Donald knew what was meant. There were to be no rules of combat; no time duration; no referee; no rounds, and woe to the man who should go down. It was to be a battle as of primeval man. It might result in terrible injury and mutilation. He sickened at the thought.
Hand stripped to the waist. Connie’s eyes rested on the mighty frame of this huge blond; the bunched and rippling muscles, the great chest covered with a mat of thick hair, and the enormous limbs. Her glance then turned and roved to the man who was to fight for her honour. Donald’s eyes were like burning coals. His face had regained its colour, but was contorted with a passion that made him seem unnatural. Yet he appeared a mere stripling in comparison to his burly antagonist.
For a moment Connie became a primitive woman. She felt as though she could rend and tear. Her eyes darted blue lightnings of wrath toward the man who had insulted her, and her small hands clinched in impotent fury. Her nails cut into her palms as she exercised every ounce of self-control to keep from screaming aloud. Donald was fighting for her. She caught her breath in a quick stab. Her heart was beating with alternate throbs of joy and fear. A sudden fit of trembling seized her, and her head felt light and giddy.
Hand’s reputation as a rough and tumble fighter was well known throughout the Province. It was his proud boast that he never had been whipped. He advanced now, a sinister leer on his face. Andy ran to Donald’s side.
“Box ’im, Donnie,” he whispered. “Don’t let ’im get ’old on you.”
“You goin’ to vip me? De dude goin’ to vip me? Ach!” scoffed Hand in guttural accents.
He came slowly forward with arms spread wide, his thick fingers working convulsively. Donald leaned slightly forward and waited. As he neared him, Hand tore in, sure of himself in the rough and tumble. Donald side-stepped the big man’s first rush and shot his left to his face. He was not properly set for the blow, but it stung Hand to madness.
“Ach!” he grunted, “stand and fight you d—— coward!”
He came on, his arms swinging wildly. Leaping aside, Donald’s heel struck a stump, and before he could regain his footing the giant’s arms were around him in a bone-crushing grasp. His hands were clasped at Donald’s waist, and the big head was pressed suffocatingly against his throat. Donald was forced slowly backward to strike the ground with a thud, the big man on top.