This time a huge hand found his
throat. The other he blocked with his left arm, while with his
right he drove in short-arm jabs against neck and jaw. Their
ineffectiveness amazed him. His guard-arm was broken upward, and
to escape the certain result of two hands gripping at his throat
he took a sudden foot-lock on his adversary, flung all his weight
forward, and again they went to the floor of the cabin.
Neither caught a glimpse of the girl standing wide-eyed and
terrified in the door. They rolled almost to her feet. Full in the
light she saw the battered, bleeding face of the strange giant,
and Philip's fist striking it again and again. Then she saw the
giant's two hands, and why he was suffering that punishment. They
were at Philip's throat--huge hairy hands stained with his own
blood. A cry rose to her lips and the blue in her eyes darkened
with the fighting fire of her ancestors. She darted across the
room to the fire. In an instant she was back with a stick of wood
in her hands. Philip saw her then--her streaming hair and white
face above them, and the club fell.
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