CHAPTER XII
NO. 1033
For a second the contestants eyed each other.
A strange hush seemed to fall upon all, a situation always present inaffairs of this kind. It was noticeable to Max. "It might well be saidthat a calm always preceded a storm," Max reflected, and then he heard avoice speak close to his ear.
He dared not turn his head for fear of a sudden onslaught by hisantagonist, but even as low as the tone was, he recognized the voice--itwas the same voice that had begged him stealthily for his civilianclothes!
"Beware of his foot," said the voice. "He's English, but he fightsFrench fashion with la savate."
Max had not expected the savate from an Englishman, and he was very gladof the warning.
It flashed through his brain just what the terrible savate couldaccomplish--a lightning-like kick landing on the jaw of an adversary,being much more crushing and damaging than the hardest punch.
The warning came just in time, for he had only a brief chance to steadyhimself when Four Eyes rushed at him like a maddened bull.
As he neared Max he let go two terrific swings, first with his left andthen with his right hand, but his smaller opponent side-stepped withthe nimbleness of a cat, and Pelle rushed by two or three steps beforehe could stop.
At once he turned with a lithe movement, surprisingly graceful for abody so big, and made ready as though to once more swing his twoflail-like fists.
Again did Max set himself to dodge Pelle's punches, but instead ofletting his two hands fly, one after the other, he bent his huge bodyback from the waist, and at the same time shot his right foot upwardtoward the other's face.
It was a fearful kick, and had it landed on Max's jaw it would haveended the fight then and there, indeed, if it did not break his neck.But that whispered warning about the savate was Max's salvation.
With a quick backward jerk of his head he saved himself--just barelysaved himself--and the big foot shot harmlessly up into the air, Pellealmost losing his balance in the unsuccessful effort.
Before the latter could really regain his footing Max stepped in and,with left and right, landed full on his opponent's face, the last of thetwo punches coming flush on the nose with smashing force. It rocked theamazed Pelle back on his heels.
Moreover, the surprise at the force of the blow was not greater than thesurprise at the sudden knowledge of the fact that the "Yankee Spy" wasno bungling amateur, but that he had all the ear-marks of a skilledprofessional.
Well, he could not be fooled again, and on top of this thought came aheavy grunt as Max again stepped in and swung a swift right hook to hisstomach and then jumped out of harm's way.
This blow took Pelle's wind and he began to dance around on his toeswith the lightness of thistledown, despite his discomfiture, while allthe time he watched the clever Max between half-closed eyes, waiting foranother chance to deliver that awful kick where it would surely put theother out of business.
Now and then the big man would try an occasional swing at his elusiveopponent, but it was more of an attempt to cover up his real intentionrather than to land effectively. Well he knew that his best and quickestchance to end the fight lay in his ability to kick the other maninsensible, and so he tried to fool and disarm Max by a bluff attack.
In this manner they danced about each other for a short space; theAmerican, apparently whenever he chose, stepped in and landed left andright on the other's jaw with a sound like the crack of a whip.
There was a snap to Max's punches, a snap that stung and made animpression, and so while the big man almost exploded with fury at thegruelling he had to go through as his graceful adversary jumped in andout and banged him, he still nursed his best blow--the murderouskick!--holding it in reserve until the right moment.
Finally, in the course of Max's punishing onslaught, in which he wasleaping in and out with unceasing agility, he--stumbled! This was justwhat Pelle was waiting for, and then, like the fillip of a spring-board,the heavy boot went toward Max's head!
Though he saw it start, and though he swung his head back, Max could notescape it altogether, and it grazed his chin. For an instant the barrackyard and the white-clad ring of men swam before his eyes. It seemed asthough an iron bolt had entered his chin and gone through the top of hishead, but he did not quite lose all presence of mind, though he did bendaway from the other until he almost fell on his own back.
Pelle saw his advantage and, with a yelp of joy, jumped forward andswung his other foot. As he did so reason returned to Max and with itcame a blind rage at the other's unfairness.
With the quickness of a panther, and with the strength of ten men, heswung his slim body sideways and then bent forward to let go a viciousright-hand swing--flush to the other's jaw!
The kick missed Max--missed him by a hair--but the punch landed, landedwith every ounce of bone and muscle behind it that Max had in his body.
Down crashed the champion on the back of his skull, with a thud amid aspatter of gravel!
For an instant the huge form lay still, while the ring of Legionnairesremained petrified. Suddenly the group realized that the fighting cockhad been beaten by the bantam.
Then, with visions of "cellule" for every one concerned, four or fivemen sprang to pick up the champion. As they got him to his feet, bloodpoured from his swollen and disfigured nose. Coming slowly to himself,Pelle wiped it away dazedly with the back of a hairy hand, anxious, evenin semi-consciousness, to preserve the purity of his uniform, sacred inthe Legion.
Max stood his ground, rather expecting to be attacked in revenge by someof Pelle's angry allies; and the man who had warned him to beware of "lasavate" took a step nearer him. But both were new to the LegionEtrangere, and did not yet know the true spirit of the regiment.
Only admiring looks were turned upon the astonished young conqueror, whowas rather surprised at his own easy victory. As Pelle came to himselfin his friends' arms, the big fellow staggered forward, holding out abloodstained paw.
A Soldier of the Legion Page 13
