Brief though the respite had been, it had served me to recover my
breath, and, though my head yet rung from the cudgel-stroke, and
the blood still flowed freely, getting, every now and then, into
my eyes, my brain was clear as we fronted each other for what we
both knew must be the decisive bout.
The smith stood with his mighty shoulders stooped something
forward, his left arm drawn back, his right flung across his
chest, and, so long as we fought, I watched that great fist and
knotted forearm, for, though he struck oftener with his left, it
was in that passive right that I thought my danger really lay.
It is not my intention to chronicle this fight blow by blow;
enough, and more than enough, has already been said in that
regard; suffice it then, that as the fight progressed I found
that I was far the quicker, as I had hoped, and that the majority
of his blows I either blocked or avoided easily enough.
Time after time his fist shot over my shoulder, or over my head,
and time after time I countered heavily--now on his body, now on
his face; once he staggered, and once I caught a momentary
glimpse of his features convulsed with pain; he was smeared with
blood from the waist up, but still he came on.
I fought desperately now, savagely, taking advantage of every
opening, for though I struck him four times to his once, yet his
blows had four times the weight of mine; my forearms were bruised
to either elbow, and my breath came in gasps; and always I
watched that deadly "right." And presently it came, with arm
and shoulder and body behind it--quick as a flash, and resistless
as a cannonball; but I was ready, and, as I leaped, I struck, and
struck him clean and true upon the angle of the jaw; and,
spinning round, Black George fell, and lay with his arms wide
stretched, and face buried in the grass.
Slowly, slowly he got upon his knees, and thence to his feet, and
so stood panting, hideous with blood and sweat, bruised and cut
and disfigured, staring at me, as one in amaze.
Now, as I looked, my heart went out to him, and I reached forth
my right hand.
"George!" I panted. "Oh, George!"
But Black George only looked at me, and shook his head, and
groaned.
"Oh, Peter!" said he, "you be a man, Peter! I've fou't--ah! many
's the time, an' no man ever knocked me down afore. Oh, Peter!
I--I could love 'ee for it if I didn't hate the very sight of
'ee--come on, an' let's get it over an' done wi'."