In defiance, Rodman drew Olive nearer, and raising her bowed head was about to kiss her angry, beautiful face, when she uttered a despairing scream.
That was the match in the powder-keg!
Unable to hold back longer, Rivers sprang forward and wrenched Olive from Rodman’s grasp.
With a snarl, Rodman lunged at Rivers, who deftly stopped him with an uppercut. Rodman came back with a smashing facer, and Rivers replied in kind.
Zizi, who had flown to Olive’s side, and was tenderly soothing her, watched the two men, breathlessly. Something savage in her nature responded to the combat, and she flushed and paled alternately as one or the other of the angry men seemed to have the upper hand.
Olive hid her face in her hands, not wanting to look, but Zizi was with the fight, heart and soul.
It was give and take, with such rapidity that I trembled for Rivers’ safety. Rodman was a formidable antagonist, and far heavier than the gaunt man who met and returned his blows.
But Rivers was skilled, and made up in technique what he lacked in strength.
So desperate was the struggle, so blindly furious the two men, that Pennington Wise and I were fearful of results. With a simultaneous impulse we made a dash to separate the combatants, but were obliged to get back quickly to save ourselves from the rain of blows.
Never had I seen such a wild, unbridled fight compressed into such a short time, and I wondered what Rivers had been in a fighting way before he lost his identity.