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.This condition favored the larger man.He lashed out a heavy fist that caught Trevison full and fair on the jaw, and the latter’s face turned ashy white as he sank to his knees.Corrigan stopped to catch his breath before he hurled himself forward, and this respite, brief as it was, helped the other to shake off the deadening effect of the blow.He moved his head slightly as Corrigan swung at it, and the blow missed, its force pulling the big man off his feet, so that he tumbled headlong over his adversary.He was up again in a flash though, for he was fresher than his enemy.They clinched, and stood straining, matching strength against strength, sheer, without trickery, for the madness of murder was in the heart of one and the desperation of fear in the soul of the other, and they thought of nothing but to crush and batter and pound.Corrigan’s strength was slightly the greater, but it was offset by the other’s fury.In the clinch the big man’s right hand came up, the heel of the palm shoved with malignant ferocity against Trevison’s chin.Corrigan’s left arm was around Trevison’s waist, squeezing it like a vise, and the whole strength of Corrigan’s right arm was exerted to force the other’s head back.Trevison tried to slip his head sideways to escape the hold, but the effort was fruitless.Changing his tactics, his breath lagging in his throat from the terrible pressure on it, Trevison worked his right hand into the other’s stomach with the force and regularity of a piston rod.The big man writhed under the punishment, dropping his hand from Trevison’s chin to his waist, swung him from his feet and threw him from him as a man throws a bag of meal.He was after him before he landed, but the other writhed and wriggled in the air like a cat, and when the big man reached for him, trying again to clinch, he evaded the arm and landed a crushing blow on the other’s chin that snapped his head back as though it were swung from a hinge, and sent him reeling, to his knees in the dust.The watching girl saw the ring of men around the fighters contract; she saw Trevison dive headlong at the kneeling man; with fingers working in a fury of impotence she swayed at the iron rail, leaning far over it, her eyes strained, her breath bated, constricting her lungs as though a steel band were around them.For she seemed to feel that the end was near.She saw them, locked in each other’s embrace, stagger to their feet.Corrigan’s head was wabbling.He was trying to hold the other to him that he might escape the lashing blows that were driven at his head.The girl saw his hold broken, and as he reeled, catching another blow in the mouth, he swung toward her and she saw that his lips were smashed, the blood from them trickling down over his chin.There was a gleam of wild, despairing terror in his eyes—revealing the dawning consciousness of approaching defeat, complete and terrible.She saw Trevison start another blow, swinging his fist upward from his knee.It landed with a sodden squish on the big man’s jaw.His eyes snapped shut, and he dropped soundlessly, face down in the dust.For a space Trevison stood, swaying drunkenly, looking down at his beaten enemy.Then he drew himself erect with a mighty effort and swept the crowd with a glance, the fires of passion still leaping and smoldering in his eyes.He seemed for the first time to see the Vigilantes, to realize the significance of their presence, and as he wheeled slowly his lips parted in a grin of bitter satisfaction.He staggered around the form of his fallen enemy, his legs bending at the knees, his feet dragging in the dust.It seemed to the girl that he was waiting for Corrigan to get up that he might resume the fight, and she cried out protestingly.He wheeled at the sound of her voice and faced her, rocking back and forth on his heels and toes, and the glow of dull astonishment in his eyes told her that he was now for the first time aware of her presence.He bowed to her, gravely, losing his balance in the effort, reeling weakly to recover it.And then a crush of men blotted him out—the ring of Vigilantes had closed around him.She saw Barkwell lunging through the press to gain Trevison’s side; she got a glimpse of him a minute later, near Trevison.The street had become a sea of jostling, shoving men and prancing horses.She wanted to get away—somewhere—to shut this sight from her eyes.For though one horror was over, another impended.She knew it, but could not move.A voice boomed hoarsely, commandingly, above the buzz of many others—it was Lefingwell’s, and she cringed at the sound of it
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