They seemed twice as large as Billy's, and the mats of hair seemed to advertise a terrible strength.

No, Billy could not fight this big brute.
He must not.

And then to Saxon came a wicked little hope that by the mysterious and unthinkable ability that prizefighters possessed, Billy might be able to whip this bully and rid her of him.

With the next glance doubt came again, for her eye dwelt on the blacksmith's broad shoulders, the cloth of the coat muscle-wrinkled and the sleeves bulging above the biceps.
"If you lay a hand on anybody I'm going with again---" she began.
"Why, they'll get hurt, of course," Long grinned.

"And they'll deserve it, too.