Suddenly, however, the tall canal-boat captain, coming back along the tow-path, put in his oar by striking the whip out of John Rucker's hand; and snatched me away from him.
"I'll have the law on you!" snarled Rucker.
"The devil you will!" said the captain.
"I'll put you through!" screamed Rucker.
The captain eased himself forward by advancing his left foot, and with his right fist he smashed Rucker somewhere about the face.

Rucker went down, and the captain picked up the whip, and carefully laying Rucker on his face stripped up his shirt and revenged me, lash for lash; and counting each cut stopped when he reached ten.
"I guess that's the number," said he, taking a look at my bloody back; "but for fear of fallin' short, here's another!" And he drew the whip back, and brought it down with a quick, sharp, terrible whistle that proved its force.

"Now," said he, "you've got somethin' to put me through fer!" Then he started back toward the boat, after picking up a clevis which it seems the driver-boy had dropped.

I looked at Rucker a moment wondering what to do.

He was slowly getting on his feet, groaning, bloody of face and back, miserable and pitiable.