He had his bayonet in his hands but somehow it did not occur to him to use it. Like most Americans he preferred to fight with his fists, and unconsciously he had discarded his rifle. With one hand he seized the German by the throat and with the other he rained blow after blow upon his great broad face.
The German however was a powerful man. He outweighed the young American by at least thirty pounds and far outmatched him in strength. With an oath he turned upon the plucky boy and a moment later held him by the throat with both hands. Earl's breath was shut off short and everything began to turn black before his eyes. He felt himself being shaken as a terrier shakes a rat and consciousness began to slip away from him. He decided that it was all over.
Suddenly the terrible strangle hold on his throat relaxed and with a supreme effort he wrenched himself free and rose to his feet. There stood Leon gazing down at the German lying on the floor of the little subterranean apartment. One glance was enough to show Earl what had taken place.
"You saved my life, Leon," he muttered weakly.
"Huh," snorted Leon. "I hated to stab him like that but it was the only thing to do."
"He wouldn't have hesitated to fix us I guess," exclaimed Earl. "Where's Jacques?"
"On the floor there."
"Is he dead?"
"I don't know. I haven't had a chance to look at him."
As they advanced towards their companion he moved slightly and tried to get up.