The blow was delivered with all the trained force the athlete possessed and sent David reeling against the rough wall of the house.
Such a blow would have ended the fight then and there for an ordinary man; but it only served to rouse David's sluggish blood to white heat.
Again he rushed.
This time he was more successful.
True, Sanderson partially succeeded in avoiding the sledge-hammer fist, though it missed his head, it struck glancingly on the left shoulder. numbing for the moment the whole arm. Sanderson countered as the blow fell, by bringing his right arm up with all his force and striking David on the face. He sank to his knees, like a wounded bull, but was on his feet again before Sanderson could follow up his advantage.
David, heedless of the pain and fast flowing blood, rushed a third time, catching Sanderson in a corner of the room whence he could not escape.
In an instant, the two were locked in a death-like grip.
To and fro they reeled. No sound could be heard save the snapping of brands on the hearth, the shuffle of moving feet and the short gasps of struggling men.
In that terrible grasp, Sanderson's strength was as a child's.
He could not call into play any of the wrestling tricks that were his, all he could do was to keep his feet and wait for the madman's strength to expend itself.