Enough to give him a chance. The slow,
invincible beast he was hammering almost had him as his thoughts
wandered. He only half fended the sledge-like blow that came straight
for his face. He ducked, swung up his guard like lightning, and was
saved from death by a miracle. That blow would have crushed in his
face--killed him. He knew it. Brokaw's huge fist landed against the side
of his head and grazed off like a bullet that had struck the slanting
surface of a rock. Yet the force of it was sufficient to send him
crashing against the bars--and _down_.
In that moment he thanked God for Brokaw's slowness. He had a clear
recollection afterward of almost having spoken the words as he lay dazed
and helpless for an infinitesimal space of time. He expected Brokaw to
end it there. But Brokaw stood mopping the blood from his face, as if
partly blinded by it, while from beyond the cage there came a swiftly
growing rumble of voices. He heard a scream. It was the scream--the
agonized cry--of the Girl, that brought him to his feet while Brokaw was
still wiping the hot flow from his dripping jaw. It was that cry that
cleared his brain, that called out to him in its despair that he _must_
win, that all was lost for her as well as for himself if he was
vanquished--for more positively than at any other time during the fight
he felt now that defeat would mean death.
Pages:
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323