Fighting as they were, they could not hope to last much longer. The end came very suddenly. Stepping back quickly, King crouched a moment and waited for McCartney to advance. He had not a second to wait. When he saw him start he leaned far back and swung his right hand from his hip with all the strength he could command. The blow went straight and true, landing squarely on the side of McCartney's jaw, and the big foreman went down in a heap to the ground.
For a moment King stood above him—but the struggle was over. Then the sickening sensation returned suddenly. He turned to Cherry, who was now at his side.
"Take—me—away," he said, giving her his hand.
The next moment the arms of Hugh Hurley and Keith McBain were about him, and he staggered out of the crowd with Cherry and old Gabe leading the way before him.
It was not until they had gone some distance that they noticed King beginning to limp badly. At every step he took his face winced with pain. Finally he asked them to let him stand for a minute.
"It's my foot," he said, in answer to Hurley's question. "My ankle—something happened when we fell—just wait a little—it'll be all right in a minute."
After a moment's pause they started off again, but King found walking impossible. Keith McBain called a couple of men and they carried him to Hurley's cottage, where they laid him on a couch and left him in the care of Cherry and Mrs. Hurley.
McBain and Hurley went off at once to the scene of the early morning struggle. Gabe lingered a little while with King, busying himself with such odd jobs as Cherry and Mrs. Hurley found for him.
In a short time King had recovered sufficiently from the first ill-effects of his battle with McCartney to give some thought to what was going on outside.
He called Gabe to him.