nt a fraction too much, the scissors grip shifted
imperceptibly and the message of that weakening of the chain flashed to
Mormon's hazy brain. With every muscle taut in one supreme convulsion he
managed to twist sidewise, back to Russell, opening the grip that now
compressed shoulders instead of chest and back. He got a breath of air,
dust-laden but blessed. His chest expanded, strength flowed in, he
forced his arms apart, rolling over on Russell, crushing him into the
soft earth with his weight. Another wriggling twist and he faced his
man, bringing his mighty back into play to break clear. He got a forearm
across Russell's Adam's apple, regardless of the blows that smashed into
his face. He hammered home one jolt hard to the jaw and, as Russell's
body grew limp, dragged himself from the relaxing hold and crouched on
hands and knees, wheezing, spent, gulping air to his flattened lower
lungs that refused to function.

Now he could hear the shouting of the crowd, a clatter of yells. He saw
Russell's head move, his eyes opening in the moonlight. Mechanically
Mormon stood up, swaying, bruised, one eye useless. Pardee began
counting over Russell, according to the ruling he had made.

Russell rolled over on his face. It looked as if he was not going to try
to get up. This was not how Mormon had wanted the fight to end, in a
technical knockout, with his man beginning to come back and he not
allowed to finish him.

Pardee had put in the clause, "Man down allowed ten seconds, with the
other on his feet," merely to make a better, longer fight of it from the
spectator's standpoint. It was supposed to be the sporting thing to do,
but Mormon, blood-flushed, brain-dull, had no thought of ethics at that
moment. Russell was lifting himself to knees and elbows, crouching as
Mormon had done, watching his opponent, listening to the count. He was
going to get up. He _was_ up at nine, stooping, groggy, his long arms
hanging low, and a shout went up from his backers as Pardee stepped
aside.

Russell began to back away, to describe a half-circle, right forearm
across his chest, left arm extended, both in slight motion. Mormon stood
like a baited bear, slowly revolving to face Russell, wary of a feint to
draw him out. There were smears of blood on Russell's arms, on his face,
dark in the moonlight. Mormon's whiter skin showed greater defacement.
There was a mouse swelling above his eye, the lids were clamping.

The ring of spectators was