But the negro parried with his own disengaged fist, then gave a twist to the coat collar noose that made Reade turn black in the face from choking.
"Ah might as well tell yo'," Sambo observed dryly, "dat yo' ain't done got no new fight tricks dat yo' can wish on me.

Ah done seen all de tricks of fightin' dat any man done know, an' Ah nebber yet seen no man dat could put any kind oh a blow ober on me to hurt!" The negro spoke boastfully, yet there could be no doubt that he believed all he said.
Tom Reade next schemed to land a hard kick against the negro's shins.

Ere he had his foot well lifted, however, the watchful Sambo seemed to divine the intent.

He gave a quick twist at the coat collar that made Reade's head swim.

It was some time before the young engineer's head recovered from that sudden confusion and blackness.
"Am' yo' gwine beliebe dat yo' kain't wish no kind oh a trick ober on me ?" demanded the black man in an injured tone.