Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth his
size; but he plants his feet and curves his back, and his hair goes
up around his neck like a collar. But he never had no show at no
time, for the grizzly bear, as Jimmy Jocks had called him, lights on
old Jimmy's back and tries to break it, and old Jimmy Jocks snaps his
gums and claws the grass, panting and groaning awful. But he can't do
nothing, and the grizzly bear just rolls him under him, biting and
tearing cruel. The odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III. was going
to be killed. I had fought enough to see that, but not knowing the
rules of the game among champions, I didn't like to interfere between
two gentlemen who might be settling a private affair, and, as it
were, take it as presuming of me. So I stood by, though I was shaking
terrible, and holding myself in like I was on a leash. But at that
Woodstock Wizard III., who was underneath, sees me through the dust,
and calls very faint, "Help, you!" he says. "Take him in the hind-
leg," he says. "He's murdering me," he says. And then the little Miss
Dorothy, who was crying, and calling to the kennel-men, catches at
the Red Elfberg's hind-legs to pull him off, and the brute, keeping
his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big head and snaps
at her.
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