Even the Arabs lost their stoicism while round two was under way.
Byng yelled, and the terrier yelped, but the Arabs only shifted their
position. That, though, was proof enough of their excitement; they
actually sighed in unison when Hassan Ah thrust his ungainly chin
in the way of a crushing right-hand smash, and laid his broad back
on the sand.
After that it was slug-and-come-again with both of them, each getting
wilder as round succeeded round, but neither man obtaining much
advantage. Twice it was Crothers who went down; then he discovered
a soft spot in Hassan's ribs, and after that he kept the black man
busy on the desperate defensive.
There was no doubt of the end, then, barring accidents. Even Hassan
Ah could not have doubted it; but he did his black man's uttermost
to put it off, and he fought as gamely as anybody ever fought since
prize-ring rules were drafted. He did not foul, or take undue
advantage once.
It was a plain, right-handed, battering-ram punch to the neck that
ended things, and Hassan Ah lay coughing on the sand with bulging
eyes while Joe Byng tended Curley's hurts.
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