His opponent was larger and older than he and slower in his movements. The battle raged over the surface of the cliff. Now they were close to the ledge, now away. Now Jack was up, and now down again. This man was a beast. Once he bit Jack’s finger to the bone. He tried to knock him senseless by banging his head on the rocks. Jack’s head was hard, but this beating made him groggy.
It was then that the big man snatched a knife from its sheath to kill Jack. His hand was up. The end appeared certain now. But suddenly something hard crashed against that upraised arm. The knife rang as it hit the rocks.
The stout hardwood club swung by the plucky girl—that for the moment had saved Jack’s life—did not stop with the knife. It came crashing down on the German’s head.
Stunned, the big fellow staggered to his feet, made a lunge at Mary, and lost his balance. He fell to the rocky surface and started to roll slowly down the slope. Ten seconds later he had disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
“Wha—what happened?” Jack rose groggily.
“No ma—matter what happened.” The girl was a bit shaky. “Come on back and sit down.”
“Wh—where is he?” Jack stammered.
“He’s gone for good. Come on,” she urged.
They returned to the shadows. Having regained his vantage point, Jack rubbed his battered head. “I must have practically gone out,” he murmured. “What happened to that Nazi?”
“Plenty!” said Mary. “But nothing he did not deserve. Besides, this is war, and war is—”