ed such an unceasing, unending, rain
of blows in the space of two minutes as had Trooper Matthewson. His
arms had worked like the piston rods of an express engine--as fast and
as untiringly. He had taken the Gorilla by surprise, had rushed him,
and had never given him a fraction of time in which to attack. Beneath
the rain of sledge-hammer blows the Gorilla had shrunk, guarding for
dear life. Driven into a corner, he cowered down, crouched beneath his
raised arms, and allowed his face to sink forward. Like a whirling
piece of machinery Dam's arm flew round to administer the
_coup-de-grace_, the upper cut, that would lay the Snake twitching
and unconscious on the boards.

The Gorilla was expecting it.

As it came, his bullet head was jerked aside, and as the first swung
harmlessly up, he arose like a flash, and, as he did so, his mighty
right shot up, took Darn on the chin and laid him flat and senseless
in the middle of the ring.

The Gorilla breathed heavily and made the most of the respite. He knew
it must be about "Time," and that he had not won. If it wasn't "Time,"
and the cub arose he'd knock him to glory as he did so. Yes, the
moment the most liberal-minded critic could say he was just about on
his feet, he'd give him a finisher that he'd bear the mark of. The
bloomin' young swine had nearly "had" him--him, the great G'rilla
Dowdall, about to buy himself out with his prize-money, and take to
pugilism as a profession.

"_One--two--three--four,_" counted the timekeeper amid the most
deathly silence, and, as he added, _"five--six--Time,"_ a shout arose
that was heard for miles.

Trooper Matthewson was saved--if his seconds could pull him round in
time.

At sound of the word "Time," the seconds leapt into the ring. Hawker
and Bear rushed to the prostrate Dam, hauled him to his feet, and
dragged him to the chair which Goate had placed ready. As he was
dropped into it, a spongeful of icy water from Goate's big sponge
brought Dam to consciousness.

"Breave for all y'r worf," grunted Hawker, as he mightily swung a big
bath-towel in swift eddies, to drive refreshing air upon the heaving,
panting body of his principal.

Bear and Goate applied massaging hands with skilled violence.

"By Jove, I thought you had him," panted Goate as he kneaded triceps
and biceps. "And then I thought he had you. It's anybody's fight,
Matty--but _don't_ try and knock him out. You couldn't do it with an
axe."

"No," agreed Bear.