"Fool! Only got wind knocked out!" He thrust her back to her place by the door.
Big Jack was stooping over the prostrate figure, counting with semaphore strokes of his arm: "One! Two! Three!"
The spectators began to think it was all over, and the tension let down. Joe grinned, albeit wearily. There was not much left in him.
Meanwhile Sam's brain was working with perfect clearness. He stirred cautiously.
"Nothing broken," he thought. "Take nine seconds for wind enough to keep away till the end of the round. Then you have him!"
At the count of nine he sprang up, and the spectators roared afresh. Joe, surprised, went after him without overmuch heart. Sam managed to escape further punishment.
A growing weariness now made Joe's attacks spasmodic and wild. He was working his arms as if his hands had leaden weights attached to them. A harrowing anxiety appeared in his eyes. At the sight of it a little spring of joy welled up in Sam's breast.
"Pretty near all in, eh?" he said. "You're going to get licked, and you know it! There's fear in your eye. You always had a yellow streak. Crying Joe Hagland!"
Joe, missing a wild swing, fell of his own momentum amid general laughter. Derision ate the heart out of him. He rose with a hunted look in his eyes. Sam suddenly took the offensive, and rained a fusillade of blows on the damaged eye, the heart, the kidneys. Joe, taken by surprise, put up a feeble defence.
The next round was the last. Around Caribou Lake they still talk about it. A miracle took place before their eyes. David overcame Goliath at his own game. Jack beat down the giant. At the referee's word, Sam sprang from his corner like a whirlwind, landing right and left before Joe's guard was up.