And in vain, in his turn, did he try to bend Dunn backwards to crush
him to the earth, it was an effort before which one might have
thought that iron and stone must have given away, but Dunn still
sustained it.

Thus dreadfully they fought, there in the darkness, there in the
silence of the night.

Dreadfully they wrestled, implacable, fierce, determined, every
primeval passion awake and strong again, and slowly, very slowly,
that awful grip laid upon the big man's body began to tell.

His breathing grew more difficult, his efforts seemed aimed more
to release himself than to overcome his adversary, he gave way an
inch or two, no more, but still an inch or two of ground.

There was a sharp sound, like a thin, dry twig snapping beneath a
careless foot.

It was one of his ribs breaking beneath the dreadful and
intolerable pressure of Dunn's enormous grip. But neither of the
combatants heard or knew, and with one last effort the big man put
forth all his vast strength in a final attempt to bear his enemy
down.

Dunn resisted still, resisted, though the veins stood out like
cords on his brow, though a little trickle of blood crept from
the corner of his mouth and though his heart swelled almost to
bursting.