The pungency of ammonia bit her
nostrils, wafted to her from the soaked sponge wherefrom he breathed the
fiery fumes that cleared his brain. He gargled his mouth and throat,
took a suck at a divided lemon, and all the while the towels worked like
mad, driving oxygen into his lungs to purge the pounding blood and send
it back revivified for the struggle yet to come. His heated body was
sponged with water, doused with it, and bottles were turned
mouth-downward on his head.
CHAPTER VI
The gong for the sixth round struck, and both men advanced to meet each
other, their bodies glistening with water. Ponta rushed two-thirds of
the way across the ring, so intent was he on getting at his man before
full recovery could be effected. But Joe had lived through. He was
strong again, and getting stronger. He blocked several vicious blows and
then smashed back, sending Ponta reeling. He attempted to follow up, but
wisely forbore and contented himself with blocking and covering up in the
whirlwind his blow had raised.
The fight was as it had been at the beginning--Joe protecting, Ponta
rushing. But Ponta was never at ease. He did not have it all his own
way. At any moment, in his fiercest onslaughts, his opponent was liable
to lash out and reach him. Joe saved his strength. He struck one blow
to Ponta's ten, but his one blow rarely missed.
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