He realized how narrowly he had escaped; had his kick
missed Garman would have been on top of him. He must not go down again.
His heart was thumping so his ribs shook, and his breath was coming in
gulps between parted lips. Garman's lips were smashed beyond all
resemblance to a mouth, and the heaving of his great chest told how the
pace was telling. His first kick had done the work, however. A
numbness was spreading over Roger's right leg. In the heat of combat
he had not realized how severe was the kick that had been dealt him,
but now the fact came home.
He was slowing up. Well, he would do all the damage he could before
the stiffening limb permitted Garman to catch him in that horrible
gorilla grip. And then Garman spoke:
"You got the girl you ---- young pup, but I've got you."
New strength coursed through Roger's heart. His lightninglike feint
drew Garman's guard low; he swung his right in an over-hand blow full
upon his opponent's hawk-like nose. Garman's mouth opened wide as he
struggled for breath, and Roger knew the damage he had done. Again he
feinted, again he swung--and a bone in his right hand snapped as the
fist went home on the top of his enemy's suddenly lowered head.
Garman laughed through the welter of his broken face, and rushed, and
Roger's straight left stopped him.
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