trying to strike, trying to hold. Breath went out of Gregg; he was underneath; weaker, much weaker than Russell in such crushing grapple; Russell's hand grabbed his neck and Russell's fingers closed on his throat; and even when Gregg raised the big bulk of Russell's body off his chest, breath now would not come in. Gregg was choked and knew that Russell meant to hold on and would throttle him. For an instant the shutting-off of breath, along with that realization, made Gregg weaker; then he concentrated his strength; turned over, turning Russell with him; he got on top of Russell but did not break the hold of those big, broad fingers on his windpipe; but Gregg's arms were free now and he beat with his fist on Russell's mouth, smashing in something—teeth; he pounded and pounded again. Russell couldn't stand that. He almost let go of Gregg's throat; anyway, Gregg got a breath and for it beat harder on Russell's face, smashed his mouth again, and his cheekbones, his brows, drawing blood; it was hot and sticky on Russell's face and on Gregg's knuckles when he struck, and Russell at last let go.
Gregg freed himself and got up, Russell rolling the other way, also raising himself; so they faced each other half the car's length apart, with the open door of the freight car on the side between them.
The train was running on, whistling; the car swayed and Gregg, going dizzy, put one hand to the wall to steady him; Russell did not so need to brace himself; but he was a frightful sight with blood over his face from a break over his left eye and from his nose and from his mouth; blood had even streaked into his black hair when he rolled over; but Gregg knew that, bloody as he was, Russell was marked more than hurt. Gregg was hardly marked at all, but half his strength seemed
