a brief interval of fantastic floppings,
like a young mountain fell on top of Lanyard.

But that was the full measure of Dupont's success in this stratagem. If
hopelessly victimized and taken by surprise, Lanyard should have been
better remembered by the man who had fought him at Montpellier-le-Vieux
and again, with others assisting, on the road to Nant; though it is
quite possible, of course, that Dupont failed to recognise his ancient
enemy in clean-shaven Monsieur Paul Martin of the damp and bedraggled
evening clothes.

However that may have been, in the question of brute courage Dupont had
yet to prove lacking. His every instinct was an Apache's: left to
himself he would strike always from behind, and run like a cur to
cover. But cornered, or exasperated by opposition to his vast
powers--something which he seemed quite unable to understand--he could
fight like a maniac. He was hardly better now, when he found himself
thrown off and attacked in turn at a time when he believed his
antagonist to be pinned down, helpless, at the mercy of the weapon for
which he was fumbling. And the murderous fury which animated him then
more than made up for want of science, cool-headedness and imagination.

They fought for their most deeply-rooted passions, he to kill, Lanyard
to live, Dupont to batter Lanyard into conceding a moment of respite in
which a weapon might be used, Lanyard to prevent that very thing from
happening. Even as animals in a pit they fought, now on their knees
straining each to break the other's hold, now wallowing together on the
floor, now on their feet, slogging like bruisers of the old school.

Dupont took punishment in heroic doses, and asked for more. Shedding
frightful blows with only an angry shake of his head, he would lower it
and charge as a wild boar charges, while his huge arms flew like
lunatic connecting-rods. The cleverest footwork could not always elude
his tremendous rushes, the coolest ducking and dodging could not wholly
escape that frantic shower of fists.

Time and again Lanyard suffered blows that jarred him to his heels,
time and again was fain to give ground to an onslaught that drove him
back till his shoulders touched a wall. And more than once toward the
end he felt his knees buckle beneath him and saw his shrewdest efforts
fail for want of force. The sweat of his brows stung and dimmed his
eyes, his dry tongue tasted its salt. He staggered in the drunkenness
of fatigue, and suff