His contact with the wall helped him to keep his feet, yet,
quick as his recovery was, he failed to break my grip, and we struggled
fiercely for advantage. He recognized me, and understood instantly. He
was a wrestler, while I must rely upon sheer strength to overcome his
tricks. Even as he adventured first I had him pinned tight, and we
strained back and forth across the cabin deck, neither able to throw the
other, in grim, relentless struggle. My fingers were wrenched from his
throat, yet the fellow made no outcry, realizing doubtless he would not
be heard. His eyes blazed with hate, merciless, vindictive, and he
struggled like a fiend to break free. I saw the girl, still dazed from
her fall, struggling to her feet, with face uplifted, then my every
consideration was riveted on my antagonist. This was to be no boy's
play, no easy victory; his muscles were like iron, his movements so quick
and unexpected as to put me on the defensive. I could only hold tight,
braced for the strain, yet forced back in spite of every effort, inch by
inch across the floor, my feet tangled in the rug. Neither could strike,
nor kick; I was weaponless, and I dare not release his arms for fear he
might possess a gun. Once I bent him back until he seemed helpless, yet,
by some trick, he wiggled free, and thrust me against the desk, its
corner gouging into my side.
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