comfort, he halted, ducked a violent left swing, and ran from
under the flailing right arm of his assailant.

Then, darting back for fully twenty-five feet, he cried out,
gayly:

"I won't buy him from you. But I'll fight you for him, if you
like."

As he spoke, he drew from his pocket a battered and
old-fashioned gold watch. Laying it on the sand, he went on:

"How does this strike you as a sporting offer? Winner to take
both dog and watch? How about it?"

The other had halted in an incipient charge to take note of
the odd proposition. He blinked at the flash of the watch's
battered gold case in the sunshine. For the first time, he
seemed a trifle irresolute. This eel-like antagonist, with
such eccentric ideas as to sport, was something outside the
beach-comber's experience. Puzzled, he stood scowling.

"How about it?" queried Brice. "I hope you'll refuse. I'd
rather be kicked, any day, than have to fight. But--well, I
wouldn't rather see a good dog kicked. Still, if you're
content with what you've got, we'll call it a day. I'll take
the dog and be moving on."

The barefoot man's bewilderment was once more merging into
wrath, at the amused superiority in Brice's words and