended hand, gave a powerful jerking tug and released it before his enemy could free it and fasten upon him in turn. The violent pull upon his arm swung the Italian half left and before he could recover his balance and regain his position, the Bucking Bronco had let drive at the side of his face with all his weight and strength. It was a terrific blow and caught Rivoli on the right cheek-bone, laying the side of his face open.
Only those who have seen—or experienced—it, know the effect of skilled blows struck by hands unhampered by boxing gloves.
The Italian reeled and, like the skilled master of ringcraft that he was, the Bucking Bronco gave him no time in which to recover. With a leap he again put all his strength, weight, and skill behind a slashing right-hander on his enemy's face, and, as he raised his arms, a left-hander on his ribs. Had any of these three blows found the Italian's "point" or "mark," it is more than probable that the fight would have been decided. As it was, Rivoli was only shaken—and exasperated to the point of madness.…
Wait till he got his arms round the man! … Corpo di Bacco! But wait! Let him wait till he got his hand on that collar that the rash fool had left undone and sticking out so temptingly!
