His step was catlike.
"What will it be?" inquired Watson. "Name your choice of
destruction."
But the Bar shook his head.
"Not so, Sir Phantom. You shall choose the manner of your death,
not I. Particular I am not, nor selfish."
"Make it wrestling, then," in his most off-hand manner. He was a
good wrestler, and scientific.
"Good. Are you ready?"
"Quite."
"Very well, Sir Phantom. I shall walk to the edge of the Spot and
turn around. I would take no unfair advantage. Now!"
Chick turned at the same moment and strode to his edge. He turned,
and it happened; just what, Chick never knew. He remembered seeing
his opponent turn slowly about, and in the next split second he
was spinning in the clutch of a tiger. Even before they struck the
stone, Chick could feel the Senestro reaching for a death-hold.
And in that one second Watson knew that he was in the grip of his
master.
His mind functioned like lightning. His legs and arms flashed for
the counterhold that would save him. They struck the Spot and
rolled over and over. Chick caught his hold, but the Senestro
broke it almost instantly. Yet it had saved him; for a minute they
spun around like a pair of whirligigs. Watson kept on the
defensive. He had not the speed and skill of the other. It was no
mere test to touch his shoulders; it was a fight to the death; he
was at a disadvantage. He worked desperately.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361