The Russian's answer to Gregory's question came in a guttural snarl as he staggered from the sage and flung himself upon the speaker.
CHAPTER XVII
THE FANGS OF MASCOLA
Gregory leaped nimbly beyond reach of the Russian's waving arms and placed his back to the moonlight. Meeting the fisherman's blind rush with a quick blow to his heavy jaw, he sidestepped and struck again. Boris blocked the fist with a sweep of his long arm and clinched. For an instant the bodies of the two men rocked in the gripping power of the embrace. Then they fell to the roadway.
Dickie Lang stopped suddenly as she saw the struggling figures in the path. A fight between two drunken fishermen was the commonest thing in Legonia. She'd better not get mixed up in it. They were not her men. She knew that. None of her fisherman lived up here but Swanson, and the Swede she knew was at home. Making a wide detour through the brush which carried her beyond sight of the scuffle, she hurried on.
"Where's Dick, Aunt Mary?"
There was a note in Jack McCoy's voice which made Miss Lang regard him sharply before replying: