I wanted to get at
him. I threw the apple down.
"Pick that apple up and eat it," he said in a low tone, looking me
straight in the eye, "or I'll pound you till you can't walk."
"I won't," said I.
Ace rushed at me, and as he rushed, he struck me in the face. I went
down, and he piled on me, hitting me as he could. I liked the feel of
his blows; it was good to realize that they did not hurt me half so much
as his abuse had done. I did not know how to fight, but I grappled with
him fiercely. I reached for his hair, and he tried to bite my thumb,
actually getting it in his mouth, but I jerked it aside and caught his
cheek in my grip, my thumb inside the cheek-pouch, and my fingers
outside. I felt a hot thrill of joy as my nails sank into his cheek
inside and out, and he cringed. I held him at arm's length, helpless,
and with his head drawn all askew; and still keeping my unfair hold, I
rolled him over, and coming on top of him, thrust the other thumb in the
other side of his mouth, frenziedly trying to rip his cheeks, and
pounding his head on the deck. We rolled back into the corner, where he
jerked my thumbs from his mouth, now bleeding at the corners, and
desperately tried to roll me. My hand came into touch with a horseshoe
on the stable floor, which I picked up, and filled with joy at the
consciousness that I was stronger than he, I began beating him over the
face and head with it, with no thought of anything but killing him.
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