“What for?”
“We’ll each grab a foot and pull for all we’re worth.”
“What good will that do?”
“If we can pull one of them away it ought to stop the fight, oughtn’t it? A man can’t fight with himself.”
“All right,” agreed Grant. “We’ll see what we can do, anyway.”
“Be careful now,” advised George as Grant took his place beside him. “This is pretty ticklish business.”
The two boys knelt side by side on one of the seats. They leaned forward, eagerly waiting for a chance to seize the infuriated negro by his feet. This was no easy task, however, for his feet flew in all directions and kicked viciously backward, so that a few bruises were the sole results of the first attempts of the two boys.
“Hit him on the shins,” advised John. “That’ll fix him.”
“We’ll try this first,” said Grant doggedly. His knuckles were bleeding and his forearms were sore from the treatment he had received from Sam’s boots. The pain made him angry and more determined than ever to accomplish his purpose.
The fight was now desperate, even more so than before. No human beings could continue at such a killing pace for long, however. Sam still had the advantage which he had held from the beginning. His great powerful hands were now feeling for Petersen’s throat, and from the expression in the Finn’s eyes it was evident that he could not hold out much longer. Help must come to him and come quickly.