Slugs lay still on the ground, breathing heavily and staring straight up toward the dirty, smoky roof.
There were some moments of silence.
“I believe he’s finished.”
Somebody uttered the words, and they were heard by the fallen man.
“Who says so?” he hissed, sitting up. “They lie—they lie!”
To his feet he sprang, although he staggered in a manner that told he was giddy. A torrent of fierce language poured from his lips. He looked scarcely human, with his blood-stained face and tobacco-colored teeth. Still the stranger did not appear in the least alarmed.
Now, however, the youth took the offensive. It seemed that he decided that the time had arrived to end the fight, and he went at Slugs like a whirlwind.
The ruffian tried to withstand the assault, but he was bewildered by it and his defense was feeble. Backward he was forced. The knuckles of the stranger played a tattoo on his face, while not one of his blows seemed to reach.
Smash!
With one swinging hook the youth sent Old Slugs staggering across a track to drop on his hands and knees.