But he got
up, and lunged for the rifle just as I reached him.
I kicked the rifle out of his band, grappled with him, and down we went
together. We wrestled and thrashed off the ledge, and when we landed in the
gravel I was on top.
"Slug him, Ken!" yelled Dick, wildly. "Oh, that's fine! Give it to him!
Punch him! Get his wind!"
Either it was a mortal dread of Greaser's knife or some kind of a new-born
fury that lent me such strength. He screeched, he snapped like a wolf, he
clawed me, he struck me, but he could not shake me off. Several times he
had me turning, but a hard rap on his head knocked him back again. Then I
began to bang him in the ribs.
"That's the place!" shouted Dick. "Ken, you're going to do him up! Soak
him! Oh-h, but this is great!"
I kept the advantage over Greaser, but still he punished me cruelly.
Suddenly he got his snaky hands on my throat and began to choke me. With
all my might I swung my fist into his stomach.
His hands dropped, his mouth opened in a gasp, his face turned green. The
blow had made him horribly sick, and he sank back utterly helpless. I
jumped up with a shout of triumph.
"Run! Run for it!" yelled Dick, in piercing tones. "They're coming!
Never mind me! Run, I tell you! Not down the gorge! Climb out!"
For a moment I could not move out of my tracks.
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