Nor did he wince or cringe to the blows.

He bored straight in, striving, without avoiding a blow, to beat and meet the blow with his teeth.

So hard was he flung down the last time that his side smashed painfully against the rail, and Van Horn cried out: "Cut that out, Borckman! Leave the puppy alone!" The mate turned in the startle of surprise at being observed.

The sharp, authoritative words of Van Horn were a call across the million years.
Borckman's anger-convulsed face ludicrously attempted a sheepish, deprecating grin, and he was just mumbling, "We was only playing," when Jerry arrived back, leaped in the air, and sank his teeth into the offending hand.
Borckman immediately and insanely went back across the million years.

An attempted kick got his ankle scored for his pains.