Quivering in silence the facing crowds stood while the count went.
"Nine!" throated Stingo—scarcely a whisper.
Stillness while perhaps five seconds passed. Then Boss Maddox opened his hands towards the ring in an expressive gesture.
Then men came rushing to Pinsent and shook him: "Up, Foxy! Up!" Then Pinsent drew up his knees, groaned, and seemed to collapse anew. Then, then the storm burst in a bellow of sound, in a rush of figures. All, all of clamour that had gone before—of exultation, hate, defiance, blood-want, rage—seemed now to bind up in two clanging rolls of thunder that in thunder went, in thunder thundered back, and thundered on again. Percival turned and saw Japhra running towards him, an arm's length in advance of the mob that followed. He fell into Japhra's arms, felt himself pressed, pressed to Japhra's heart, heard in his ears "Never thy like! Son of mine, never thy like!" He knew a driving mob behind his back, before, and all about him—heard curses, grapplings, blows. Heard Japhra's cry "Up with him! Up!" felt himself borne aloft and dimly was conscious that his bearers were staggered this way and that by the flood that surged about them.... Sudden darkness, and sudden most delicious air and sudden most delicious rain was his next impression—they had got him outside the tent.... At his next he was in the van, on his couch, smiling at those who bent above him.
CHAPTER VI
THE STICKS COME OUT—AND A KNIFE
I
"How dost thou go?" Japhra asked.
"Why, my face is sore," Percival said—"sore! it feels as if I had only a square inch of skin stretched to cover the lot. I'm right as rain otherwise. That was a fight, Japhra!"