Much to Sambo's surprise he found himself going. Yet the black man was as
agile as he was big. He leaped to his feet, bounding one step sideways,
while Tom, who had been watching for this very chance, sprang to his own
feet.
"Not so fas', massa!" mocked the big black, reaching out and taking a
strong clutch on. Tom's coat collar.
Reade would have squirmed out of his coat and placed more distance between
them, but Mr. Ebony, with a stout twist, gathered the two ends of the coat
collar, holding the young engineer as though in the noose of a halter.
Quick as a flash Reade struck out with his right fist for the black man's
belt-line. Had the blow landed even the huge Sambo would have gone down
to earth. But the negro parried with his own disengaged fist, then gave
a twist to the coat collar noose that made Reade turn black in the face
from choking.
"Ah might as well tell yo'," Sambo observed dryly, "dat yo' ain't done
got no new fight tricks dat yo' can wish on me. Ah done seen all de
tricks of fightin' dat any man done know, an' Ah nebber yet seen no man
dat could put any kind oh a blow ober on me to hurt!"
The negro spoke boastfully, yet there could be no doubt that he believed
all he said.
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