The pistol dropped to the
ground, and Skelly, in the fierce struggle, was unable to regain it.
Neither had uttered a cry. There was not a single shout for help.
Skelly would not want to call attention, and Harry recalled afterward
that in the tremendous tension of the moment the thought of it never
occurred to him. He continued to press savagely upon Skelly's throat,
while the mountaineer rained blows upon his chest, blows that would
have killed him had Skelly been able to get full purchase for his arms.
He heard the heavy gasping breath of the man, and he saw the dark,
hideous face close to his own. It was so hairy that it was like the
face of some huge anthropoid, with the lips wrinkled back from strong
and cruel white teeth.
It seemed to Harry in very truth that he was fighting a great wild
beast. His own breath came in short gasps, and at every expansion of
the lungs a fierce pain shot through his whole body. A bloody foam rose
to his lips. The savage pounding upon his chest was telling. He still
retained his grasp upon Skelly's throat, where his fingers were sunk
into the flesh, but it was only the grimmest kind of resolution that
enabled him to hold on.
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