Pierre. Father Anthony caught the shoulder of his friend.
"Quick!" he whispered anxiously. "Stop them, for if the black fellow sets his fingers on the boy he will break him like a willow wand, and—in the name of God, Jean Paul!"
For the two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of Pierre. For a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling.
"Now!" murmured Father Victor; and as if in answer to a command, Pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two crashed to the mat, with Pierre above.
"Open your eyes, Father Anthony. The lad is safe. How Goliath grunts!"
The boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced away, laughing softly. The Canuck floundered up and rushed like a furious bull. His downfall was only the swifter. The impact of the two bodies sounded like hands clapped together, and then Goliath rose into the air, struggling mightily, and pitched with a thud to the mat.
He writhed there, for the wind was knocked from his body by the fall. At length he struggled to a sitting posture and glared up at the conqueror. The boy reached out a hand to his fallen foe.
"You would have thrown me that way the first time," he said, "but you let me change grips on you. In another week you will be too much for me, bon ami."
The other accepted the hand after an instant of
