He scratched Jack's neck with his grimy fingernails, and he tried to set his unwashed teeth into Jack's left ear while the two of them rolled over and over on the slippery mat of squaw-carpet.
And for that he was pummeled unmercifully before Jack tore himself loose and got up.
"Now, you beat it!" Jack finished, panting.

"And after this you keep your tongue off the subject of women.

Don't dare to mention even a squaw to me, or I'll pitch you clean off the peak!" Hank mumbled an insult, and Jack went after him again.

All the misery, all the pent-up bitterness of the past three months rose within him in a sudden storm that clouded his reason.

He fought Hank like a crazy man--not so much because Hank was Hank and had spoken slightingly of that slim girl, but because Hank was something concrete, something which Jack could beat with his fists and that could give back blow for blow.