The negro's aim seemed to be to throttle his opponent, or to squeeze the breath out of his body; and Royce, struggle as he might, felt the thick, muscular arms gripping him more and more closely. Slighter in build, he had no chance of employing the feints and tricks which might have compensated for a less powerful physique in dealing with an Englishman. In that straining grasp, there was no hope for the lesser man; in a few seconds the struggle must end.
AT GRIPS WITH THE NEGRO
The encounter, the coming to grips, had happened so swiftly that Royce had had no time to think that there was help at hand in the shape of John. But now, at this critical moment, when he felt that the very life was being crushed out of him, he remembered the staunch companion of his journey, who could not be far away.
Making a desperate effort to fill his lungs, he uttered a shout, or rather a choking gurgle, which no one would have recognised as the voice of an Englishman. The negro laughed, anticipating the moment when the white man would lie limp and lifeless at his feet. Bub John, climbing the hill with a rabbit dangling in his hand, heard the two sounds—the gasping cry, the loud, mocking laugh. Hastening forward at a run, he shouted aloud, giving a long, penetrating note like the yodel of the Swiss mountain shepherd. The sound, growing louder moment by moment, came to the ears of the negro. He realised instantly that, unless he could dispose of the Englishman at once, he would soon have two men to deal with.
The encouraging sound gave Royce new strength. He put forth his last energies to resist the strangling grip.
"Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!"
The newcomer was close at hand. The panting negro lowered his arms, caught Royce about the hips, and tried to lift him, intending to dash him upon the floor. Royce flung his legs about the giant's thighs, stiffened his muscles, and dragged with all his force upon the negro's shoulders.
"Yoi-aloo! Yoi-aloo!"