The dawn in the east had spread upward from the horizon and filled the sky, still clouded, with a thin grey light. There was light enough, however, to make every movement easily discernible, and King watched his opponent from the beginning with an alertness that rendered him proof against any foul play. He was not going to be taken unawares, at any rate. If he were beaten it would be because he had matched himself against a better man.
Gradually the other men fell away from them and left the ground clear. McCartney's men had been driven back and were beaten. But friend and foe alike came round to watch what they rightly guessed was to be the last scene in a play that had been running for many weeks. Keith McBain himself stood off to one side, his face ashen white, his eyes set immovably upon the men who were settling once and for all, he hoped, not only their own accounts, but his as well. Old Gabe Smith stood directly behind King, calling out words of encouragement in his little piping voice, and totally oblivious to the existence of anyone else in the world.
For fully five minutes the two men walked cautiously about each other, striking out quickly but lightly, and stepping back immediately to recover themselves after each advance. Though the sneer never left McCartney's face, there was behind it a deep seriousness that expressed well the fact that he was fully conscious of the magnitude of the task before him. King's face was tense, set, terribly earnest.
Only once was there any interference from the bystanders. Mike Cheney, who had been an interested spectator during the whole struggle, pushed his way to the inner part of the circle of men and voiced a feeble protest. The men near him laughed and jostled him out of the way. He was content to remain where he was, though he no doubt felt there was something incongruous in the fact that when he looked round he was standing next to Hugh Hurley.
After some time had passed in which the men had remained wholly on the defensive, McCartney began to advance persistently against King, who stepped back out of reach whenever he found McCartney pressing him too closely. King's wary tactics were testing the patience of his opponent. With an agility that was surprising in a man of his size, he stepped about the enclosure, keeping just out of reach of McCartney, and starting forward, snapping out his left hand when an opportunity presented itself. His blows were not heavy, but he was reaching McCartney's face and body almost every time he struck. McCartney swung and lunged heavily every time he struck at King, but his blows were without control.