He gave the
first blow, which struck me soundly on the side of the head and
knocked my cap off. I buttoned my jacket tight and closed with my
adversary, yet with small success. The fight was for a few moments
unequal. Tom was much the taller, and his big feet, with their hide
sandals, seemed to grip the elastic turf. His fists, too, were
large and hard, and his lunging strokes were enough to stagger one
of our native ponies.
Against this superiority I had to depend upon such power of limb
and endurance as I had acquired by long practice at cliff climbing
and in swimming the strong currents of Scapa Flow. For a time a
heavy blow on my chest disabled me, and my right arm was sorely
bruised by the many blows it had suffered in guarding my face.
Still, I was determined not to give in; and, just as one gets a
second wind in swimming, so did I now feel a new and strange
strength come upon me. I continued the conflict with renewed
energy.
Stepping backward upon one of the flat tombstones, I once more
stood ready to receive my opponent. He struck without effect at my
face, and while he was recovering his balance I saw my opportunity,
and hit him a strong blow between the eyes. He staggered and fell,
and I saw that the fight was over. Rising to his feet he did not
retaliate, but picked up his jacket, wrapped his store of the
treasure into his seal's skin, and wiping the dripping blood from
his nose, walked away across the heath in the direction of Crua
Breck, muttering a vow of vengeance.
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