Paul had reached the stem of the Dragon by this time, still closely observing the steamer. He was just beginning to wonder if she would not blow up under such a tremendous pressure of steam as she appeared to have on, when the arms of the cunning strategist encircled his neck, and his right knee was applied to the small of his back. He had raised one foot to step into the boat, but he had no chance to bring it down, for he went over backwards on the beach.
The bruiser had the club in his hand when he passed his arm around the neck of his victim. In the suddenness of the attack Tom Topover had it all his own way, as he had intended to have it. As he drew his prisoner back, he threw him over so that he fell on his face, and Tom came down on top of him. He hugged him with all his might. Dropping the stick, he fixed his grip on the throat of Paul, and began to jam down upon him with his knees.
But Paul soon came to a realizing sense of his situation, and he was not at all inclined to submit to the sharp discipline of his companion. He began to struggle with all the energy of desperation. His hands were at liberty, and, reaching down with them, he succeeded in getting hold of the legs of his assailant. He immediately put a stop to the action of the assailant's knees, and then, with a mighty effort, rolled over so that Tom was under him, though Paul was still wrong side up.
With the weight of his victim upon him, Tom could no longer kick or use his knees, and Paul's hands were relieved for other duty. He brought them up and got hold of Tom's hair, getting two fistfuls of it, for the bruiser did not wear a fighting cut just then. He pulled with all his strength, increased by his desperation. At the same time the struggle with the other parts of the body continued, Tom's hair was coming out by the roots, and the intense pain caused him to yield a little of his hold at the prisoner's neck.
Paul felt his advantage, and, seizing the hands of his foe, dragged them from his throat. This enabled him to turn over in part so that he could use his fists. He did not wait for any preliminaries, but rained his blows upon the head of his assailant in the agony of his desperation. Tom could no more stand this treatment than he could have endured the pounding of a trip-hammer. He begged for mercy, and Paul let him up.
Neither of them could speak, and Tom's dirty face was covered with blood. Both were gasping for breath, and an involuntary truce prevailed. Paul had received no blows in the face, though his throat was considerably lacerated by the nails of his cowardly enemy. Tom was now in a position to understand the reason why the six ruffians had been so badly used before they succeeded in making a prisoner of Paul. It seemed to make no difference in the end whether the attack was made in the front or the rear. Possibly, the brilliant strategist was willing to believe that he had made a mistake in the quality and quantity of his intended victim.
A couple of minutes were enough to enable the combatants to recover their breath. Neither of them said a word, but Tom suddenly made a spring at Paul, this time with clenched fists. But the latter had been looking for something of this kind, and he easily parried the blows aimed at him, and then upset the bruiser with a heavy blow between the eyes. Paul realized that he could do this sort of thing till the sun went down, but he was tired of it.
Tom lay still for a minute or so after his fall, for his ideas were doubtless greatly confused. Paul looked at him; and as he did so he saw one of the coils of rope-yarn sticking out of his trousers pocket. He seized it at once, and, turning his assailant over, tied his hands behind him, and then secured his arms at the elbows. As Tom came to a realizing sense of his defeat, he began to resist, but the bruiser was about played out, and Paul dragged him to a tree and made him fast.
"You don't fight fair, Bristol Brick," said he, rather feebly, and he made a weak attempt to break from his bonds.