THE MAN IN THE TUNNEL
numbing sense of fear left me, as I realized that my adversary was a man.
He was a man, yet he fought with all the ferocity of a beast. It was God's mercy that I caught his wrist in my grip and forced a knife from his uplifted hand. I heard it clatter to the floor, even as I struck him with the lantern. Then it was naked hands, the fellow clawing wildly for my throat, while I drove my fist viciously into his face. I had an advantage in this, even in that darkness, for I knew how to handle my arms, and had him sufficiently located to make under-cuts efficient. I landed twice, the second blow sending him staggering back against the wall; but what he lacked in science he made up in savagery, and in rough bar-room fighting, and he came back, clawing at me in the darkness, and kicking viciously at my body. But for the clutch of his fingers on my jacket collar, screwing it tight in an effort at throttling, I would not have known exactly where to strike. But with this as guide I kept my left busy and felt flesh with my knuckles, driving in short-arm jabs until I had him forced to the wall, his head pounding the stones every time I hit him. Had it been daylight, had I been able to see, I would have known I had the fellow whipped, but in that hole, fearing treachery, or the use of some weapon, I kept remorselessly at him, until he sank at my feet, begging for mercy under punishment. Even then I kept my grip upon him with one hand, while the other groped about for the lantern. I found it, at last, the glass globe shattered, and managed
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