The Mountain Fugitive

Published: 1927

«He stood on the verge of the clearing, one hand resting against a sapling, his head fallen, dragging in breaths with a painful sound, and I let him get his wind again. It came back to him suddenly. His body swelled again to its full heroic size.

“Who would have thought it?” gasped out Chase. “Like an infernal bear! But you’ve had your last fling at me, my dear fellow. You’ll never come within grip of me again!”

I had no intention of making it a wrestling match. For, since I had closed with him, the last fear of Andrew left me, and there remained only a vast confidence in my strength. If he wished straight fighting, stand up and fist to fist, he could have his desire. But now I went at him more coolly, with all the skill that Father McGuire had taught me in the old days in my mind...»