"I couldn't stay away." She was crying and laughing at the same time,
while the crowd looked on speechless. "I had to come back!"
"Seconds out!"
I gently disengaged the girl's clinging arms and helped her through the
ropes, turning to Costigan for a single quick word: "Is it all right,
kid?"
"All right, Steve," he grinned. "Watch this for a boxing lesson! I
could whip a ring full of buffaloes now!"
* * * * *
The gong! Costigan went out to meet Gonzalez, not with the senseless,
wide open plunge of the slugger, but with the smooth, studied charge of
the aggressive boxer.
But Gonzalez was a grim and desperate fighter. Seeing victory fading
before the jabs of the rejuvenated boxer facing him, he came out to
kill or be killed. His first charge was like the blast of a wind from
hell, and Slade, with all his renewed skill, could not wholly evade
it. Back across the ring he was hurled in a whirlwind of cannon-ball
smashes, which would have destroyed any but himself.
With his ribs pounded black and blue, and a deep gash opened on his
check bone, Costigan felt the ropes at his back, and gave up boxing for
the moment. As I saw him burst into a ferocious rally of slugging, I
thought for an instant he had gone wild again, and so did Gloria.
But Slade knew what he was doing. A human tiger had him pinned on the
ropes, where his skill was useless, and he must fight him off as best
he could or go down to swift defeat. He went into terrific action,
staking all on his toughness and punch. But he was not slugging wildly
as of old. Chin low on his chest, body bunched into a defensive crouch,
he slashed away with short, terrific hooks and straight jolts. He was
taking plenty of punishment, but he was handing it out, too! Already
Gonzalez's face was a red mask, and his breath was coming shorter.
_Crash! Crash!_ At close range the mighty blows thundered on each other,
and then Gonzalez reeled back from the impetus of a sledge hammer right
to the jaw, and Slade bounded away from the ropes. Yet even as he did,
Gonzalez reeled back and crashed a terrible overhand right through the
air. That return was as sudden and unexpected as the stroke of a cobra.
Costigan ducked, but he was not swift enough. He took it square on the
temple, and went down on his face as though the force of the blow would
drive him through the boards. The referee sprang forward and began to
count, while Gonzalez lurched into a neutral corner, almost in as bad a
way as the man he had just floored.
Gloria began to cry, but I had no doubt at all in my mind. I knew Slade
would somehow be on his feet before the last count. And he was.
Gonzalez came toward him with dragging steps, and stiffly moving legs.
Only his wild beast courage kept him on his feet, but he was still
dangerous. He rushed like a great, unwieldy monster, his great fist
moving in erratic arcs, his partly closed eyes gleaming furiously. He
could not understand this man who stood before him, and who continued
to rise after blows that would have killed an ordinary man. After all,
this was more a contest of endurance. Both had taken hideous punishment.
They were both on the verge of collapse, but somewhere in him Costigan
found the power to carry him through. The Buffalo missed a straight
right and attempted to clinch for the first time. Costigan shoved him
away and hooked both hands to the head. For the first time Gonzalez was
being hit without a return. With a last dying effort he reeled back,
and in a sembalance of his old ferocity, rushed Slade back across the
ring and sank a right to the body that hurt the iron man.
Slade hooked a left to the chin and a terrific right under the heart,
and the swart giant's knees buckled. The Buffalo swung--little more
than a gesture it was--and a blasting right that carried all of Slade's
waning strength, found his chin and dropped him to his knees, whence he
slid on his back to the canvas.
Costigan staggered to the farthest corner, and as the referee counted,
the Buffalo turned blindly, reeled to his feet, where he stood with his
trembling legs braced wide apart, his great, shaggy head bowed upon
his mighty chest, unable to lift his hands; out on his feet, but still
impelled by that wild beast instinct of battle.
Costigan came slowly out of his corner and approached the South
American, uncertainly. A single shove would topple the beaten man,
but Slade wished to be spared delivering the final blow. The referee
hesitated, then waved Gonzalez to his corner. But the South American
did not see the gesture, for as the referee raised Slade's right hand,
Gonzalez pitched forward on his face and lay still, completely out.
Costigan collapsed in his corner, unable to climb out of the ring, and
Gloria squirmed into his arms and wept and laughed and kissed him,
"Oh, Slade, I never realized how much you need me! Slade, I'll never
leave you again!"